“No.” Glaring down at her, heart pounding out of my chest, I don’t let her finish. “You wanted the truth, remember?” Using my grip on her throat, I angle her head on my shoulder even further. Scraping my teeth along the tight line of it, I whisper the rest of it in her ear. “You want me to tell you that every time I watched Allister kiss you, it took every shred of self-control I had to keep myself from killing him and the only reason Ididn’tis because I knew if I did, you wouldn’t visit me in prison.” I skim light fingertips slowly along the slippery wet curve of her cleft, ruthlessly teasing her pussy until she’s panting and mewling in my ear, her warm breath on my neck, ragged and broken. “You want me to tell you that the reason I like fighting with you so much is because it’s almost as good as fucking you and I’d rather fight with you for the rest of my life than fuck anyone else.” Reaching the top of her slit, I slick my fingers over her clit, a deep, rumbling groan ripping through my chest when Millie lifts her hips, tilting them into the pressure of my hand on a moan that sounds like my name. “You want me to tell you that every time you slap me, my dick gets so hard, it feels like it’s going to snap off.” Pushing lower, I press my fingertips against her entrance, squeezing my eyes shut while my heart pulses in my ears. “That I’ve meant every dirty, filthy, fucked-up thing I’ve ever said to you.” Her thighs draped over mine, I push myself deeper into the chair we’re in, broadening my stance, her legs opening even wider above mine. Stroking into her on another groan, I feel her pussy grip around my fingers, the clamp of it so tight, I can feel the heat of it pressing against the base of my spine. “That you’re the only thing I think about. The only thing I care about.” Pumping my fingers in and out of her pussy, I press the heel of my palm against her engorged clit while she fucks my hand, her hips rolling and flexing with every thrust. Her ass rubbing and grinding against me, massaging my cock, every gasp and whimper she gives me, dragging me closer to the edge. “That the week I spent with you was the best goddamn week of my life. You want me to tell you that I never should’ve left…”
“Dean…” She moans my name, wrapping her arm around the back of my neck to push her fingers into my hair. Fisting her fingers, the rock of her hips become frantic. She’s about to come—we both are.
Lifting my head, I use the grip I have on her neck to turn her face toward mine. “I’ve been miserable without you. I can’t fucking sleep because when I reach for you, you aren’t there.” I look down at her, my hand slick with her arousal, the dirty, wet sound of her pussy being fucked by my fingers punctuating every word. “You want me to tell you the truth? I’m in love with you, Millie. I know you don’t love me back but I’m so fucked up over you that I don’t even care. I’ll be whatever you want me to be. If this is all I can ever have of you, if this is all you’ll ever give me, I’ll take it. As long as?—”
Hand fisted in my hair, Millie drags my mouth to hers on a soft mewl, the desperate vibrations of it flooding my mouth. Tangling her tongue around mine, she shatters around me, her entire body shaking against mine, clinging to me while we both fall.
FIFTY-SIX
She didn’t call me a liar this time.
As far as I’m concerned, even though Millie hasn’t said much of anything, I call it progress.
I have no idea what time it is. It’s late, I know that. Late enough that she should be sleeping. We both should but we’re fighting it, neither one of us willing to give in because we both know that if we fall asleep, things will be different when we wake up. They’ll go back to the way they were. Doubt and resentment will creep in and when we open our eyes and look at each other, nothing I’ve said to her will matter.
After we came together, I carried her into the bathroom and into the shower. Set her on the tiled bench while I turned it on and adjusted the temperature before I finishedgetting undressed. Peeling out of my ruined boxers, I can feel her watching me, her gaze roving over me like she’s trying to figure it out. Find the lies in the truth I just buried us under. She doesn’t say it but I can feel it in the way she’s looking at me. No matter how much she wants to believe me, she won’t and knowing that makes me want to scream.
Stepping into the shower, I pull her into my arms, smoothing her hair away from her face. “We don’t have to talk about it,” I tell her quietly, my forehead folding in on itself on a frown. “The way I feel doesn’t have to change anything. We can still be us, Mills. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, okay. Just…” Shaking my head, I fight to keep my tone level, my voice steady. “I just want to be with you. I don’t care how. I don’t care what that looks like. As long as I get to have you, that’s all that matters to me.” I watch her brow crease and I’m sure she’s going to say it. Call me a liar. Tell me about all the ways I screwed this up, before it even began. So, I don’t let her. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m not asking for an answer right now. I’ll wait. For as long as it takes.” Cupping her face in my hands, I press my lips against her forehead. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
That was hours ago.
After getting out of the shower, I doctored her back and ordered room service because her stomach was growling so loud I could hear it over the sound of the sink while I brushed my teeth. We ate nachos and chocolate milkshakes before brushing our teeth again and climbing into bed.
“Tell me something,” she finally whispers, her mouth brushing against my bare chest. She’s laying on her stomach, half sprawled over me, her cheek pressed against my shoulder while my fingers pace, drawing a slow, lazy line along the length of her spine.
“I think I’ve told you enough for one day,” I say, gaze fixedon the ceiling, the corner of my mouth quirking into a wry smirk. “Any more and you really will call the cops on me.”
“Tell me about you then,” she says, trailing her fingertip over my chest, tracing the line of ink tattooed into my skin. “How old are you?”
Looking at the ceiling, I bark out a laugh. “You don’t know how old I am?”
“Okay, smartguy…” Lifting her head, she digs her chin into my pec to look at me. “Do you know how oldIam?”
“I think you meanaveragely intelligentguy,” I tell her with another grin because even though I know it’s completely childish of me, I’ll never get tired of needling her.
“I told you that I don’t really think that,” she says before pulling her lip between her teeth because we both know when she said it. Where we were. We were in bed together, just like we are now, doing exactly the same thing—right before I fucked everything up by telling her how I feel about her. Right before I left.
I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you …
Because it feels like a live grenade has been dropped into bed with us, I do the smart thing for once and ignore it altogether. “You’re twenty-eight,” I tell her, quietly. “Your birthday is May twenty-third.”
Her brow furrows. “How?—”
“Beside the facts that I was at your birthday party and we’ve already established that I know more about you than I have a right to—you have your own Wikipedia page, McGillicuddy,” I remind her with a wry smile. “I’m thirty-two. I’ll be thirty-three in November. Next question?”
“How old were you when you got your first tattoo?”
“Nineteen.” Lifting my free arm, I tuck it under my head before giving her a sidelong glance. “It was with Conner,actually. I was home from college for the summer and I stopped by his dad’s bar to say hi. He was there, we got to talking and he said he was headed out for a tattoo session. I asked if I could tag along. He said yes.”
“Mmm…” Still tracing her finger along the ink tattooed into my chest, Millie looks up at me. “Was it for a woman?”
“Yes.” I feel her shoulders stiffen against mine when I say it. Turning my head to look at her, I give her a shit-eating grin. “Are you jealous, Mapquest?”
Her brow furrows. “No,” she says but the indignant huff of it calls her a liar. “Maybe—” Still frowning, she looks away. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t be. I mean I don’t have a?—”
“You have every right to be jealous and just so we’re clear, I like that you are,” I assure her, cutting her off before she can say it. Before she can discount everything that’s happened. Everything I’ve said. Everything we’ve done. Sayit’s not a big dealand put us right back where we started. We’ll get there soon enough and I’m in no rush. “But you don’t have to be. The woman was my grandmother.” Pulling my arm out from under my head, I show her the inside of my wrist. A tattoo of a simple scroll with the date 4/22/09. “She’d died a few months before.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I—” The hand on my pec starts to move but I reach for her before she can pull away.
