I make her pasta with butter. It’s quick and filling, and you can’t fuck it up. She sits on the counter watching me, her bare feet swinging, her lips swollen from kissing me.
Grant and Georgia come back down eventually. We fill Grant in on everything he missed, and he tells us about how they grilled him. He told them he didn’t have a clue about the badge but maybe it was dropped and he picked it up with the intention to return it and forgot.
As for the footage, he told them he was at Caleb’s party and didn’t know what else to tell them; in fact, he was done talking and requested a lawyer. Once he’d said that, they had to let him go because there wasn’t enough to hold him, and he wasn’t going to give them any more information.
I’m sure a part of them was worried about how much money Grant’s family could have. I honestly don’t know. He doesn’t talk about them actually, now that I think back, but I’m not all chatty either.
When the food is gone, Madeline talks to Georgia alone for a couple of minutes before I take my girl upstairs to my bedroom. I’ve never truly considered this place home until lately. I think Madeline is a big part of that.
I can tell the day is catching up to her. She’s half dragging her feet at this point, eyes heavy, exhaustion trying to take her under. I pull her into the bathroom instead of the bed.
“Luke?”
“You’re half asleep on your feet, Buttercup.” I turn on the shower, checking the water to make sure it’s a good temperature. “You’re my girl, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I’m your girl.” Even her smile is sleepy.
“Then I get to take care of you.” She doesn’t protest when I slowly start to undress her.
Once she’s naked, I strip off my own clothes and guide her under the spray. She tilts her head back, eyes closed, as the water runs through her hair. I reach for the soap and wash her—her shoulders, her back, her arms—everywhere. Being able to touch every part of her is a privilege that I’ll never take for granted.
You’d think that having to worry over another person wouldn’t sound appealing, but it is. As sappy as fuck as it sounds, it’s honestly an honor. And that is why I must keep all men away from her, and possibly girls too. If Emily checks out Madeline’s legs one more time, I’ll frame her for Murphy’s murder.
When we’re done showering, I wrap her in a towel, then grab one of my shirts from the drawer—a worn hockey tee that hangs past her thighs. Madeline stares up at me with so much trust in her eyes that it makes my chest ache. No one has ever looked at me the way she does. She looks small in it, vulnerable, and beautiful.
I sit her on the edge of the bed and towel-dry her hair before I work any tangles out with my fingers. Her eyes start drifting closed under my touch.
“Time for sleep, Buttercup,” I tell her as I pull back the covers to tuck her in, planning to go back over to my side, but she catches my wrist, her eyes opening, dark and fully awake now. A slow smile starts to form on that tempting mouth of hers.
“Luke,” she whispers, and there’s something in her voice that stops my breath.
“Madeline—”
“Cuddle me.” She pulls me down, her hands sliding up my chest. I don’t think this is cuddling, not that I’m going to correct her. I should tell her no, but we all know that’s not happening. I’ll never deny my girl anything she asks for, unless it poses harm to her.
She’s exhausted, but I can’t resist her. I never could. From the very moment I saw her, I was captivated. My head was fucked, but the rest of me knew.
I kiss her slowly and deeply, laying her back against the pillows, making my shirt she has on ride up her thighs. She arches into me, her fingers tangling in my hair, and any thought of sleep evaporates between us.
“I love you,” she breathes against my mouth, and I’m lost. I thrust inside of her. A small gasp leaves her, but she takes all of me.
We move together like we’ve been doing this forever, like we were made for this. Those legs of hers wrap around my waist. That shit turns me on. I’m a big guy, but with Madeline’s long legs, she can get them around me and cling. Exactly how I want her.
Madeline’s nails dig into my shoulders, and I lose myself in her—the taste of her, the sound of my name on her lips, the way she looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters before I rack her body with pleasure, and I get to watch that too, taking me with her until we’re both spent.
I pull her against my chest, her head tucked under my chin. I wrap my arm around her, keeping her close enough that I can hear every breath she takes, the sound of her heart thumping.
“I love you,” I say into her hair because I need her to know. Because I might not get another chance to say it.
It’s important for me that she understands that I’m not just an overbearing asshole. I don’t want to control her. Madelinebeing Madeline is the core of what I love about her, and I’ll die to keep that safe.
“I love you, and I’m not letting you go. Not ever.” It’s a warning, laced with a promise.
She lifts her head, cheeks still flushed, her eyes soft and a small smile on her face. “I love you too, Luke Locke. Even when you’re impossible.”
I kiss her forehead, her nose, and her lips. “Good. I’m glad we cleared that up. Now get some sleep, Buttercup.” She rolls her eyes but settles back against me, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. Within minutes, her breathing deepens.
Tomorrow we’re going to figure this out. All of it.
