Oh yeah, let’s ignore it. Fabulous idea. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?
I dab a generous amount of soothing cream, careful not to hurt him, and push the tube to the side.
“Like you have been?” I snap.
My heart is certain there was no one else. But my brain is more pragmatic, thinking that if he wanted, he would have found a solution.
He raises a sharp eyebrow, telling of his annoyance. “Fishing for answers to questions you know?”
“Who was your last?” I push the words out through the lump stuck in my throat.
His arm shoots to the back of my neck, and he grabs me by the nape. Chest panting, he lowers his face just one inch away from mine. “You.”
Goose bumps pepper my skin as our eyes clash. His deep silver ones set off a tsunami of emotion in my insides. His desperation emboldens me, so I dig my fingers into his thighs, lifting myself up. I don’t ask for permission he won’t grant me, and I straddle his lap.
His other arm snakes around my back, low enough that he splays it over my ass. “What are you doing?”
I gulp, instinct taking over. “Nothing.”
He squeezes one cheek, sounding pained. “Stop grinding on my cock.”
How I would love to take care of every one of his aches.
“Stop fighting me,” I murmur, savoring his touch.
It’s a major win that he lets me, so I don’t push him further. Instead, I lean my head against his chest, and he strokes my back while the other hand remains firmly in place—on my ass.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, feeling him hard beneath me.
A deep sigh rocks his chest. “What I did to you hurt.”
I seek his eyes. “You’re punishing your cock for that? It wasn’t?—”
His head hangs, every muscle in his body straining with agony. “Stop telling yourself that. I was there. I saw your terror. You were afraid of me.”
Needing to comfort him, I cup his face and caress along his cheeks. Bringing his face to mine so our eyes lock, I try to make him understand my reason. “Of course I was terrified. But neverof you. I was afraid for you…knowing I would lose you either way.”
He places a sweet kiss on my forehead. “You could never lose me.”
Like I could never have you. I don’t need to say that. The sigh rocking my chest says it all. He senses my distress and stiffens, but I am greedy for a bit more of us like this, so I lean my cheek back against his chest. Taking advantage before he drops the barrier between us once again, I slip my palm inside his shirt that stretches with his heavy breathing.
He got more ink, and how I would love to undress him, taking my time to study each. Every symbol he has painted represents something, as it should if you commit to painting your body, but he created a world—his world, and I am sure the tattoo artist did a spectacular job.
I wish he had removed his shirt at the pool. The bachelor/bachelorette party at the Vintage would have been the perfect occasion to see his chest, arms, and back in their tattooed glory. Instead, the grump preferred to scowl at me and drink a bottle of vodka on his own.
“Will you ever uncover for me?” I murmur.
He must get tired because he rasps. “No.”
“Why?” I don’t even care that I sound whiny.
“That would be all you need to discover the truth. And if you do, we’ll both be screwed.”
I ponder his reply, but I can’t find any logical explanation for that. Watching his breathing deepen and his chest falling and rising in a deep rhythm, I am about to unbutton his shirt when he grips my wrists and clicks his tongue, tsking. “Bad girl.”
“You knew I would go for it.” I pout.
He smirks, so damn proud that he knows me this well. That was a test designed to make me lose.
