Chapter 12 #3
She grabs me by the shirt and tugs me down to her, then kisses me, deep and dirty, tasting herself on my tongue. When she pulls back, we’re both breathing hard.
“I’m going to shower,” she says, standing on shaky legs. “Try not to miss me.”
“Already do.”
She pauses at the bathroom door, glances back at me. She bites her lip, doesn’t say a word, and then disappears into the bathroom.
My cock throbs. Fuck, I don’t think I know what I’ve got myself into.
The shower starts, and I fall back on her bed, licking my lips, tasting her there.
I probably reek of her now, her scent all over my face, my hands, my clothes.
I should probably care about that, should wash up before we go, but fuck it.
Let everyone know. Let her mother smell it and know that her daughter is desired, wanted, cherished.
She’s mine. She doesn’t know it yet, probably isn’t ready to hear it, but she’s absolutely fucking mine. My scent match, my perfect fit, my beautiful disaster of a woman who’s captured my attention.
Soon, the shower shuts off, and I sit up, trying to look less like I’ve been rolling around in her bed thinking about her. She emerges wrapped in a towel, steam billowing around her like she’s some kind of water nymph, and I have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for her.
“Don’t look!” She darts for the closet, and I catch a glimpse of pale shoulder, the curve of her calf, before she disappears.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I lie, absolutely dreaming of it.
“Almost ready,” she calls. “Just need to put the dress back on and do my face.”
“Your face is perfect already,” I call back.
I push off the edge of the bed and stroll toward the bathroom, the door half cracked, steam still curling out into the bedroom from her shower. The air inside is warm and wet, thick with her scent clinging to every surface.
I glance down as I reach the sink, watching my hands in the soft light, fingers still slightly tacky, smeared with the evidence of her. Some of it has dried at the edges of my knuckles, glinting faintly like a secret I don’t plan on giving up. I give them a scrub.
Then I bring them to my nose and breathe her in.
Fuck.
Still sweet. Still warm. Still hers.
I swipe a wet hand across my chin, wiping at my mouth even though I already know the taste is still there, stubborn and addictive. A smear of her on my lower lip, caught in the stubble on my jaw. I fucking love that.
Her scent is all over me, soaked into my skin like I marked her just by touching her.
I grip the edge of the sink and stare into the mirror, still half hard, jaw tight, heart pounding with the kind of hunger that doesn’t just fade.
She has no idea what she’s done to me.
She emerges five minutes later, dressed, lips painted deep red, some kind of shimmer on her eyelids. She looks expensive, untouchable, like the kind of woman who’d never give a guy like me a second look.
Except she is giving me a second look. A third. A fourth.
“What?” she asks.
“You’re going to surprise her.”
“My mom?”
“Everyone. Every person in that restaurant is going to wonder who you are, why they don’t know you, how they can get to know you.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m being honest. Come here.”
She walks over slowly, careful in her heels. I stand, towering over her even with the added height, and she has to tilt her head back to look at me.
“You’re going to walk in there on my arm,” I tell her. “And your mother is going to see that you’re happy. Successful. Desired. Everything she thinks you couldn’t be without her approval.”
“What if I fall apart?”
“Then I’ll put you back together.” I cup her face in my hands. “That’s what boyfriends do.”
“Fake boyfriends.”
“Right. Fake.” But there’s nothing fake about the way I kiss her forehead, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth. “Ready?”
“No.”
“Perfect. Let’s go shock some suburban sensibilities.”
She laughs. “Is that your plan?”
“Part of it.”
“What’s the other part?”
“Making sure you know your worth and ensuring she knows it too. Also, maybe, if I’m really lucky, convincing you that this doesn’t have to be fake.”
She stares at me. “Luke?—”
“For now, just let me be your boyfriend and worship you the way you deserve.”
She kisses me then, soft and sweet. “Thank you. For being here. For… everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me for doing something I want to do.”
“You want to have dinner with my mother?”
“I prefer it was just you. Your mother is simply an unfortunate side effect.”
She laughs as we head downstairs. General Flufferton watches us with judgment from his perch on the couch.
“Be good,” Cindy tells him. “No parties.”
“He’s definitely throwing a party,” I say.
“Probably. He’s very social for a cat who pretends to not like strangers.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.”
“You wish.” She bumps me with her shoulder, and I catch her hand, lace our fingers together. It feels natural, right, like our hands were designed to fit together.
“Luke?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
And I am. Because as we walk toward the door and get into the car to reach dinner with her nightmare of a mother, toward whatever comes after, I know one thing for certain: I’m going to make this woman mine. Not just for tonight, not just for her mother, but for real. For keeps. Forever.
I’m very good at getting what I want.
And what I want is Cindy.