She shivered. The satisfaction that rolled through me was probably excessive.
“I like the sound of that,” she admitted quietly.
“Good. Because I’m not taking it back.”
She pulled away slightly, just enough to meet my eyes. The playfulness in her expression shifted into something more serious.
“Maybe we should wait a little while,” she said slowly. “Before we tell everyone. See how it goes first.”
I shook my head, already knowing that wasn’t going to work for me. The idea of hiding this, of pretending in public that she was just my friend or my roommate, made something tighten in my chest.
I shifted on the couch, my hands finding her waist, and before she could protest, I pulled her onto my lap so she was straddling me. Her eyes went wide as she braced herself.
“I don’t want to wait,” I said. “I don’t want to hide. I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”
“Owen…”
“I want to hold your hand in public.” My hands curved around her waist as I tugged her closer and kissed her neck. “I want to kiss you.” Her jawline. “I want to tell every asshole wholooks at you that you’re taken.” Her lips were soft and quick. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you. I’ve been doing it for too long.”
Her hands cupped my face, her thumbs tracing my cheekbones. “Okay,” she whispered.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” She smiled. “We tell them. We stop hiding. We do this for real.”
“For real,” I repeated, the words settling into my bones. My arms wrapped around her waist, tightening as I pushed myself up, carrying her with me.
She yelped, her arms flying around my neck and her legs clenching around my waist. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you to bed.” I started down the hallway, carrying her like she weighed nothing.
“Wait.” She twisted in my arms as I passed the spare room. “You missed my room.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“That’s the spare room where my stuff is. Where I’m staying.”
I kicked open my bedroom door, carrying her through. The room was dark except for the light spilling in from the hallway.
“That’s your room,” I said, depositing her on the mattress. She bounced slightly, her hair a wild halo around her head. “But that’s not your bed.”
“It’s not?”
“Nope.” I braced my hands on either side of her, leaning down until our noses were almost touching. “You belong in my bed. With me. Every night.”
Her breath caught. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”
“Is it wrong?”
She stared up at me, those blue eyes searching my face. Whatever she found there must have satisfied her, because her lips curved into a slow, devastating smile.
“No,” she admitted softly. “It’s not wrong.”
“Good.” I kissed her, slow and deep. “Then stop arguing and let me hold you.”
“I wasn’t arguing. I was expressing a legitimate concern about sleeping arrangements.”
“Harlow.”
