29. Skye #2
“No,” he says. “I couldn’t. You were this perfect storm, funny, wild, pissed off, and wearing leggings that made it impossible to think straight.”
I snort against his shoulder.
“But you know what hit me the hardest?” His voice softens. “It wasn’t how sexy you were. It was how sad you were.” My breath catches. “You looked like you’d been shattered by someone who didn’t know how to hold something that bright.”
He leans back, framing my face with his hands. “And all I could think was, fuck , I want to be the man who does.”
I swallow hard. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“Then I’m finally doing this right.”
The music changes, the next song slow and aching. He sways with me in silence, and I let myself breathe him in. Eventually, he leads me back to our table but this time, he slides into the booth and tugs me gently into his lap.
“Really?”
He tilts his head. “Don’t pretend like you don’t like this.”
I straddle him, arms around his neck, knees framing his hips. His hands settle on my thighs, hot and sure.
“I like you like this,” I say. “Soft. Open.”
He smiles. “You’re the only one who ever saw through the rest of it.”
“You’re not that good at hiding.”
“No,” he agrees. “Not with you.”
We sit there like that for a long moment, quiet and entangled.
Then I whisper, “You scare me.” His brow furrows. “You could break me.”
“I know,” he replies, voice hoarse. “But I never will.”
I study his face, every line and shadow, every scar I want to memorize. “I believe you.”
He kisses me like a man who’s been waiting his whole life to finally do it right.
“I love you,” he murmurs. “So fucking much.”
“I love you too.”
“You were the first woman who ever made me nervous,” he says, voice low.
“What? You?”
“Mm-hmm.” He leans in and presses the softest kiss to my lips. “I have a confession.”
“Oh?”
“I saw you that night, noticed you long before you walked across this bar and said hi to me.” I gasp, eyes wide.
“You caught my attention. I noticed the curve of your ass”—he reaches down and grabs a handful—“the way your neck was begging to be kissed.” My eyes flutter as he drags his lips over my neck. “And then I realized who you were.”
I pull back in surprise. “You knew it was me before I even walked over.”
He nods. “I did and I felt guilty as hell because the thoughts I was having… I shouldn’t have been having them about my son’s ex.
I wanted you the second I saw you walk into my office too.
I wanted to bend you over the conference table and fuck the attitude out of you.
But then you smiled,” he says. “And I realized I wanted so much more than that. I wanted to know what made you laugh. What made you cry. What made you tick.”
“You’re making me cry right now,” I whisper.
He touches my cheek. “Good. That means I’m saying it right.”
“You’re such a sap.”
“I rented out a bar and played Frank Sinatra so I could hold you and kiss you in peace,” he says. “I’m the fucking president of the Saps.”
I laugh against his mouth. Then I grow quiet. “Is this it, Reece?”
His eyes study mine. He doesn’t need me to spell it out. He knows what I’m asking. He leans in, kissing me again, slow, deep, and possessive.
“I love you,” he murmurs into my mouth. “So fucking much.” I press my forehead to his. “But no, baby, this isn’t it.” He leans back and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “This is just the beginning, Skye.”
“Yeah?” I smile, my lips stretched to their capacity. “Forever?”
“Forever, baby.”
“But you didn’t even ask me.”
He chuckles low and warm and it reverberates through me.
“I will, don’t worry, but for the record, I already know.”
“Still so cocky.” I giggle, leaning forward to capture his lips. He kisses me back, deeper, his tongue dancing with mine for a brief moment. I slide my hands around his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair.
He kisses me like I’m oxygen. Like I’m already his wife and his religion and his next sin all rolled into one. I tighten my thighs around his hips, tug his hair, bite his lip.
“You’re hard again,” I whisper, smiling against his mouth.
“You’re straddling me in an empty bar, grinding your wet panties against my cock, baby.” His hands grip my ass, dragging me closer. “You expect me to behave?”
I rock against him, slow and unhurried. “You said this was the beginning.”
“It is.”
“Then fuck me. Make it count.”
He growls low in his throat. “Not here.”
I grin. “You’re such a gentleman now.”
“You make me want to be better,” he confesses, brushing his thumb over my cheekbone. “But don’t mistake that for restraint, sweetheart. The second I get you home, I’m bending you over the first surface I find and making you scream my name.”
“Promise?”
His eyes go molten. “That’s not a promise. It’s a guarantee.”
I kiss him again, breathless, drunk on him. On us.
“You’re really not letting me go, are you?”
He presses his forehead to mine. “Never. You’re mine now, Skye Rhodes.”
I smile and kiss him once more. “Then let’s go home, Mr. Blackwood.”
He stands with me in his arms and carries me out the door. And just like that, our ending becomes the beginning.