I angle her chin toward me. Color flushes up her cheeks, and it’s insanely attractive on her alabaster skin. “Do not open your door. I’ve got it. Okay?”
As if she’s stunned speechless, all she does is nod.
When I offer my hand as she steps out of the car, she studies it like it may be tainted with germs. My heart beats harder, wondering if she’ll reject me. But she doesn’t.
Who knew that I’d get fuckingbutterfliesjust from holding a girl’s hand at my age?
“What is this place?”
“I’ll show you,” I say, glancing at the faded sign now melded into the crumbling brick.
As I lead her around to the back, she doesn’t hesitate. Even when I show her the sneaky way I’ve been getting inside through the roof. The maintenance door was easy to force open. Now, it’s where I go to pretend I have something worth fighting for after graduation.
She coughs as we reach the bare storage room, and I flip on my phone’s flashlight.
“My grandparents owned it.”It’s the only thing that’s ever been mine.Or could be.
“Is it…a restaurant?”
When I open the kitchen door, still loaded up with ancient appliances, her jaw drops.
“Wow! Is this yours?”
“Not, um, not yet?”
I can see a cloud ghost over her forehead, so I snag her hand and lead her into the nicer dining room. Inches of dust coat the metal tables and chairs scattered around. And the counter with an old cash register.
“It was hopping back in the day,” I tell her proudly. “I’ve never shown anyone before.”
“Why me?”
Pulling her closer, I gaze into her eyes that sparkle in the dim light. “Because you’ll be my wife. In just a few days.” I don’t think I’ve ever been as nervous as I am right now.
“A few days,” she whispers, her fingers inching up my coat, then clinging to it like it steadies her.
A blaze of heat flares between us, and before I know it, I’m on her. Or she’s on me. Or we’re on each other. Colliding in flames.
She’s in my arms, legs scraping for any hold on my lower back. Nails like knives in my neck. Whimpered mewls crawl up her throat that make me rock hard. I set her ass on the counter behind us, shoving between the cradle of her thighs. Seeking connection. Chasing relief I won’t get without her.
My coat’s gone, then hers. Fingers threaded through hair. Pulling. Biting lips. Panting breaths. Pressing my forehead to hers so I can get a second to think. Her hands shakily rip down my zipper.
We’re doing this.
This is it.
It’s been years. And it’s not just the time that’s making my tip leak with urgency.
It’s this woman in front of me.
Fumbling with her jeans, I almost retreat in frustration during the war between her tiny buttons and my stupid, thick fingers. She slaps my hand away, then helps me loosen them. I jerk the denim down her thighs as she flares mine wide open.
The warmth of her palm caresses my cock over my boxers, then fishes it out. I grunt with relief as she gives it a stroke.
“Fuck!I forgot condoms, but I’m clean. I swear.”
Her eyes search mine, back and forth. “I don’t want to. Not all the way… I told you.”
Right. Babies…
