I skate my lips up her neck, whispering, “Are you hungry?” If she hears the reluctance in my voice, then she can’t possibly understand it. It’s not that I’m unwilling to get out of bed. It’s that I am willing. I’m sleepy and warm, clutching her against me, and Verity Sinclaire could snap her fingers right now and have me racing to the kitchen to make just about anything. In my whole goddamn life, a moment has never felt as perfect as this one.
