As he pushes open the glass door, he turns to face me, and my eyes snag on his impressive V and his huge dick. Even flaccid, it’s just … that fucker was inside me. And it’s embellished. Bedazzled. Not that I have room to talk about that, but it’s unexpected on Ty.
So much is.
Like his silent brooding when he notices me gaping. That would ordinarily bring a smile to his face. Maybe I don’t know that to be true. None of this is ordinary. I’m making myself dizzy. Speechless and fretting because something is amiss, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Maybe he’s racked with guilt about my brothers again. In spite of the pining he copped to, it was a drastic switch in direction fromI should walk awaytoyou’re mine. All in the span of a couple of days, even counting the texts we’d exchanged.
What if he’s changed his mind?
No. Ty wouldn’t do that. After fucking me, he’d stick around even if he didn’t want to. Because it was the right thing to do.That thought sickens me. And suddenly, this steam is oppressive. Burdensome.
He steps into me, smashing me against the wall. Every rigid, soaked inch of him molds to my dwarfed frame so that I become his towel. My clothes and skin and hair absorb the stubborn droplets he couldn’t slick away. And my breaths crash into his glistening chest, arrogantly producing a flourishing of bumps.
Without a word, he threads his damp fingers into my hair and angles my face, tilting me up to him. His hollow cognac irises meander over my features. He looks pained, confirming the cryptic confessions of the slapping drizzle. And when our lips collide, the union is no less a depiction of sorrow or torment. He’s apologizing and seeking and excavating, all with impassioned strokes of his demanding tongue.
There are plans woven through this kiss. A message or an outline of events to come. But it’s not a fairy tale or a love letter. It’s ominous. His warnings flit through my head with every commanding sweep of his tongue, every growl, every roving touch of his zealous fingers.
“My family and I aren’t shackles. We’re cinder blocks in the ocean.”
“I’m not a compass, Rena. I’ll drown you in darkness.”
Since I thrive in the dark, I press into him, wrap my arms around his neck, climb my legs to his waist, and return every touch and pant and moan. The apologies and the searching and the mining for more. Because Ty will never be too much for me. His anguish is a shattering I wasn’t anticipating, but I don’t care how many fragmented pieces the two of us are in; I’ll gladly spend my days gluing us together. That’s the response I purr into his mouth, hoping he can read my gestures, like I’m reading his.
After a nibble on my lip, he frees a ragged breath, smacks my ass, and glares at me. Brows furrowed. Eyes crinkled. Teeth gnawing on his inner cheek as his Adam’s apple bobs.
The expression is either rage or regret or lust. Can’t be sure. It’sintense. Although his hard cock, smashed between us, would suggest the latter. But something tells me, all three prevail.
“Get dressed,” he orders, dropping my legs. “We’re leaving in a half hour.”
Nothing about that makes sense, so I feel compelled to catalog all the reasons his command is ridiculous. “It’s got to be after midnight. You said we couldn’t leave. You promised to fuck me tonight. And your cock seems in favor of that promise.”
“Plans change,” is all he says, and my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach, jostling around with the acid.
“What kind of plans?” My voice quavers through that whispered query that is so much more of a plea, my eyes instantly welling with tears.
And he’s on me again, cradling my cheeks. “All plans. There is very little we can count on.” His head slants in compassion. “But this? Us? That won’t change. We’re set in stone.”
“Okay.” I nod inside his grip, still wrestling with apprehension about his newfound conviction for us.
His face sobers, resolute and dour. “You’re going to have to trust me. Can you do that?”
Of course I trust him. But I don’t say that because my pulse is accelerating at an alarming speed and I’m growing antsy. “I think maybe that question should be flipped around since you’re not disclosing what the hell is going on.”
He barks an indignant laugh. “You’ll know soon enough, Little Moon. I’ll answer concerns as they arrive. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Right now, I need you to get ready.”
“Fine,” I volley, conveying an aloofness that is nonexistent. “What should I wear? Fashion is all about appropriateness. I wouldn’t don a gown to go hiking, and I wouldn’t sport combat boots at a ball.”
“You would wear the combat boots,” he retorts.
“Maybe,” I concede. “Depending on the cause of the ball. If itwas in honor of warriors, combat boots would be far more apropos than stilettos.”
That finally causes his lips to twitch with a ray of adoration.
He pecks my forehead and struts away to the sink in all his naked glory, eyeing me in the mirror. “Wear something that makes you feel good. You’re always the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, regardless of what clothes drape that gorgeous body, so all that matters to me is that you feel it.”
That squeezes all the foreboding angst right out of my chest, so I bite back a smile and twist to leave, tossing out, “I assume I’ll be losing the ankle bracelet?”
“Of course,” he returns with his haughty tenor. “You’ll be tethered to me.”
