Her smile only grew. She was almost glowing with delight.
I lifted my eyebrows. “I’ll take back that apology?”
Lily turned over in my arms and kissed me without a word. But she didn’t have to say anything, the kiss was enough to convey how she felt about what I called her.
My hands slid around her middle as I lay back, bringing her to rest across my chest while her hair fell around us in a curtain of golden-brown waves. She breathed me in, settling herself against me before she brought her leg up beneath the sheet, and hooked it across my stomach.
I bunched her shirt into my hands and then roamed my palm down over her backside and soft thigh. When she rolled her hips against me, I groaned and gently squeezed her thigh.
She kept the kisses soft until that moment, pressing herself against me a little more. As much as it went against every urge that was racing south, I wouldn’t go again unless she was ready—
“Can we do it again?” she whispered between kisses. “Please?”
Never mind.
I nodded against her lips. “Fuck, yes.”
Rolling her over, I pulled the sheet up around us as she wrapped her legs around my waist and I settled down on top of her.
Chapter 58
Lily
August began with three days of rain, leaving the city in a gray veil of wet humidity. It was perfect weather for staying indoors but adult responsibilities called, both at the agency and The Den. Which meant hurrying to and from the bus each morning in the rain, with my bag above my head, as I headed into the office. And making the quick dash to and from Dean’s car each evening, tucked beneath his arm and hoodie, as we headed into the basement.
He started driving me every night to The Den, even for the times he wasn’t fighting, and we only ran late once. It was on one of the rainier evenings when the windows of his car fogged up to the point of being able to draw faces into the condensation.
Or leave a smudged handprint on the back window.
A week had passed since that night at Dean’s house. And every day since, I felt like I was in a happy bubble. My parents didn’t approve of the situation but didn’t say anything, Roxy had backed off, Antonio no longer watched me like a hawk, and my father’s investigation seemed to have gone quiet. It was like everything was finally sailing smoothly.
I refused to admit that out loud in case I jinxed anything.
There were times, usually when I was alone with my thoughts, when I wondered if maybe things were going too fast with Dean. Until I reminded myself of what we went through to get here.
He once said that he liked how he was around me. And I couldn’t help but feel the same way about myself around him too. Dean brought out my confidence like no one else could, and I felt comfortable being myself around him. He was never judgmental, despite the semi-permanent scowl on his face that made the public think otherwise. His heart was bigger than he let on.
Everything about him, how I felt about him, eventually built to a point inside me that needed a release — a creative release. As cliché as it sounded, he had become my muse.
I had drawn multiple little sketches of him in the sketchbook I kept on my nightstand. Some of his eyes, others of his hands or tattoos, and one of his body. Usually, the sketching took place when we were lying in my bed after he had done things to me that left me exhausted and my fingers itching to grab a pencil and draw every detail of him.
Dean drew one of me too, but tore the page out before I could see it. Claiming it wasn’t finished yet, he tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans with a coy smile on his face.
That was two nights ago, as the rain trickled down my bedroom window. We made plans that same night to spend time in the city once the weather cleared again. Which was why I was waiting in the Whitmore Real Estate Agency foyer, on one of the white leather sofas under the large front windows with the sun shining on my back.
I wore a button-up lavender sundress and a pair of white chucks. Something suitable for work and the date I had somehow gotten an early mark for. Mom wasn't pleased when I asked to leave several hours before closing time, but she also didn’t object.
The front door swung open, briefly filling the open space with the sound of the street outside as Dean strolled through the doorway. Lifting his sunglasses up to rest on his head, he tucked his other hand into the pocket of his black jeans, causing his bicep to flex slightly under the fabric of his dark maroon T-shirt.
He scanned the front desk first before his eyes were drawn to the sofas. A lopsided grin came easily to his face when he spotted me, and I immediately returned the expression. Jumping to my feet, and slinging my bag over my shoulder, I hurried over to his side. I ducked under his outstretched arm and stood on my toes to plant a kiss on his lips.
“Afternoon,” I beamed.
He hummed in greeting, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he brought his hand to the back of my neck and pulled me in closer for a longer kiss.
There was a small cut on his left cheekbone, from his fight last night. His opponent caught him off guard for just a second. But I knew worse lay beneath his shirt.
I trailed my fingers lightly down to his ribs, where the bruising was. “How are you feeling?”
