Chapter 22- Zane
The rain had stopped sometime after midnight, but we were still tangled in Sam’s bed, smelling like soap and each other.
I lay sprawled across his chest, tracing slow circles on his skin, feeling the deep, steady beat of his heart under my palm. I should have been home. I’d cut my phone off to stop it from vibrating. We were both too lazy to move, and too caught up to pretend we wanted to be anywhere else.
“You know,” he said, voice rough from sleep, “the first girl I ever liked kicked me dead in the shin. She reminds me of you. She was cute and soft.”
I laughed, lifting my head to look at him. “You’re lying.”
“Swear to God,” he said, grinning. “Second grade. I told her she was pretty. She called me stupid and kicked me so hard my momma had to come get me.”
I giggled. “You probably deserved it.”
“Probably,” he muttered, sliding his fingers up the curve of my thigh, squeezing lightly. “Would you have kicked me if I told you you were pretty?”
“Nah,” I said, grinning. “I would’ve tripped you.”
He laughed, deep and full. But then his hand tightened on my hip, and when I looked up, his smile was gone. His eyes were so serious. His expression made my heart speed up.
“What’s wrong?”
“Listen to me,” he said, voice dropping into something rougher and harder. “When you go back over there… until everything is settled… no kissing him. No hugging him. No laying in bed with him.”
I blinked, stunned at how fast he switched. At how much I liked the way his voice turned into a low growl just for me.
“Sam—”
“I’m serious,” he cut in. His thumb dragged slow against my side like he was branding me with every word. “No hand-holding. No letting him touch you. No letting him pretend he still got a right to you after what he did and how he treated you.”
I smiled against his chest, trying not to show how much it thrilled me that he cared enough to lay down rules.
I should have been a little scared by his tone, but I wasn’t.
I somehow knew he only had good intentions for me.You know how you can just feel it?
I never felt that with Mark. I understood why now.
“You sound like you ready to fight somebody over me,” I teased, pressing a kiss just under his jaw.
“I’ll fight him,” he said, dead serious. “I’ll fight whoever I need to.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Soft and low.
“And if I don’t follow your rules, are you going to fight me?”
He gave me a serious look. “No, I’ll whoop his ass twice.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Fine,” I said, dragging my nails lightly across his stomach and feeling his heartbeat skip. I did it again. “But then you gotta listen to my rules too.”
He cocked an eyebrow, amused. “I’m a man. I don’t have rules.”
I frowned. “I will bite you on your dick.” I warned him.
He laughed.
“I’m for real,” I said, sitting up a little, straddling his waist. “No flirting with your wife. No smiling at her. No talking sweet to her, even if it’s fake. Don’t even look at her for too long. Your eyes mine now.” I said, being a little possessive myself.
He made a sound low in his throat—something like a grunt and a growl mixed.
“I’m not going within fifty feet of her ever again,” he said, grabbing my hips and squeezing. “Soon as the papers are filed, I’m gone. I ain’t got shit to say to her.”
I bit my lip, trying to hold back my smile. Trying not to let him see how much I loved hearing that.
We both went quiet after that, the air between us thicker now, heavier. Finally, he spoke again, voice rough and careful.
“You think you might be pregnant?”
The question hung there. I swallowed hard. Shrugged.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m late… but I’m always late.”
He nodded once, slow, like he was already making plans no matter what the answer was.
“If you are,” he said, voice firm, “we do the same thing we doing now. Figure it out. Ain’t no running. Ain’t no pretending. We make it work—despite anything or anyone.”
My throat burned, and I had to blink fast to keep the tears back. I leaned down, kissed him slow, grinding my hips just enough to feel his dick waking up.
He groaned low in his chest, grabbing my ass in both hands, rolling his hips up into me. I smiled against his mouth—then pulled back fast, laughing.
“I’m hungry,” I said, popping up off him.
He lay there for a second, staring at me like he was trying to decide if he should drag me back down and finish what we started or not. He threw an arm over his eyes and let out a deep, suffering groan.
“You are evil for that, pretty,” he muttered. “But most pretty things are evil.”
I laughed harder, turning toward the door. “You’re being dramatic.”
Before I could get two steps away, he was up. He moved fast. He caught me around the waist, lifted me straight off the ground like I didn’t weigh a thing, and carried me toward the kitchen.
“Sam!” I squealed, laughing, hitting his shoulder.
“You play too damn much,” he grumbled, but he was smiling.
We didn’t talk about anything solid that night. Just made promises we should have talked about more. I knew and he knew our expectation were too high and that this probably wouldn’t end well, but we pretended. And even pretending, somehow felt more real than anything I ever made with Mark.