Or get to talk.

“Hmm.” His hand slipped to my rear. Tugging me against him, he squeezed, and as crazy as it was, my body started to rev up all over again. The man was living, breathing sex! He brushed his lips to the skin just above my eyebrow. “I’m thinking about saying fuck the omelet again.”

Oh my. The idea was tempting. Everything about him was tempting, but I managed to get him out of the bathroom. While I cleaned up, brushed my teeth, and then washed my face, I made myself promise I was not going to let anything get in the way of talking to him.

Taking a deep breath, I caught my reflection in the mirror as I tugged my hair up in the ponytail. Where in the heck were my glasses? Good question. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes wide, and my lips had that swollen, totally been-­kissed-­for-­hours look.

I straightened the blue and white polka-­dotted toothbrush holder and then made a serious expression at myself in the mirror.

I looked half stupid.

Everything was going to be okay. Reece . . . well, he wasn’t going to be happy, but he would be okay. I mean, hell, he didn’t flip out about the unprotected sex thing, and he basically said if we just created a baby Reece or baby Roxy, then we’d be okay. So he had to be okay with this. I was just making a mountain out of a molehill. Like Charlie would’ve said, I was being a drama queen.

Time to pull it together.

Sighing, I whirled around and left the bathroom. Spying my glasses on the coffee table, I snatched them up and slipped them on.

Reece was in my kitchen and he’d already found the frying pan, which wasn’t hard since it wasn’t like I had that many cabinets. The eggs were already on the counter. He looked at me over his shoulder as he grabbed fresh peppers and a bag of shredded cheese out of the fridge.

Seeing him in my kitchen, shirtless and barefoot with all that golden skin on display was something I could really get used to.

I wanted to paint him—­like this. With his back to me, the muscles corded and strong.

“I was thinking,” he said, tossing those items on the counter. He went for the milk next. “I got to work tonight and you’re working Wednesday through Saturday, right?”

Edging into the kitchen, I nodded.

He cracked a ­couple of eggs into a bowl he’d dug out of the cabinet. “That makes doing dinner and a movie hard.” He paused, glancing back over at me. “By the way, I really want to fuck you when your glasses are on.”

Warmth swept across my cheeks. “You are so naughty.”