“Food.” She sat up a little straighter at the idea, and sniffed the air. “I smell…”

“Steak,” he said, and sat next to her. They were in the living room, tucked in a corner of the sectional. She was wrapped in the comforter from his bed, snugly warm, while he still wore nothing but his sweatpants.

“Hi,” she said softly, unable to keep the dreamy smile from her face. He looked so good, and she felt so good, and all she wanted to do was feel good with him for the rest of her life.

“Hi, yourself,” he said, and smiled back. “How do you feel?”

“Um.” She looked down, as though she could see through the layers of cotton and down to assess her body. “Sore.”

He brushed her hair back, his touch gentle. “Where?”

“Everywhere, I think,” she said, shifting a bit, and winced. “And my butt. Wow.”

“Wait until you see it,” he said. “But in the meantime…”

“Ooooh.” Her eyes went wide at the plate in his hands. Slices of rare beef lay next to salted baby potatoes and grilled asparagus. The scent hit her nose again, and her stomach rumbled. “Who made that?”

“A concerned friend,” he said mysteriously, and she would’ve questioned him further, but her stomach rumbled again, and she abandoned the interrogation as he picked up a slice of beef in his fingers. “Open up.”

She obeyed, moaning with pleasure as the flavor hit her tongue. “More, please.”

“Lie back,” he instructed, and when she’d leaned back into the corner of the sofa, scooted up beside her.

She began to fight her way out of the comforter, intent on freeing her arms so she could take the plate, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “What?”

“Stay wrapped up,” he told her, and picked up another slice of beef. “I’ll feed you.”

She opened her mouth automatically, like a baby bird, her eyes wide as she chewed. She hadn’t quite gotten her equilibrium back from the scene, and she would normally attribute the fluttery, off-balance feeling to that. But he was feeding her, taking such sweet care of her after he’d debauched her so thoroughly, and she couldn’t hold back the tears.

“Uh-oh,” he said, and reached out to set the plate on the ottoman. “Talk to me, fofa.”

She shook her head frantically, burrowing into his arms. “Nothing’s wrong,” she insisted on a wail. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“It was a heavy scene.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. It only made her cry harder. “Are you having trouble with anything specific?”

She shook her head, rubbing against his broad chest. “I don’t think so. I’m just…”

“Overwhelmed?” he suggested.

“Yeah.” She hiccupped. “I’m sorry.”