Oh, this couldworkfor me.
I press closer, kissing him harder, grinding against him through the barrier of my jeans. The sensation is new, overwhelming, but the steady rhythm of his hands guides me.
“That’s it,” he whispers, lips brushing mine. “Take what you want. You’re in control.”
Oh, yeah. This works for me. Itreallydoes.
I kiss him again, deeper, until I’m dizzy. My hands explore his shoulders, his chest, the hard lines of muscle under skin. Every touch sparks something wild in me, something I legitimately thought was dead.
I’ve never felt like this. Not free, not turned on, not safe. All at once.
But I have to walk before I run. When I finally pull back, gasping, I press my forehead to his. “Holy shit.”
He chuckles, thumb brushing my jaw. “Yeah. That’s kind of my review, too.”
I laugh, shaky and giddy, my pulse racing. For once, it doesn’t feel like fear. It feels like possibility. Like we’ve cracked something open.
Like this is just the beginning.
Suddenly, Lucky’s phone buzzes from the island. It’s loud, deep enough that it rattles a plate sitting on the marble. He groans into my neck like the world personally hates him.
“No,” he mutters, muffled against my skin. “I won’t answer it. We’re busy.”
I laugh, breathless, brushing my fingers through his hair. “We were making out over eggs, not saving the world.”
He lifts his head, green eyes blazing. “Correction: you are my whole fucking world, so technically I was saving it.”
Those few words hit me in the chest like a freight train.
My whole fucking world.
He just said them like it’s a simple statement, an easy fact. But after everything that’s happened between us, all the truths we’ve revealed, it feels world-shifting.
But instead of crashing out over it, I just shove his shoulder, choking on a laugh. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yours,” he teases yet again, like this has become his favorite line.
The phone buzzes again, insistent. Finally, he stands, his hands on my hips as I climb off him. He drags himself to the kitchen and snatches it off the counter. “What?” he barks.
I catch muffled words on the other end—something about rehearsal, timing, stage cues. Lucky’s jaw tightens. “I’ll be there when I’m there.”
“Go,” I say, nudging him as he holds the phone to his ear.
He turns on me, scandalized. “Excuse me?”
“You have a show. A whole career. It’s not like Saint Shade will happen without you. You can’t blow it off because you got a girlfriend this morning.”
His expression goes feral, like the wordgirlfriendjust detonated in his chest. “Say that again.”
I blink. “You got a girlfriend this morning?”
His grin is wicked, teeth flashing. He doesn’t care that there’s still someone on the other line. He’s shameless. “Yeah. I did. Say it one more time before I combust.”
I roll my eyes, smirking. “I’m your girlfriend, Saint Shade.”
He growls, sets his phone back on the island (the line is still live), grabs me by the waist, and kisses me like he’s trying to brand it into my soul. When he finally pulls back, he’s breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine. “I’m yours now. Official. World can wait.”
“World can’t wait,” I correct, though my voice is a little shaky with how damn happy I feel right now. “And neither can your crew. Go. I’ve got work, too.”
