“I’m so much more.” I make my spine tall and flash a large grin. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m on a date. Ready?” I hold out my hand to Garrett.
“Of course.” Garrett takes it, and we turn to walk away.
“Goodbye, Miles,” I say, moving toward the door.
“Miles…” Garrett stops me with a hand on my arm and looks behind his shoulder. “Jensen doesn’t need me to speak for her, but if you ever talk to her like that again, remember I’m a doctor. I know all the ways someone can get hurt and how to fix them, so it can be done again.”
“Are you threatening me?” he says, aghast.
“I don’t make threats.”
“Caveman,” he mutters.
“Perhaps.” And with that, Garrett drops my hand and hoists me over his shoulder. “But this caveman got the girl. Have the day you deserve, asshole.”
“Bye, Miles.” Laughing, I wave as Garrett carries me out of the theater.
The laughter and shocked gasps around us telegraph that the small crowd outside the theater is both bewildered and enjoying this spectacle. I should be mortified. This is my workplace, after all. As a blind person, I don’t blend in, so most students, faculty, and staff—even if they don’t know me directly—are aware of my existence. But I rather enjoy this.
“Is your possessive male point made, or are you carrying me all the way back to the SUV?” I tease as he carries me through the quad to the hoots and laughter of passing pedestrians.
“It’s partly to make a point to Professor Dillweed, and mostly because we’ll get to the car faster if I carry you since you’re in heels.”
“Eager to get me alone?” A wicked grin kicks across my face.
“Yes,” he squeezes my ass, making me squeak. “That was about the sexiest goddamn thing watching you school literary fuckboy.”
I sigh with contentment. “It really was, wasn’t it?”
“I’m glad you know your worth, and I endeavor to be the man worthy enough to call you…”
“Yours,” I say softly.
His nod brushes against my hip. He may not be ready to say it, but I know that I’m his, and he’s mine. I don’t need the words. It may be too soon. I may be swept up with this, but this is my truth. It may be all wrong, but since when have Garrett and I done any of this right? The only right I care about is how it feels with him.
22
MILE TWENTY-TWO
READY?
This is torture!Arms wrapped around my middle, Garrett kisses along my neck as I attempt to unlock my front door. My entire body is coiled so tight that I may split apart if I don’t get release. The sensation of his hands slipping beneath my jacket and the press of his rigid length against my backside reiterates his own desperation.
“You’re very distracting.” Head lolled back, I moan as he drags his hands up my front, palming my breasts over my clothing.
His low hum is wicked against my neck. “If you think that’s distracting—” He pulls my jacket down to my elbows, glides his hands to my dress’s zipper, and with slow, taunting movements, drags it halfway down. “How’s this for a distraction?” Kissing between my shoulder blades, he unclasps my bra and then slides his hands into my dress.
“Oh god.” I bite back my little whimper when he tweaks my nipples.
“How’s the door coming?”
“If you’d behave, I could concentrate.” I rub my backside against his hardness. His sudden hiss causes my mouth to curl into a devilish smile.
The last hour—between the show and our trip back to my apartment—has been filled with us torturing each other. It’s delicious, and has me riddled with frustration.
“Got it,” I rasp, with the click of the door unlocking.
“Thank god,” he groans, lifting me into his arms the moment I open the door and carrying me in.
