2. Astrid
Chapter 2
Astrid
I woke up with a sudden jerk that nearly catapulted me out of bed. My eyes went to the window that was covered by the curtains, seeing little slivers of sunlight from the morning. My breaths were deep and uneven, and whatever terror had woken me up was already so far gone from my mind I couldn’t see its shadow.
“Sweetheart.” His big hand moved to my arm, his fingers gentle.
The touch was like ice on an injury, immediately soothing to the redness that burned under the surface. I turned to look at him, seeing his massive torso propped up on one arm, the dark ink of his tattoos distinct against his fair skin. His muscles stretched the skin, the mountains and hills all down his arms. His dark eyes looked into mine as he searched my gaze before he gave me a gentle tug .
I moved back to him, right into his arms. They circled me like bars to a cage and locked me in against his hard chest.
All the fear I’d felt a moment ago was long gone.
He pulled the sheets to my shoulder to keep me warm then stilled, holding me there, his chin resting on my head.
“I didn’t expect you to still be here.”
“Where would I be?”
“I don’t know, in the gym.” I used to wake up to him walking back into the room, wearing his little gym shorts, covered in sweat, a shake in hand. The last time we’d slept together, I’d woken up to an empty bed because he’d taken off and left the hotel room. I hadn’t been worried about his absence at the time, but now I knew I should have seen it as a warning of what was to come.
“I can go later.”
“How’s your shoulder?” My fingers moved up his chest to the line that was visible between some of his tattoos.
“I don’t notice it anymore.”
“Good.” I ran my fingers over it, feeling a slight divot from the wound.
He dipped his head to my shoulder and kissed me. His hard mouth started there then moved to my neck. My collarbone. My chin. Kisses that were gentle but had a masculine pressure. He slowly rolled me over, his enormous mass on top of me .
I was always sore in the morning after I slept over, but I would never deny an opportunity to be sore again. The pleasure he gave me was more than worth the pain. Feeling his body on top of mine, sensing the heat of his stare, being the woman he wanted instead of someone else.
He folded me underneath him like a soft pretzel then pushed his fat head inside me. He always had to force his way in because of the differences in our sizes. He licked his palm then wet the head of his dick so he could slide in. One inch and then the next until my wetness made him glide. He sank in until there was nowhere else to go and sucked in a slow breath as he enjoyed it.
He started to thrust, moving at a much gentler pace than he had last night, going easy on me like he knew I must be sensitive.
But all that sensitivity faded away as I watched his sexy body work to fuck me. His abs were strong and tight. His ass clenched as my nails dug in. He cast a shadow over me and the bed as he pressed me into the mattress with his size.
This man so was fine.
And I just got to lie there and enjoy it.
My hands grabbed on to his muscular arms as I felt my body shake against his thrusts. He seemed to know how much I loved it because he gave it to me harder, his big dick plowing me like a tractor in a field .
The sensation between my legs started as a slow burn and the heat intensified. When it reached its crescendo, it burned me alive and set me ablaze with the greatest fiery pleasure I’d ever experienced. My mind drifted into a warm fog, and I didn’t recognize my own moans and whimpers. It was all a blur, a pleasurable explosion, and the sexiest man in the world was the one who’d given it to me.
I’d had no appetite over dinner last night, not when he sat across from me, his big chest filling out his shirt so well. His dark eyes looked at me nearly the entire time, staring at me with heat that rivaled the sun. Maybe he looked at all women that way, but I still felt special being one of them.
Once I was finished, his pumps increased as he moved to the finish line, his fair skin blotching with spots of redness. The cords in his neck started to pop, and his jawline was sharp like the edge of a knife. His eyes burrowed in mine the way his dick burrowed between my legs.
Watching him fuck was such a turn-on. “Come inside me.” I’d wanted this man for so long, so desperately, and I finally had him. I wanted every piece, every drop. When I’d been with Bolton, I’d pretended he was Theo. When I’d sat at the dinner table, I’d replayed old conversations in my head, remembered when he’d taken me to his restaurant for the first time, when he’d come into my gallery and was only impressed by the paintings that no one else cared for. He was the light that got me through the darkness.
He thrust into me harder, his dick ramming into my cervix because his excitement couldn’t be contained .
The pain was easy to ignore because I was connected with him—mind, body, and soul—and all I wanted was this moment. I wanted to feel his release, satisfy the eternal longing I felt for him. I’d tried to make my marriage work, but it had been irretrievably broken the moment Theo stepped into the rain and changed my tire. Even if Bolton hadn’t asked for an open marriage, I think it would have ended the same way.
Call me crazy and stupid and insane, but I believed Theo was supposed to be mine.
I’d never cheated in my life. The thought had never crossed my mind. I’d thought I had too much integrity for something so low. Maybe this was hindsight talking, but I think I would have broken every vow to be with Theo. Would have burned my marriage to the ground. Spat on something I thought was holy.
Because he was my person.
I had been hurt when Bolton wanted to fuck other people, but maybe it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Maybe it was the universe working to give me what I deserved, even if I had to sustain third-degree burns just to have it.
Theo pulled out of me, and I felt his come drain out of me onto the sheets.
He pulled on a pair of boxers and running shorts, like he was about to hit the gym now that he’d had his morning fix. “We’ll have breakfast after I shower.” He headed out of the room, the muscles in his back shifting and moving as they hugged his spine.
I watched him go before I turned over and snuggled with his pillow.
I went right back to sleep.
We sat across from each other in the dining room, the curtains drawn back from the windows as the springtime sunshine flooded the floorboards and the rug around the dining table. His butler had decorated the table with a pot of coffee, cups and saucers, and a small vase of pink roses from the garden.
Theo drank his coffee as he looked at his phone, like he had emails to address like any other businessman. He was still shirtless, as he always was whenever he was in the house, like the muscles of his body acted as his own furnace.
His eyes were down on the phone, so I took the opportunity to stare.
Fuuuuccckkk.
His butler entered with our breakfast, placing an enormous egg white omelet in front of Theo with sauteed vegetables and a side of bacon. I got a much different plate. A little bowl of oatmeal with mixed fruit and shaved almonds, along with a stack of buttermilk pancakes and a side of bacon .
Way more food than I could possibly eat.
Theo set his phone aside and rested one elbow on the table as he grabbed his fork and sliced into the omelet that was still steaming.
I ate my oatmeal as I watched him down his breakfast like a caveman who hadn’t eaten in days.
He seemed to forget I was there in light of his hunger, eating half of his omelet in a couple bites before he looked at me across from him. He grabbed his mug, which looked way too small in his big hand, and took a drink. “You like your breakfast?”
“Not as much as you do,” I teased. “You look like you’re starving.”
“I’m always hungry.”
“I’m always hungry too, but I don’t have a reason to be.” I used to run regularly, but life had been too hectic for that lately. But no amount of cardio could replace the fifty pounds of muscle he had to feed every day.
“Are you going to work today?”
I felt my mind go blank because I’d forgotten that I had my job back. I was still in limbo, still getting used to the fact that I lived with Theo now…until he killed Bolton. Once my ex-husband was out of the picture, would he ask me to move out? Maybe letting him live wouldn’t be the worst thing. “Yeah. I almost forgot. Need to get used to that. ”
“You don’t have to work if you don’t want to.”
I’d needed that job when I was with Bolton. I’d needed something that was just mine. But now, that job kept me away from the man I wanted to be with every moment of the day. It was too soon to be so clingy, especially when he’d said he would try and probably still walk away in the end. I needed to play this smart, treat it as a marathon and not a sprint. Being all over Theo all the time was a guaranteed way to chase him off. “No, I like my job.”
He reached into his pocket and placed a phone on the table between us. “Here’s your new phone. My contact info is in there, along with Octavio, Axel, and Scarlett.”
“Octavio?”
“He’s my second.”
“Second?”
“In a duel, you name your second, the man who will fight when you’re dead. When I’m dead, he’s the new guy in charge. If I’m not around, you can trust him.”
The high I felt immediately evaporated at his words.
He must have seen the terror in my eyes because he said, “I mean if I’m not available, if I’m in a meeting or something. I trust him the way I trust Axel. He knows who you are, so if you need help, he’ll be there for you.”
Theo was the only man I wanted to be there. “So…do you have any leads?— ”
“I told you not to worry about it.” He’d been so gentle and approachable all morning, but the second I stepped into forbidden territory, he turned into the ruthless leader who operated in the shadows.
“Just curious to know if we’re close.”
“That depends on how much of a coward he is. And right now, I’m not sure I can quantify it. He’ll either use all of his resources with the Brotherhood to kill me, or he’ll run. If he’s smart, it’ll be the second.”
Bolton would never run. Too stubborn for that. “I’m not sure why he would still want me after the last thing I said to him.” That death was preferrable to his company.
Theo stared for a long time. “I’m not sure how much he ever wanted you. I think it’s always been about pride. He considers himself a man too good to be left. He can’t stand the humiliation that his wife walked away, especially when she walked into the arms of another man.”
Not just any other man—the Skull King.
He gave me another weighty stare before he drank his coffee again. “I have a long day. Call me if you need me.” He left the table and didn’t push in his chair. He left the room without giving me a kiss goodbye.
Once he was gone, his absence was suffocating…like I was in a burning house full of smoke.
I sold an expensive piece to a returning client, and now the wall was empty without the painting that had hung there for months. It was a large painting, at least seven feet by nine feet, a painting that would be the centerpiece of a grand room. Now, I’d have to find something to replace it or several smaller paintings to fill up the space.
The sensor from the front room beeped when someone entered the gallery. I left the empty wall and returned to where my desk sat, expecting to see a client I recognized or a customer who’d walked in from the street.
But it was Theo.
My heart performed a series of acrobatic feats at the sight of him. I could feel the jump in my bones, the excitement that made me both apprehensive and nervous.
He had a bag with him like he’d picked up a couple sandwiches. “I was in the area. Hungry?”
I wouldn’t be hungry for the rest of the day after that feast of a breakfast. “Sure.”
He carried the bag into the gallery, which had furniture set up everywhere to make it feel like home to the customers, to make it easier for them to visualize the artwork in their homes and the way it could add a touch of elegance.
Theo sat in an armchair and handed me a sandwich, which was basically nine inches long and five inches wide, an amount of food that could easily feed me for two and a half days. If I ate lunch, it was usually a salad, but sometimes I skipped lunch altogether. If I wanted to continue to fit into my pencil skirts and blouses, that meant I couldn’t eat big-ass sandwiches slathered in aioli like Theo could.
He was practically a bear.
He held his sandwich in a single hand and took a big bite.
I took a small bite and watched him eat, fascinated by the way he could eat and eat…and look so sexy doing it.
He noticed my stare and met my gaze.
I wished I could pull off that look he did, where I could just stare and stare without shying away from the contact. But I didn’t have his confidence or his presence. I flinched and looked away.
“Not hungry?”
“I can’t eat four thousand calories like you can, Theo.” I set aside the sandwich.
He took another bite.
“But I appreciate the sentiment. And I’m happy to watch you eat.” I just wished he were shirtless and in his sweatpants like he’d be at home. I meant his place… not home . Because his villa wasn’t my home.
He finished half of it before he wrapped it back up in the paper. His eyes were on the blank wall. “So, someone bought it. ”
“Yeah, this morning.”
“What’s going to go there now?”
“I don’t know. I’ll need to move some paintings around.” It was a prime piece of gallery real estate, so I couldn’t put unpopular paintings there. I had to move top contenders to the space and then replace those spaces with other paintings. It took a ton of time rearranging and it was enticing to cut corners, but then the paintings wouldn’t sell and my boss would be ticked.
“Do you need help?”
“It’s okay, Theo. I know you’re busy.”
His eyes were still on the wall where the painting should be. “I’m never too busy for you.”
I had a flashback to my old life, when Bolton would be gone for days and couldn’t call or text. Said it could compromise his mission. But once he actually cared about our marriage, he suddenly had the time to call and text. Suddenly had time to make me feel important. Theo had always made me feel like a priority from the moment I met him. I knew it was stupid to risk my heart for a man who basically told me the chances of a happily ever after were slim to none, but he was one hell of a man—and I’d play any odds to have him.
He turned to look at me.
My mind was still in a haze, thinking about the past, the present, and the unlikely future .
“Is it always this slow?”
“Yeah. I send a newsletter to our existing clients about our new collections, and they generally buy stuff that way. Their assistants will come by and pick it up, or I’ll deliver it. Foot traffic is practically nonexistent. If anyone comes in, it’s usually in the morning.”
“What do you do the rest of the time?”
“Respond to emails. Dust. Stuff like that.”
“Why don’t you paint?”
I wondered if he still had my easel and paint supplies, if his butler had tossed them or they were stored in the basement or an extra closet. “I can’t really do that here.”
“If it’s as slow as you say, may as well put your time to good use.”
“My boss doesn’t pay me to pursue my hobbies.”
“If you’re still as productive as you were before, what does it matter if you paint or scroll on your phone in the meantime?”
“Do you let your men pursue their interests while they’re on the clock?”
“They fuck and drink,” he said. “So, I think so.”
He always pushed for me to pursue my dream even though I wasn’t very good at it. But I was also touched that he didn’t give up, that he cared whether I was fulfilled or unsatisfied.
He took the last bite of his sandwich then wiped away the oil and crumbs with a napkin stuffed in the bag. He turned his attention back to the blank wall as he continued to squeeze the napkin around his fingers until there was nothing left. Then he just sat there…staring like he saw a painting.
The distraction worked in my favor because I got to stare at him. Study the shadow under his chin like it was cast by Mt. Vesuvius. Follow the rivers in his neck, the veins that carried his life-force from his muscles back to his heart. He had a hard jawline that looked like the edge of a cliff. If someone could capture this moment with a paintbrush and hang it on the wall, I would work my entire life to afford it.
Several minutes went by before he turned back to look at me.
I usually looked away once I’d been caught, but this time, I didn’t. We were in a public place, a business open to anyone, but I felt isolated from the rest of the world—like it was just the two of us.
There was no reason for him to stay, but he lingered as if we had unfinished business. The last line of the contract was unsigned. The final boarding call for the flight had been called over the speakers, but we remained idle in our chairs. We had no purpose to be there together, but he conjured one from nowhere—and in silence .
I left my chair and walked past him.
He remained in his chair and didn’t follow me, a man so confident that he knew a woman would never walk away.
I turned the sign that hung on the door, flipping it from open to closed. Then I twisted the lock, trying to do it as gently as possible so Theo wouldn’t hear the click in the gallery. Not that I should feel embarrassed for wanting him…but for wanting him so badly that I didn’t hesitate to close the place down.
When I came back, he was exactly as I’d left him, taking up the armchair with his big size, arms down on the armrests. There wasn’t a flash of arrogance in his eyes, a knowing smirk. He stared at me as intently as he did before.
He was the one who always made the first move. Was always on top. Ran the bedroom like a boardroom.
But now, I was the one who wanted to call the shots.
I lowered myself in front of him, the thick rug cushioning my knees like a pillow. I felt my heart leap when I saw his reaction, how he drew in a quick breath of excitement, the way his eyes darkened in intensity. I wanted to make him feel wanted, but he was the one who made me feel wanted.
My hands slid up his rock-hard legs to the waistband of his jeans underneath his shirt. I felt for the metal button before I popped it open then tugged down the zipper so his cock could be free. It was hidden under his black boxers, but the definition was so distinct it was like a log just beneath the surface of a lake. My fingers tugged into his boxers and slowly pulled them down.
He lifted his hips to aid me, to help me get his bottoms the rest of the way off.
Inch by inch, his hard dick was revealed, the throbbing vein going from the tip down to the base. It was intimidating every time I saw it, but I wouldn’t change a single thing about him. Just before I began my descent to press my lips to his length, his command halted me.
“Take off your blouse.” His tone deepened like an endless chasm.
I was just about to give him head, but he interrupted because my mouth wasn’t enough.
“I like your tits.”
I rested on the balls of my feet before I freed each button, slowly loosening the shirt on my body until I tugged it out of my skirt. I released the last buttons before the material came free, showing my black push-up bra underneath.
His eyes immediately went to my cleavage. It wasn’t a glance but a full-on stare, as if he hadn’t seen me naked last night.
I unclasped the bra and let the straps fall from my arms. It dropped to the floor at my knees. The cool air that hit my chest immediately made my nipples harden. Made my delicate skin bubble with bumps .
Like a king on his throne, he continued to keep his arms on the armrests, his big dick on his stomach, looking at me like I was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, when he was the one who was hot as fuck.
My hands went to my knees, and I started to come closer.
“The skirt too.”
I stopped then rose on my knees so I could pull down the zipper at my back. The material loosened over my hips and revealed my little thong underneath, a black G-string that wouldn’t show a panty line through my skirt.
He seemed to like that because he stared and stared.
I waited for him to ask me to remove the thong, but he didn’t.
I moved back to him, slid between his parted knees, and then let my chest rest against his hard body, his dick sliding right between my tits.
He seemed to like that because he gave a quiet moan, a moan that was so subtle it might have just been a dream.
I dipped my head and kissed his hard stomach, feeling the hardness of his abs, licking the black color of his ink. I slowly moved down as I tasted him, as I smelled the scent that had gradually stuck to all my clothes and my bare skin from being smothered in his sheets.
When I finally kissed his head, he inhaled a slow breath, like the simple touch of my lips was enough to set him on fire.
I kissed him again and again, starting off slow before I made my way down, sprinkling his vein with my kisses, eventually arriving at his groomed balls. He was like a bull placed in a pasture with the single purpose of mating. Instead of big horns, he had a big dick—and big balls to go with it.
I kissed his sack and felt it tighten at my touch. He released a sexy breath when he felt me.
I started to use my tongue, slathering his balls in my spit before gliding up his length, slowly returning to where I started—and feeling a twitch along the way. Before I got there, his hand slid into my hair like a cowboy gripping the reins of his horse. He grabbed his length and lifted his dick forward as he guided my head down, wanting his dick in my hot mouth as soon as possible.
I flattened my tongue and pushed his dick in as far as I could handle. But that didn’t seem to be enough for him as he forced me down farther, nearly bringing me to the point of gagging because his pleasure was more important than my discomfort.
He guided me up and down and told me exactly how he wanted me to suck his dick. Didn’t waste any time letting me discover his likes and dislikes. Like a man, he just told me, wanting it to hurt a little, just the way it did when he was balls deep inside my pussy. His fingers tightened on my hair, and he showed me the pace, wanting every thrust to be slow and purposeful, so he could feel the groove of my tongue over each inch, to savor the way it made my eyes water.
He relaxed against the chair cushion and watched me, his face tinted with the same redness that appeared during sex. The color deepened the longer it went on, cords popping in the skin up his neck. His fingers were tight on my hair like he wouldn’t let me up for air even if I begged for it.
The second I was on my knees, I was his.
I worked until my makeup ran, until my throat was chafed raw, until my lungs couldn’t keep up anymore. I pulled away, and to my surprise, he let me go.
At least, he let my mouth go.
He grabbed me by the neck and pulled me toward him, up his body and onto his lap. My G-string was literally just a string with a tiny patch of fabric to cover my sacred place, so it was easy for him to tug it aside and get plenty of room for his big dick to press a hard kiss to my opening.
His hand grabbed on to my hip and tugged down, settling my little body on his length. His dick was soaked and so was I, but as always, it was hard to put us together, to make a Boeing 757 fit inside a one-car garage. It took time and patience, gentle thrusts to get things going, and then I sank down his length to the base and felt my body tighten in both pain and desire .
I tried not to compare my lovers, but Theo took the trophy in every category. Size. Girth. Mobility. I’d been satisfied with my life with Bolton, but it had never had the fiery passion that made it impossible to breathe. When Theo entered the room, the curtains were set ablaze, and the roof started to come down. It was a heat that rivaled the explosion of a firework. A burn that was more potent than the sun. It was the kind of passion so hot, it left a scar from the burns. If Theo left me, I would wear that scar into my next relationship, and the comparison of the two men would leave me in disappointment.
He grabbed my ass and squeezed it as he rocked me forward and backward, forcing my clit to drag over his hard body. It made my thighs quiver as his full size made me wince. He continued to do it as he ground his hips, hitting my clit with precision, making that ache between my legs grow to full-blown desperation.
He watched me with those dark eyes as he enjoyed having his big dick inside me, ownership in that stare. He’d made me feel like his even when I was married, made me feel like he was the one being betrayed, when he wasn’t my husband. But now, I was his, and even if those divorce papers remained unsigned, I considered myself a woman completely and totally available.
His fingers dug into my ass, and he lifted me up his length to the tip before he pulled me back down again. I was the one on top and doing the work, but he continued to be the back seat driver, yelling out directions because he always had to be in control.
My arms circled his neck as I rode up and down at the pace he liked, his length squeezed inside me, my cream already building up at the base because I’d started to drip the second he’d stepped into the room. The second I looked at this drop-dead gorgeous man, I was a fucking mess. A desperate, needy mess. My heart was outside my chest and in his palm. He could squeeze it until it burst—or he could hold it tight and protect it.
I wasn’t sure which he would do.
“Fuck, this pussy…” His eyes were on me as I moved up and down, our faces remaining level because he was so much taller than me, even when I sat on his lap. His hands squeezed my waist as he continued to guide me, his dick burrowing itself inside over and over, the pace increasing as his breaths turned harsh and labored.
He wasn’t a verbal lover. He rarely said anything, whether we were fucking or not. To hear him say something like that and sound so sexy with that deep voice was so arousing. To hear how much he wanted me was a major turn-on. The line of beautiful women who waited their turn to ride this man must have been long, but he made me feel like the only woman he wanted in his life.
Locked in a slow dance, we moved and breathed together, both our bodies flushed and sweaty. An ache formed in my lower back, but I continued to dip and rock because it felt so damn good. To feel him. To touch him. To lock our eyes together like they were bound by an invisible connection that was beyond time and space. It was the kind of intimacy I’d never shared with anyone…even my own husband.
“Sweetheart.” His eyes latched on mine with an iron grip. “You’re killing me here.”
My body was soaked, and the fire had kindled. There was already ash and smoke from the burn. But I was so lost in the view, I let myself go. The connection felt deeper than two people who gave in to their lust in the middle of an art gallery. I’d desired him the moment I saw him in the rain, but my desire for him was deeper than the flesh…and the muscles and the ink. I finally let my body flow with the tide, let my body contract around his length with the strength of a viper, and I gave in to the tears that burned hot before they filled the corners of my eyes…and then fell.
He clenched his eyes shut briefly as his dick hardened even further inside me. A flush moved across his face and neck, a trail of heat that burned his skin. When he looked at me again, it was with the darkness and desire of the underworld. His hands squeezed me tight until it hurt, his dick filling me with another load, his stare claiming me like his body hadn’t already.
The relief was like a summer breeze that blew the strands from my face. All the aches and pains had been eased by his touch, the intimacy and desire he was unafraid to show. He said little, but he still wore his thoughts on his sleeve. Bolton lied to my face countless times, but Theo would tell the truth, no matter how deep it cut.
I felt my heart go weak because I already felt it. Already knew how invested I was in someone who warned he would never be invested in me. It was too soon to feel something so strong for someone when I wasn’t even divorced yet, but the intensity was so profound, it was easy to forget I was married in the first place.
I stayed on his lap, his dick still inside me, substantial despite the way he relaxed.
The intensity had faded from his eyes, but he continued to look at me like I was the most remarkable painting he’d ever seen. “Ever done that before?”
My eyes narrowed.
“In here.”
“God, no.” I was a good girl who always followed the rules. Never deviated from the plan. Couldn’t lie if my life depended on it.
He showed no sign of satisfaction with that. His eyes broke contact, and he glanced at the watch on his wrist. “I’ve got shit to do.” He seemed to withdraw from me like a tide moving out to sea in the absence of the full moon.
It hurt. It hurt because it seemed like there was nothing I could do to change it. We had our moments, beautiful and surreal, but then he put up a wall again. Was the wall built of his resentment? Or was it precautionary? Was he determined to keep me at a distance in his mind so I would never approach his heart?
I didn’t ask.
I left his lap and picked up my clothes. With my back turned to him, I dressed. I righted the G-string the best I could, even though it was stretched out and loose after he’d tugged on it. I buttoned up my blouse and tucked it into my skirt. When I turned around, he was fully dressed, looking just as sexy in his shirt and jeans as he had when he was buck naked in that chair.
His hard stare settled on me.
I tried to save face. “Thanks for lunch” Thanks for the dick, is more like it.
He ignored what I said. “You’re angry.”
That intuition was still as sharp as ever. “I’m not angry.”
“Then what are you?”
“I thought you had shit to do.”
He stepped closer to me. “I just told you I’m never too busy for you, sweetheart. So tell me what just happened.”
My arms crossed over my chest, and my eyes moved elsewhere.
He continued to stare hard at my face, his heat like the sun.
“The second I feel close to you, you disappear.” I stared at the blank wall that had captured our attention at different times. “You said you would try, but you’re doing a shitty job of it.”
He was quiet for a long time, like he had nothing to say to that. But then his deep voice broke the silence. “I told you I needed time.”
“You’re going to need an eternity if you keep pulling away like that.” I turned my stare back on him. “Two steps forward, three steps backward. Even at eternity, we’ll still be farther apart than when we started.”
His espresso eyes watched me, not showing the anger that Bolton had constantly brooding within his stare.
“You aren’t the only one with intuition.”
He continued to watch me. Continued to study me with eyes brimming with wisdom and intelligence. “I didn’t come down here because I was worried you were malnourished. I came here because I wanted to see you, because I think about you pretty much every time we’re apart. Maybe I do move two steps forward and three steps back, but that’s my pace, and you agreed to it. Life isn’t a straight line like most people think. It’s a series of detours and one-way streets and dead ends.”
“Is this a dead end?” I blurted out the question without thinking it through, planting a seed of doubt in his already uneasy mind.
His stare lingered on my eyes for a long time. “You’re all of the above. ”
My eyes narrowed, feeling slighted even though his words seemed gentle.
“You were the detour that made me pull over that night. In the pouring rain. All because I wanted to keep an innocent woman out of the path of destruction. It was a one-way road…and I plan on staying on that road until it ends.”