Of course he doesn’t have a shirt on.
Stay focused, Mira.
“Hope you don’t mind a heat-up Piper’s Pizza,” he says, taking off the oven mitts. “I was rummaging around in the freezer for an ice pack and found the pizza hidden in the back.”
“An ice pack? Why? Did you get hurt?”
“No,” he says, coming around the island. “Bobby busted his hand.” He rolls his eyes. “It was Brooks’s fault. Need I say more?”
I laugh, wrapping my arms around his waist and breathing in his body oils and soap. “Nope. No, you don’t.”
He kisses me. “How was Lolly’s? Did you find the pictures?”
I pull him to the couch and have him sit, then I crawl into his lap. He wastes no time wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his chest.
“There were no pictures,” I say, pressing my finger against his tattoo.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, there were no pictures. It was a ruse. A Lolly adventure that was part manipulation.” I kiss his sternum. “But in typical Lolly fashion, I won in the end.”
He hums. “Sounds like it turned out well.”
I settle against him, listening to his steady heartbeat beneath my cheek.
Once upon a time, I was afraid to love this man. Even more painfully, I was afraid to accept his love. I convinced myself that we were better off without each other because I was afraid of losing him. By doing that, I never had him.
Now, though, I do. And I’m never letting him go.
I sit up and straddle him. His eyes grow dark, and he grips my hips, assuming I want fucked. And I do. But not yet. Because he deserves to know how I feel about him once and for all.
“Before we get to that,” I say, pressing myself against his already-hardening cock, “I want to talk.”
His brows lift. “Okay. Let’s talk.” He kisses my forehead. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You.”
“Me?” he asks, surprised.
“Yes, you.” I roll my eyes. “Well, and me. But we go together like …” I try to think of a good analogy. Peas and carrots are so overused. “Chocolate and cake. Where you are, I am, and vice versa.”
He chuckles. “Did you drink anything tonight?”
I smack his chest, laughing. “No. Keep up.” He flexes his cock against me. “I know you don’t have any problems keeping that up. I mean mentally. I need you with me mentally for five minutes.”
“You shouldn’t look so edible if you want me to focus.”
“Hartley,” I say. “I smell like old cardboard and mothballs. I’m definitely not edible.”
“I can prove you wrong right now.”
The thought of his mouth on me makes me start to veer off course.No. Focus, Mira.“Stop it. Don’t distract me. You’re just making this take longer.”
“Can we at least take off your shirt?” He shrugs. “I mean, I’m shirtless. It only seems fair.”
“Fine,” I say, sighing. I hold my arms up as he slips my T-shirt over my head, tossing it into the ethos behind the couch. “Are you good now?”
He runs his fingertips down my bra straps. “Yup.”
