“How are you okay?” I exclaim, completely dumbfounded by his total lack of concern that the girl he admits to possibly loving has lip-locked his best friends. Not that I want him upset. That’s simply how it’s supposed to work, right?
“Normally, I’d say it’s because I’m me, and if it ever came down to choosing, I’d clearly win,” he answers with a cocky smirk, then he puts aside the devil-may-care flirt for something more open and honest. “But the truth is, it probably has more to do with the spirit magic pixie dust you left behind during your ‘not possession’ possession.”
“I’m not apologizing for saving you,” I mumble, while a needling fear that I’m taking great pains to ignore whispers that maybe my love is real, but his only exists because I left mine behind. Like a feedback loop only fueled by my feelings for him.
“I’m not asking you to,” he grumbles. His teeth grind as he chews on new words to discuss his not so favorite subject again—feelings. “Look, jealousy is worrying that someone could steal you away from me. One, that’s bullshit, because I don’t fucking own you. Two, whatever the fuck you did pretty much made it impossible for me to doubt you. If you tell me you love me, I believe you, because I can fucking feel it.”
His crabby expression and excessive use of the f-bomb surprisingly makes me feel better. Perhaps it’s an assurance that I haven’t changed him, and what I meant to do actually worked. I simply left him with the unshakable knowledge that he is loved. To save myself some complications, I probably should’ve tried to figure out a more vague way to do that and less neon ‘Callie is in love with you’sign.What’s done is done.
“Tell me we’re finished with the Q&A and we can get back to you kissing me,” he pleads, his exasperation kind of adorable. “Considering you broke my back from using your magic to kick me into a tree, I think I’ve more than earned one.”
“My kisses are on a reward system, hm?” I taunt, enjoying watching his eyes light up when I move so I’m now straddling his reclining form.
“I’m also okay with because you fucking feel like it,” he quips with a shrug, his hands settling low on my hips once more.
“Why is it me kissing you instead of the other way around?” I question, mostly to finally see that frustrated look in his eyes. It’s enjoyable to see him so affected. A crack in his cool guy veneer.
“Because I don’t chase,” he states, pulling me harder against him. “This is going to be your choice every step of the way, Angel, because it fucking turns me on to watch you take what you want.”
A hot pulse shoots through me with his words. It seems like such a small thing, but he’s the first one to tell me that I turn him on. Not that it’s a great mystery with the others. The obvious clues are there. But it’s different to hear it. Empowering. I know when I take my kiss, he’ll enjoy it simply because it’s me. Because it was my pleasure to kiss him.
Filled with all the confidence I lacked before, I bury my hands into his silky hair, fisting the strands between my fingers, and kiss him like a woman who knows what she wants.
He groans when I finally allow him to taste my mouth, his adept tongue leading in this wild dance even if I was the one to take the initial plunge. His hands palm my ass, squeezing and kneading my flesh as he presses me harder against his arousal.
“Fuck, you have the finest ass,” he breathes, kissing me so hard our teeth clack together. “I’ve been dying to get my hands on you since that first day in the fucking gym.”
I laugh then moan as he kisses my neck. “I thought that was just a hug.”
“It wouldn’t have been if Nolan had minded his damn business,” Donovan grumbles, then returns to my lips, clearly done with talking.
In this moment, I do as he asks and take what I want. Running my hands over his body as if it’s my right to do so, I trace along the hard lines of his chest, arms, and back, taking great care to memorize the feeling of the inked feathers tattooed onto his heated flesh.
Donovan does the same, familiarizing himself with each new valley and curve of my ever changing body. He seems to enjoy my transformation, rumbling with pleasure as my new form fills his hands, and murmuring expletive-filled compliments and praises.
The quiet of the surrounding forest feels like a safe, impenetrable bubble that offers up a false sense of privacy. A fact we’re quickly dispelled of when—while Donovan’s hands are under my shirt looking for a base or two—my aunt Mildred shouts from the other side of the yard, “Glad to see you’re feeling better. Care to explain why I spent the last hour on the phone with Neva as she brayed on about how there’s five minutes of the day where the entire town was mute, but she’s the only one that remembers it?”
Chapter 20
Callie
“Fucking seriously,” Donovan groans quietly as I scramble to stand up, tugging my clothes into some semblance of order.
“Welcome home,” I chirp, trembling, and trying not to think about how my lips are kiss swollen and I definitely have beard burn on my chin from Donovan’s stubble.
“I’m not so sure about that,” my aunt comments, standing with her arms crossed, and dressed in high-end business wear with her understated, thousands of dollars worth, Dolce & Gabbana purse hanging from her elbow. At least she looks more amused than angry. She tilts her head to the side, addressing Donovan, “Thank you for looking after Callie, but you may go home now. I have it from here.”
“You’re welcome,” he answers, clearing his throat and not quite meeting my aunt’s gaze.
He climbs to his feet, dusting off the grass and leaves stuck to his body. I try to help, brushing off some of the ones he can’t reach, while excitement still lingers within me from the simple fact of touching his skin—and the knowledge that he wants me too. Then I remember we’re being watched, and move away, nervously pulling out my hair tie so I can redo my ponytail.
For what feels like the first time ever, Donovan stands, unsure of himself, hovering without action. Glancing at my aunt, he does a kind of jerky nod, then leans down and kisses my cheek.
“Talk to you later,” he murmurs, then strides toward his truck under the uncomfortable watch that is my aunt’s single raised brow.
“The term ‘friend’ has changed a lot since I was young,” Mildred muses with a twitch to her lips, while I watch Donovan’s truck drive away.
“It’s complicated,” I mutter, fidgeting because my sleeves aren’t long enough to pull over my hands.
