He’s grinning at me now, and I frown.
“What?”
“You called me your boyfriend.”
“Okay? We live together and have sex on the regular, and I kind of like you most of the time, so that’s usually the word that’s used for that type of relationship.”
“I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before.”
I start to say something and then close my mouth before coming up with “Never?”
“Nope.” He’s still smiling.
“I had one boyfriend before.” He loses the smile now and narrows his eyes. “But I was in the third grade, and we couldn’t really go on dates or anything.”
The humor’s back in his eyes when he walks to me and cups my jaw and neck in his hand. “What was his name, Savage?”
“Freddie. He was a ginger. I liked his freckles, and he had a hamster.”
He chuckles and kisses my forehead. “I can’t compete with a hamster and freckles.”
I shrug and slide my hand along his waist, under his shirt, so I can touch his smooth skin.
“You have other attractive qualities.”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“Muscles. Like, the muscles do things to me, Mateo. You have a crotch rocket.”
“Sport bike.”
“A pierced dick. Pretty eyes.”
“Pretty?”
“It’s my list,” I remind him, and he presses his lips together. “You listen. Like, youhearme. You see me. And you’re still here, even with all of my fucked-up shit.”
“Yeah, Savage.” His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, and I can’t resist biting it, making him smirk. “I see you. I can’t get enough of you. I’m not going anywhere.”
I let out a trembling breath and suddenly feel the exhaustion take over.
“Come on,” he says, leading me out of the gym. He passes my shirt to me on the way to the door, and I slip it over my head.
But when we get inside the elevator, he hits the button for two floors below the penthouse.
I frown up at him, but he just lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles, and when the doors open, he nods at the two guards there and leads me down a hallway of doors.
At the end of the hall, he punches in a four-digit code and pushes a door open, gesturing for me to walk in ahead of him.
It’s dark inside, but he flips on the lights, and I frown because we’re standing in an apartment. It’s not furnished at all, and it looks brand new.
“No one has ever lived here,” he says as I walk through the living room to the windows that have almost the same view as the penthouse.
It’s a spacious place, with a big kitchen open to the living room, divided by an island that would make a great workspace for someone who likes to cook or bake.
I wander down a hallway and find two bedrooms, a hall bath, and then the primary suite with a giant walk-in closet.
It’s a great spot.
