Her huffed laugh hits me right in the heart. “Full of yourself.”
“No, Chaos.” I bring my hand to my lips and lick her from my fingers, one by one. “I’m full of you.”
I should probably grab the bleach and give this place a good scrub before we head home.
Home.
I might have been living in that apartment for the last twelve years, but it hasn’t been home in a long time. Now it’s a place I’m looking forward to going back to every night, knowing she’s there.
I help Loren fix her dress back over that spectacular bra and then offer her a hand down off the bar. She does this adorable little shimmy as she tugs her skirt back into place.
Her hungry eyes fall to my very obvious erection, a coy smile tilting her lips. “What about you?”
I slide a hand down, cupping the globe of her ass and whisper, “Chaos, that wasallfor me.”
CHAPTER 44
LOREN
Elliott
How many pancakes are too many pancakes?
I usedto love watching TV with Elliott. Now all I can do as I snuggle beneath his arm is think. It’s like my brain can’t let me just be happy. It has to be all, “Are you sure he really likes you”? and stuff.
It’s all Josh’s fault. What did I ever see in that jerk?
Elliott plays with my curls, tugging a strand, then letting it spring back into place. He doesn’t complain about how it tickles his face or how he wishes I would straighten it more often. He seems to accept me as I am.
If that’s really the case, then he will still like me if I interrupt this very interesting rerun ofNCISto ask some of the questions hanging on the tip of my tongue.
I smile up at him. Man, he’s good-looking. How did I ever get so lucky to land someone with a jawline like that?
Are you sure you actually landed him?
He must feel me ogling him, because he snatches the remote from the arm of the couch and pauses the show. His head twists, a smile already on his lips even before our eyes meet.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” he says back.
There’s no sense wasting time pretending to be happy when I’m driving myself crazy thinking we’re one thing when he’s thinking something else entirely. I’ve read way too many romance novels to know that is how conflicts arise.
I trace the collar on his white T-shirt, stopping to dip my finger into the hollow at his throat. “Are we a couple?”
His smile climbs higher. “Yeah, Chaos. We’re a couple.”
He says it like the answer should be obvious. Like he can’t think of anything he wants more than to be with me.
“Just like that?” A few mind-blowing kisses and a couple rounds in the bedroom and we’re a pair?
Seems too good to be true.
“Just like that,” he confirms with a kiss to my forehead.
This mind of mine, sometimes I hate it. Because even though Elliott has established that we are, in fact, a couple, what does thatmean, exactly?
This isn’t like back in my parents’ day when you went steady with a boy. Nowadays, there are so many different definitions for dating with a thousand different connotations. “So we’re committed to each other, then? Like, you’re not going to be sleeping with other women while you’re sleeping with me?”
