"Says who? Your mom? Random strangers?"
"For starters."
"Fuck all of them," he snarls, his eyes locked on mine. "You think I live my life giving a shit what anyone thinks about me or my decisions? Hell no. And I'm not going to let you do it, either.I think you've already spent far too long living under the weight of everyone else's expectations. You're done with that."
"But—"
"No," he says again, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "Thursday, you're coming to my game. On Friday, we're going on Tye and Vanessa's ski trip. And then, next weekend, we're doing the rehearsal and the wedding. And you aren't going to worry what your mother has to say about a damn thing you do. You aren't going to stress about what the world has to say about us or if you're meeting some impossible expectation. You're just going to be you and have fun. Nothing else matters."
He's wrong about that. Because this right now? Him fighting for me? That matters. It matters so damn much. I want what he's offering. I want it so badly I can taste it.
The only thing stopping me from reaching for it…is me. It's my own mind and the insecurities that have been drilled into me.
I'm tired of carrying them. I'm so damn tired.
On his lap, with his hand in my hair, his breath on my skin, and his impossible eyes locked on mine, I make a decision. I'm not doing it anymore.
Maybe it'll end in disaster, and I'll spend a lifetime nursing a broken heart, regretting my decision. But I think I'd rather know than spend a lifetime regretting that I didn't take a chance on this giant grump because I let fear win.
He wants me, despite what the world might have to say about it. I'm not going to make the choice for him or tell him that he shouldn't. I'm just going to hold on for as long as he'll let me. That's what I want. Not to fit or belong or be accepted. I just want to be his.
"I'd like to amend your plan slightly," I whisper, looping my arms around his shoulders.
"What do you want? Name it," he growls, as if he's willing to give me anything.
"I'm going to be me, have fun,andhave lots of orgasms," I say.
"You doubted it?" he asks, one hand already crawling up my thigh. "Oh, butterfly. I have some things to teach you…"
My heart does this thing where it stops beating and starts racing at the same time. It's strange. And good.
"Lift your hips for me," he orders, hooking his fingers around the band of my panties. "Help me get these off."
My eyes dart around the parking lot, only to realize that it's mostly cleared out. The nearest car is several yards away. It's probably not far enough to qualify as privacy, but it does give us anonymity…
"Right here?" I ask anyway, my heart in my throat.
"Right here," he says, his eyes locked on mine in the dark. "Right now."
"If my brothers see my underwear on the internet, I'm moving to Aruba."
"No one sees your underwear but me," he growls, his tone nine kinds of possessive. "Now, lift your hips."
I gulp, using his body for leverage to lift my hips.
He doesn't look away from me once as he reaches for my panties, almost like he's daring me to put a stop to this. But stopping this is the last thing I want to do. I want him to touch me. I want him to shatter me.
He tugs them down as far as they'll go with me in this position before he helps shift me around, tugging them from one foot and then the other. I watch with wide eyes as he tucks them into his pocket.
"You aren't getting them back, butterfly."
"They aren't that bad," I whisper.
"Bad?" His intense gaze tangles with mine. "I didn't see a fucking second of the performance tonight. I was too busy thinking about those panties covering your pussy. I was busy imagining my handprint against your ass."
My core clenches, heat rushing through me. "Yes."
His lips quirk. "Yes?"
