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His fingertips grip the fabric that stretches across my spread legs and I feel the material slipping down my skin. The lace hit my ankle and his eyes darken a fraction when he says.
“Step out.”
I follow his command, stepping one heel out before the other.
I was practically panting. Sweating at the tension that swirled around us like a hurricane itching to make landfall. He picks up the scrap of material, standing to his full height first, before he shoves it in the pocket of his jeans.
“I told you I wouldn’t touch you.” His voice was thick. Heavy.
And he was right. He never touched me.
He glances down at my hand. My left hand. “Not with that ring on your finger.” He steps to me.
Any closer and his lips would meet mine.
I felt his next words all the way down to my toes. “But when it’s gone. I make no fucking promises.”
Chapter 23
Greyson
Tilly was drunk and even though all she slung at me were insults, it’s the first time since I’ve gotten to town she spoke directly to me. Gave me her voice.
I took my seat back at the bar, next to Adam. It didn’t occur to me until now that I’m sitting next to my best friend, with his sister’s panties in my front pocket.
That may have been a bad idea. Now my dick’s hard.
“Adam, I’m tired.” Bekka lays her head on his shoulder, and he kisses her temple.
“Okay, let’s wait for Tills.”
“Grey, would you mind dropping her home since it’s on your way?” Bekka grins and shoots me a wink.
“I don’t mind at all.” I hold my hand out to Adam who shakes it as he nuzzles Bekka under his arm.
“You sure?” He questions.
“Absolutely.” I nod.
“Alright, man I’ll call you tomorrow.” He waves as they weave through the crowd.
I shift my gaze back to the bathroom and spot her walking towards the bar. Her eyes scan until they land on me. She pulls her shoulders back and marches straight towards me.
I’m assuming I was left under your supervision again? She signs.
Her eyes were glassy, and she places a hand on the bar stool next to her to hold herself steady.
“Time to go.” I slide a hundred dollar bill to the bartender and point for her to lead the way.
It’s silent as we walk to my truck, and by the time we make the drive to the small cabin she’s called home for the last four years, she’s almost asleep. Her head is resting against the window as I park my truck and hop out.
When I gently open the door, she stirs and when her eyes land on me, it’s like she’s reliving all that anger all over again.
Her brows pull together and she swats away my offered hand. “I don’t need your help. I haven’t in a very long time.”
I guess it’s going to be that kind of night.
She climbs down from my truck, almost twisting her ankle as she attempts to navigate through the melting snow along the sidewalk.
