I try not to giggle at that remark, becauseyeah, you are.
“How are you?” he asks, his voice turning serious.
I blow out a breath. “I’m better, I think. Not one hundred percent, but getting there. I think I’m mostly just pissed now.” Last night, all I felt was despair. Complete and utter despair, and Hollis had kept me from drowning in it. “Thank you for everything.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me, Pres.”
“I do. You protected me. Stood up for me. You took care of me.”
His throat works, indecision warring in his gaze. “You’re my…best friend.”
I inch closer to him. He tracks me, barely breathing. “I’m also your wife.” Our bodies are so close I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
“Pres.” He says my name like a prayer. Or maybe a plea.
“I don’t want to pretend anymore, Hollis,” I say, the words rushing out of me. “I don’t want a husband who sleeps on the couch. I don’t want rules or exit strategies. I just want something real—with you.”
He reaches out, cupping the back of my head. His green eyes blaze as he pulls me closer. “It was never pretend for me, Pres.”
When his mouth covers mine, I feel it all the way down to my toes. His lips are soft yet commanding. My fingers dig into his hair as his tongue slides into my mouth.
His hand brushes the hem of my shirt, and my breath hitches in anticipation. But then, he hesitates and pulls back. He presses his forehead to mine and slowly exhales, as if he’s trying to calm a raging storm. “That should have been our first kiss. Not some sloppy bar kiss we barely remember.”
“It doesn’t matter how we started, Hollis. Only where we go from here.”
“And where do you see us going?” His eyes turn heated.
“Well, for the next couple of hours, I was kind of hoping we’d stay right here in this bed?”
His brow furrows slightly. “Are you sure? Last night was a lot and?—”
I meet his gaze. “I’m sure.”
His lip twitches as he tries to fight a smile. “And are you okay with—” He motions with his finger, pointing to the room.“’Cause if not, we can move to the couch or kitchen counter. I can be really creative when the situation calls for it.”
I playfully slap him on the arm. “I’ll be happy to explore this creativity of yours later on, but no. I think I’m actually okay. I want to make good memories in this room.”
“I can definitely help with that.” He slowly lifts the hem of my T-shirt. It creeps up to reveal just the undersides of my breasts. He leans down and kisses my belly, then my rib cage. I exhale sharply. “I’ve thought about having you like this for so long, Pres.” He pushes my shirt a little higher. His hand grazes the side of my tit, and I nearly fly off the bed.
“How long?” I run my fingers under his shirt along his stomach. His breath hitches. I love knowing I have that effect on him.
“Too long.”
“How long?” I press.
“Since the moment I saw you in that hallway—and nearly every moment since,” he confesses. “I’ve always tried to do the right thing. You were Hendrix’s sister, and your family gave me a home. But you were never just a friend, Pres. Not then. Definitely not now.”
His eyes are blazing, and he looks like he’s ready to devour me. Still, I ask, “What am I now, Hollis?”
“You are my wife.”
“Prove it.”
It’s like those two words are the permission he needs to unleash the firestorm he’s been holding back. His mouth slams down on mine, and there is nothing slow or languid about this kiss.
It’s frantic. Needy.
With my shirt still askew, he runs a hand up my torso until he’s cupping my bare breast. His thumb rubs my pebbled nipple, and I swear, I feel it between my thighs.
