Page 21 of Bound Hearts

A while later, she rolls off of me in bed, and we both have lazy smiles from another orgasm.

“Do you always have this much stamina?” She sounds amazed.

Shifting to my side, I watch her as she stares at the ceiling while lying on her back. “But you’re keeping up,” I rebuff.

She chortles in her throat before the room grows quiet, and then it dawns on me. I quickly peek over her body at the clock on the side table.

“Happy New Year.”

“What?” She sounds drowsy.

I pinch her arm. “It’s already past midnight, and we didn’t even notice the time.”

Her laugh rumbles with humor. “Well, there was no need to make a big deal about numbers on a clock. We were occupied. But happy New Year.”

I flop onto my back, heart still racing. Silence settles over us, but it’s a comfortable one—no pressure, no expectations, just warmth and peace.

We’re just here.

Comfort usually means dullness, but with Sutton, it’s anything but.

Realizing this, I turn my head to watch her—hair fanned across the pillow, sheet barely covering her, a hint of cleavage showing. She’s stunning, and lost in thought, like me.

“Foster.”

“Yeah?”

“So… one time.” She smacks her lips together. “We’re going to be horrible at keeping that number and being strictly professional, aren’t we?” She turns her head to lock with my gaze.

A smirk is creeping up because she nailed it. “Perhaps a solid hypothesis.”

I lean down to kiss her lips, feeling her smile, as I pull her back on top of me.

The next morning, Sutton is still asleep when I wake up. She’s flat on her stomach, the duvet wrapped around her middle, and her legs on display. I’m used to early starts, and I’m not about to make her start the year with the missed opportunity of a sleep-in. The city is quiet, we have no plans, the clock doesn’t need to exist today.

I smile to myself as I slip out of bed, still naked, and pull on fresh boxers, sweats, and a t-shirt. I take one last look at Sutton sprawled in my bed before letting her sleep. In the kitchen, I fire up the coffee machine—the one I learned to use from a barista, after way too much research. The grind of beans fills the quiet morning.

Everything feels casual and comfortable with Sutton in my home. That’s why I don’t intend to speed up the end of our evening or the start of our morning.

Coffee in hand, one sip jolts me awake. I scan the kitchen for breakfast options, but it’s slim pickings. Looks like we’ll be ordering in a lot. I don’t mind.

A quiet alarm goes off as a vibration hits the counter. Sutton left her phone there last night when I lent her my charger. I walk over with the intention of unplugging it and bringing it to her in my room.

When I pick it up, I notice that the screensaver shows a notification. I’m not the type of guy to be nosy, but when it comes to her, I’m obsessed with knowing everything, it seems.

Totally aware that I shouldn’t be doing this, I read the notification on her screensaver, which is clear as day.

It’s one of those apps that tracks a woman’s cycle. It’s a complete invasion of privacy, and I realize that right away, except… the notification grabs my attention.

Ovulation is today: You’re at your peak fertility this cycle.

I stall for a second. The word is like a needle poking me, reminding me of everything that my family expects. The things they’ve said to guilt-trip me sound in my head. The thought lingers for far too long. A timeline that causes me to mentally count months. I set her phone back down just in time as the sound of footsteps enters the kitchen.

“Morning,” she sounds groggy.

Turning around, I find her in one of my shirts and her hair in a messy nest on top of her head, but it only highlights her facial bones. She walks toward me with a warm smile. “I stole another piece of clothing. You seem to have many, so I doubt you will miss a shirt. Ooh, coffee.” Her eyes are set on the machine.

But as she is about to pass me, I grab her wrist and reel her in, catching her slightly off guard, but her smile remains.