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“Yes,” I said. “Absolutely yes to breakfast.”
“It’s half two in the morning,” she pointed out. “Breakfast is technically hours away.”
“I can wait.”
“I can’t.” She drove us to her flat in a battered little Fiesta, one hand on my knee the whole way. It was a tiny place above a bakery, textbooks stacked on every surface, a skeleton poster on the bathroom door. We fell into her bed in a tangle and slept like we’d been knocked out.
I woke at nine to the smell of fresh bread drifting up through the floorboards and Bryony curled against my back, naked and warm, her hand already wrapped round my cock.
“Breakfast,” she murmured into my shoulder.
She kissed her way down my chest, freckled shoulders bare in the sunlight, and took me in her mouth, slow and lazy, until I was gripping the sheets. Then she climbed up, rolled a condom on and sank down onto me with a long, happy sigh.
No buzzer. No Dez. No camera. Just her, rocking slowly on top of me in the daylight, my hands everywhere I wanted them, her nipples hard against my palms. I rolled her under me and fucked her deep and steady while she wrapped her legs round my back and begged me not to stop. She came with her nails in my shoulders, and I followed her, groaning her name. Her real name.
Afterwards she fetched croissants from downstairs in nothing but my shirt.
“Worst week of your life,” she said, feeding me a bite. “How’s it ending?”
“Best Saturday I’ve ever had.”
“Good.” She kissed the crumbs off my lip. “Stay for lunch.”
Ending 1 of 25: Breakfast in Bed. You found the full happy ending.