“It’s the truth.” Reaching forward, I steal a small chunk to appease her worries. “I’m talking in general. You’re the one who is taking it that way.”
To think that only four days ago, she threatened to kill me and stabbed me with a disgusting nail. Now we’re going back and forth, our voices hushed like we’re in our own secret world.
“You think anyone is paying us any attention, anyway? They’re enjoying their sweets.” Scoffing, she’s making it sound like I’ve asked her to sit on my lap and let me shove my hand in her pants.
Expecting her to kick me, to continue her usual distaste for me, I pause when she purses her lips. She’s hesitating, digesting my words. Fuck, it’s making me get my hopes up.
“Keep it PG.” Muttering the words, she shifts until she’s plopping her foot into my lap. “You have five minutes, okay? Don’t make it weird.”
She’s going to let me touch her freely? Fuck the sweets, she can have all of them. This is all I need.
“Don’t stare at me.” Shoving another bite into her mouth, she averts her eyes, but the skin around her ankle prickles up whenI push her jeans up. Slowly, and carefully, my fingers trace the shape of her calf.
I don’t listen. I look at her, watching the way her throat works as she swallows, the way her breath hitches when my thumb finds the delicate hollow behind her knee. She stirs like I’m touching her intimately, a soft, restless shift of her hips. All I’m doing is tracing one goosebump to another, but the air between us thickens.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” The words come out tight, and I give her leg a demanding squeeze, my palm burning against her skin.
“No.” Denying me flat out, she doesn’t pull away. Her defiance is a fragile thing, a veil over the heat I can feel radiating from her.
“Do you like me touching you?” Figuring it can’t hurt to ask, I wait for another harsh denial. Instead, she chews and chews, her gaze locked on the far wall, a faint flush creeping up her neck. The silence stretches, taut and telling. “You do, don’t you?”
Fuck. I didn’t think she’d actually enjoy herself. This changes everything.
Slipping my hand deeper into the cuff of her jeans, my fingers stretching to reach the underside of her thigh, my cock swells as she bites her lip. A quiet, choked sound escapes her, and it’s the most honest answer she’s given me. Her body is speaking a language her mouth won’t, and I am memorizing every word.
PG.I scoff at the reminder.
Much to her displeasure, I drag my hand away before I get ahead of myself.
I planned on showing her around town, letting her see what Willowbrook Ridge has to offer. Instead, I think I’m going to have to take her to the final stop of this tour.
“Let’s finish this up so we can move on.” I clear my throat and shift, the persistent throb in my jeans a welcome torment.
Seemingly regretting how much she ordered, I already know we’re going to have to get a bag. Right now, I think a sticky saddlebag is worth the risk.
8
Destiny
The world blurs past, a streak of darkened windows and sleeping streets. I don’t know where he’s taking me, but I know a public place is the last thing I want. Not when my skin still hums with his touch, when the memory of his fingers has left my body trembling like a plucked string.
We pass a sign. Ironwood Heights. The name leads us to a quiet, well-kept apartment complex, its corners softened by the afternoon sun. Instantly, my heart kicks against my ribs.
Is this what I think it is?
He parks the bike, and I slide off on gelatin legs, my sneakers meeting the pavement with a silence that feels too loud. I stare at a plain gray door, and my stomach clenches.
Hammer retrieves our bag of sweets from his saddlebag, his movements steady. He follows my gaze. “My home.”
The two words hang in the air, simple and immense. I don’t move, not even when the jangle of his keys cuts throughthe quiet. What is this feeling seeping into my bones? Nerves, yes, they’re an old, familiar coat. But this is different, deeper.Personal.
“Why’d you bring me here?” The words are a whisper, stripped bare.
This. This is the most profound trust I’ve ever been handed. From a man so reserved, so walled off, he’s offering a piece of his sanctuary. A piece of himself, I wonder if anyone else has ever seen. The realization wants to go to my head, a dizzying intoxication. My heart wants to go rogue, to beat a wild, hopeful rhythm against my better judgment.
“I can’t stay at the clubhouse full-time. The place drives me nuts after a while.” He doesn’t move, sensing my paralysis. The plastic bag crinkles in his grip. “You aren’t comfortable there, either. This place is quiet, peaceful. It’s… a place you can go to. Something you can also call your own.”
The meaning settles over me, heavy and warm. “You want me to move in with you.” I state it as a fact, my voice flat with disbelief.
