Page 78 of Whispered Promises

I wait.

Patiently.

I’m bullshitting.

I’m impatient as fuck. But I do it, for her.

“It’s been…a while. I’m nervous,” she confesses quietly, her cheeks no longer flushed pink from arousal but from embarrassment.

“If it’s because you don’t want to go further right now, then you tell me. There’s no need to rush. I’m in this for the long haul. But if it’s because you’re worried about either of us enjoying things or me seeing what’s under those clothes, wipe that idea from your mind.”

Removing the space between us, I place my palm against her chest, feeling it rise as she sucks in a breath. “It’s this that has me obsessing over you…what’s in here is what I crave.” My finger taps against her skin as I continue, “Whatever packaging it’s wrapped up in is perfect, because it has to match what’s inside.”

She swallows, the movement drawing my attention to the pale skin of her throat. Fuck. I want to lick it. To wrap my palm around it and feel her pulse.

“You’re better with words than you make out to be,” she breathes softly, but she’s incorrect. I’m just good at them for her. I don’t have to think or second-guess what to say, because I’ve been moulded to be the man she needs me to be. Anything else she needs, I can learn for her.

“But I’m starting to feel the same for you too,” she admits, placing her hand on my chest, mirroring mine against hers.

Hearing her confession has liquid fucking fire racing through my veins. She’s mine, and she knows it. Not only that, she fucking wants me too.

My mouth captures hers. It’s desperate in the way I need her.

She pushes against my chest, and my brows knot in confusion as she separates us.

“I need to get the door open,” she says, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her mouth wet from our kiss.

Once we’re in the room, I barely take the time to glance around the space, only noting where her bed is. Instead of getting on, she drops to her knees in front of it. Shuffling underneath, she pulls out a box and rustles inside. Movement to the side tugs my attention away from staring at her on her hands and knees—it’s honestly a fucking vision.

A grey-and-black striped kitten edges warily closer, eyes flicking from me to Rosy.

“Cat tax. You have to pay it,” she announces, tugging on my wrist.

Following her command, I drop to my knees beside her, completely fucking bewildered. She places a stick of something in my hand and points at the kitten.

“It’s for Moshi. He needs to know you’re a safe person. To do that, you offer him a treat as part of the cat tax,” she continues, her gaze fixed on Moshi, so she doesn’t see that mine is locked on her.

She called me safe. I’m her safe person.

This fucking woman floors me. One minute she’s confessing her feelings, my mouth sealed to hers as she pants for me, then the next she has me on my knees feeding snacks to her cat.

It might feel like being on a roller-coaster ride blindfolded, not knowing what twists or turns are coming up next, but fuck I never want to get off it. So I do as she asks, hand outstretched with the meat, and wait for this cat to take it from me.

And the little shit makes me wait.

Obviously doesn’t know what’s at stake.

A furry paw takes a step forward, and Rosy’s intake of breath has me catching mine. Her small, hot hand lands on my thigh.

It feels like she planted it right on my dick, and it stands to attention beneath my shorts. The feel of her sears through the fabric; so close but so fucking far from where I need it.

Come on, take the shitting treat, so I can grab my girl and bury my face between those soft thighs.

Understanding my desperation, he finally edges closer, and her hand grasps me tighter as we watch him tug the treat from my fingers, gnawing on it greedily.

“Okay, keep your hand there. Don’t move it,” she whispers, and it tickles across my neck.

We watch together as he creeps slightly, sniffing at my calloused fingers, wet nose nudging at me.