21. Libby #2
He unbuttons my pants as easily as he did our first time.
One fast flick, the zipper follows, and then he tugs them down and doesn’t stop until they tangle on my boots.
I expect him to release me. My arms are still caught in the fabric of my shirt, and now my ankles are bound, but he shows me no mercy.
Instead, he sits back on his haunches and looks down at my mostly naked body.
He’s dressed. Fully clothed, fully in control. And when he gets his fill and realizes the power imbalance, his lips creep up into that same grin I remember from forever ago.
I was in love with this boy when I was just nine years old. I didn’t know it was possible, I didn’t know what it meant, but it was as factual then as it is now. And it’s the very reason I’ve been so closed off my entire life.
His memory wouldn’t let me go. He refused my freedom, and though it hurt, I wouldn’t trade it now. As long as that grieving is over, as long as I get to keep him now, I will happily accept those two decades of torture.
Gunner’s hungry gaze slides along my body. Bright blue eyes that would have had no clue how to react to this as children, now belong to a man, and he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Slowly, torturously, he slides his shirt off to reveal a perfect chest. Smooth, strong, and defined. His tattoos trail around so parts of his lion wrap around his shoulders. Protection. A silent promise to guard his blind side.
His right arm continues with the design right down to his hand, and on his left… nothing. His left side has been left bare.
He peels his shirt off with slow movements, tosses it aside, then lets his bare hand trail along my abs. He follows the lines I’ve worked so hard on. The ridges I painstakingly carve in the gym day after day.
He appreciates my body and silently acknowledges my discipline. But then he unbuckles his belt, and I don’t care about my body anymore.
From having no clue that he was back in town, to him peeling his jeans away and sliding inside me, only ten minutes have passed. My breath races out on a desperate sigh, and his hands hold me so tight that I can’t even be sorry for the bruises I know are coming.
It’s worth it. To be with Gunner Bishop, it’s all worth it.
* * *
It’s dark out. My windows are black, my hallway black, but in the corner of my room, a desk lamp is switched on, pointing away, with my shirt draped over the top to minimize the harsh light.
I fell asleep with my legs tangled in Gunner’s. With my cheek pressed to his heart, my fingers intertwined with his, and his lips pressed to the top of my head.
Heaven.
It’s the very place I dreamed of, and the only place I can’t live without.
But now my bed is empty, my body cold, as I crack my eyes open and look toward the light in the corner.
“Keep still.” Gunner’s voice is low and gritty, as though he hasn’t used it in days.
In the corner opposite to the lamp, he sits back on one of the stools from my kitchen, his back pressed into the corner, one foot resting on the steel bar at the bottom of the chair, his other ankle resting on his knee.
He wears gray sweatpants, but nothing else.
His eyes are bright, but the bags beneath them speak of exhaustion.
“What?” Laying on my stomach, I push up until I’m on my elbows, and that’s when I notice the sketchpad in his lap. The gentle, rhythmic movements of his right hand over the paper as he sketches, and the way his jaw ticks.
Just like the other two Bishops, his jaw ticks when he’s mad, sad, scared… or concentrating.
It’s the single most intriguing and fear-inducing feature they possess.
“Lay back down, Lib. I’m not done.”
“What are you doing?”
“Drawing.” His voice is bland, monotone, as though he’s in a trance. His eyes race back and forth, from his paper to my lower back, as I lay naked and barely shrouded by a sheet.
My hair is wild. I don’t need a mirror to see what I can feel; strands hang in my eyes. My body sings from our time together, muscles flex and stretch from sex that is equivalent to time spent in a gym. My stomach rumbles, but it’s too late at night to eat.
When Gunner refuses to expand on his answer, I flop back down and snuggle into my pillow.
If I just closed my eyes, I could probably drop off again.
My clock reads 2:47am, which is both annoying and gratifying.
It’s annoying that I’m awake, instead of deep into my eight hours.
But gratifying, because he’s still here, and we still have hours until it’s time to wake up.
The book in his lap is twice the size of a legal document, spiralbound, and the page he sketches on is as least halfway through the book. The pencil pinched between strong fingers is a gray so dark that it’s barely a shade away from black.
His shoulders flex as he works. The rest of his body is utterly still, but his right side, his hand, his forearm, his shoulder, they flex and move as though he’s moving a barbell, not a lead pencil.
“Gunner?”
His chest lifts with a grunt. “I literally went twenty-two years without hearing that name, and now you won’t shut up about it. You make me panic every time, so quit it. My name is Theo. Get on board.”
I fix my pillow, plump it a little, and snicker at the annoyance in his voice. “Never gonna get on board with that. It feels weird.”
He rolls his eyes, but continues with his task. “ You’re weird. Keep still.”
“What are you doing? Why are you drawing?”
“Because you’re beautiful.” He stops for a moment, studies his work, and with furrowed brows, continues on.
“You’re all I draw. Ever. I used to draw all sorts of shit before that day I met you, but other than Griffin logos, or the lion on my back, I’m not sure I’ve drawn a single thing other than you in twenty years. ”
“Really?” I slide my leg along the bed and hover in that perfect space, the place between awake and asleep where everything is comfortable, everything is perfect, and everything Gunner says speaks directly to my heart.
“You drew your ink? It’s the first thing I noticed when I walked into the gym the other week. ”
“Yeah?” The corner of his lips quirk up into a small grin. “I had no clue if you’d recognize me that day, so I started out with my back to the door.” He stops drawing, looks up, and lifts a daring brow. “I recognized you, Elizabeth. So what was your excuse?”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth in a contemplative nibble. “I was mostly looking at your body. My hormones took over and fried my brains.”
“Terrible cop,” he scoffs. His eyes drop back to the paper as he restarts his work. “I snuck into your home and watched you sleep. Nothing. I went through all your shit. Nothing. I stared into your fucking eyes, and still nothing.”
“Shut up. I was coming off a week of night shifts. That first night means I sleep like the dead.”
“And tonight?” he argues. “I crawled out of bed, opened my bags to get my sketchpad, dragged a stool in here, put pants on, and switched the lamp on. I’ve been awake for an hour, Elizabeth. You might be the least observant person I know.”
“And you’re still an asshole.” To annoy him, I drag my legs up the bed and tuck them into my chest, so instead of being long and languid, I curl up into a ball and ruin everything he’s trying to achieve.
“You don’t deserve me. You have a bad attitude, Gunner, and I refuse to be your Rose Dawson. Draw from memory.”
He purses his lips, but continues to draw. “I have a very good memory. And now your ass is better. Stay there, I can work with this.”
“Ugh!” I shoot out straight, but when his chest bounces with muted laughter, I find it difficult to hold on to my faux anger.
Tossing my sheet away with a huff, I sit up tall and watch the way his laughter cuts off on a choke, and his eyes follow my every move and warm my skin.
It’s like I can feel the heat pulse from the corner he sits in, like it welcomes me in, draws me closer, and tempts me with something I probably shouldn’t accept.
But I can’t stop myself.
No longer huffing, no longer mad, I slowly make my way to the edge of my bed and enjoy the way his intense stare makes my blood run faster. Ever since we were children, he was a starer. He has never apologized for it, and doesn’t give a single shit that society considers it rude.
His hand no longer moves, his eyes have lost all interest in his sketchpad. The only movement is from his broad chest as it fills with air, and his eyes as they watch me move.
“Gunner…?”
“Mm…” His tongue darts out to moisten his bottom lip. He seduces me with that single movement, and has no clue.
I climb off the bed and stand in the tiny space between the boxspring and the wall, then I gently pry the pencil from his grasp, then the book, and place them both on the bedside table. I catch a quick glimpse of myself on the page… myself, but better.
He draws me exactly how I am. The details are perfect and lifelike, like a photo in black and white, but he makes me glow somehow. Like I truly am the most beautiful woman in the world.
He humbles me. He builds me up.
Turning back, I find his hands balled in his lap, his ankle still resting on the opposite knee, but as I come closer, he drops his ankle, opens up, and draws me in to stand between his thick legs.
His eyes wage a war with his brain; tits, face, tits, eyes.
Power swirls in my blood, because Theo Griffin is known all over the country for his amazing willpower and ability to never fold in business. But here he is, shirtless and right in front of me, and he can’t control a damn thing.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, Lib.
” He slides his hands over my hips and around to cup my ass.
“This thing with us… everything we are… it’s always frenzied and somehow out of our control.
There’s always a deadline, there’s always an axe over our heads.
There’s always something, even if…” he hesitates, swallows.
“Well, even if that something is me and my inability to let things go.”
“Gunner…” I bring a hand up and stroke a thumb beneath his eye.
“But now we’re here. There’s no trouble chasing us, no deadline, no threat.
I’ve spent the last hour looking at you, and I didn’t once think about tomorrow.
I didn’t think about work, or cops, or the Bishop wedding happening just across town.
I’ve spent a week processing the fact I kinda have brothers – and though they may not like me, they’re not my enemies either.
But for the last hour, nothing. I haven’t thought about any of that.
I absorbed myself in you , and I was able to live in the moment when I rarely can. ”
“So… what you’re saying is… you need me?”
Chuckling, he draws me closer until our chests touch, and leaning in, he nibbles on my neck and does things that make my toes turn warm. “Mine now, Lib. We’re finally here.”
When I say nothing, he pulls back and looks at me with furrowed brows. “Right?”
My heart races. It pounds. It aches, but then it soars when I nod. “Right. All yours. We’re going to work this out, I promise.”
“I’ll come here.” He leans in to continue tasting my neck. “It’ll take some adjustments, but I’ll move my office here. Then you don’t have to leave work, you don’t have to do shit except be with me.”
“I want to be with you.” Goosebumps race along my skin as he nips. “Wherever we are, whatever we’re doing, I choose you. If I couldn’t let go in twenty years, then I think we know this is important.”
I feel his smile against my skin. “You were in love with a memory. In that one hour, we were able to hang out and have fun. So that person you fell in love with, he was the memory of something kinda perfect.”
“Mm. I know.”
He chuckles. “I’m gonna annoy the shit out of you, Lib. I’m real flesh and bone, and I do annoying things. And I don’t even care that my memory effectively catfished you. You’re in now, and there’s nothing that will undo this.”
“What annoying things?” I arch my neck to give him more room. “Gunner? What annoying things do you do? Let me make a list, so at least I won’t be surprised by it.”
He scoffs. “I eat ground turkey.”
“Nope.” I pull away with a loud huff and toss my hands into the air. “I cannot do turkey. I’m sorry, but I think I’m gonna go back to my relationship with a sweater.”
“No chance.” I’ve already turned away from him, so when he moves off the stool and grabs me around the waist, I scream as he tackles me to the bed and crushes me between his body and the mattress.
“You’re staying, and on the nights I cook, you’ll eat the fucking turkey.
Then you’ll eat my dick and say thank you. ”
And just like that, I find myself being pressed beneath Gunner’s strong body as he pulls his pants down and slides inside my waiting heat.
He doesn’t even call me on my manipulation. We both knew where this was leading, and there’s not a damn thing I’d do to change it.