“Okay. Give me a second to get dressed.”
“No. I’m going on my own.”
He snorts. “No, you’re not.”
“Let me fucking breathe,” I scream out.
Something wicked flashes in Keaton’s eyes that sends desire flushing through my bloodstream. His hand strikes out as quick as a snake to wrap around my throat. He uses his hold to bring our faces close together. So close that I see the fear, the desire, the love that swirl through his eyes.
“You can fucking breathe, but you’re going to do it with me breathing right alongside of you. Because, baby, the minute your heart stops beating, I cease to fucking exist. I’ve not lived enough of life with you yet, and I’ll be good goddamned if it’s taken from us before we’re ready. Do you get me, Charlie? Without you, there is no fucking me.” He drops his forehead to rest against mine. “Just give them time to find her. She’s around here somewhere, and she’ll show her face. Time, baby. That’s all I’m asking for.”
The fight drains out of me as his hand trembles against my throat. “Fine. Okay. But you have to stay dressed until this is all over.”
“Are you sure?” he teases.
“No. Yes. No. You know what…do what you want. I can resist you.”
“Is that so?”
No.
“Yes. Absolutely,” I say.
Who am I kidding? I’m a terrible liar.
“Should we bet on it?”
Absolutely not.
“Yes.”
“If I win and you cave first, I get to ink this beautiful fucking body,” he tells me.
I shrug. “Easy. If I win, you have to let me tattoo a penis on your ass and then take a picture of it to put on your social media.”
“Deal. Seal it with a kiss?”
Keaton doesn’t play fair either. He dives in and amps up the heat straight away, creating a wicked little dance with his tongue against mine. I rub my thighs together, trying to ease the ache between them without begging him to shove his hand down my pants. With a lot of reluctance, I pull away and step out of his hold.
“Go get dressed before I decide to leave without you anyway,” I tease.
He takes me seriously, though, because he’s quick to throw on a shirt and his boots before pulling me out the door.
I swing our entwined hands between us, happy to just be out of the house with him. “Thank you.”
“You don’t even have to thank me, butterfly. I love you and enjoy making you happy.”
I grab a cart, put one foot on the bottom bar, and push off with my other.
Keaton catches up to me and cages me in his arms against the cart. “Climb on, butterfly. I’ll push.”
I put my other foot up and wrap my hands tightly against the handle before leaning back against his chest, secure enough in him that he’ll keep me safe.
“Fast or slow?” he murmurs, the innuendo clear in his voice.
I’m caught off guard when he rockets forward, and a squeal of delight escapes me. He makes over-the-top car noises, honks at unsuspecting shoppers, and pretends to screech to a halt at every turn. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this hard.
There’s a wild freedom in laughing like this with the person who once shattered me. This new Keaton makes me feel lighter than I ever thought possible.
