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“You like that?” she whispers, stepping down the ladder and reaching for another decoration.
I catch her hand and her gaze snaps to me.
Emotion swirls in her winter-sea-blue eyes.
“Of course I like it,” I snarl. “A man should own his woman – own everything about her – and there’s no fiercer ownership than being the only one you’ve ever been with. When I drive into that hot pussy, I’ll be claiming it for the rest of our lives. It will always belong to me. I’ll turn into a beast if any other man comes sniffing around.”
“I don’t want anybody else,” she moans. And then she snatches her hand away. “But don’t you see? That’s the point. What we want and what we can have are two different things. How the heck are we supposed to tell Kayley?”
I sigh grimly.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “It’s going to be difficult.”
“That sounds like an understatement.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re right. But she needs to know. We can’t keep this a secret forever.”
“But we can’t tell her yet, either,” Lola blurts. “She’ll hate me. Oh, God, Liam, she’s going to hate me. She means so much to me. My aunt died just last year and she was the one who held me, who helped me through the sleepless nights. She never resented me for leaning on her.”
“I didn’t know your aunt died,” I say, taking her as tenderly as I can by the shoulders.
I pull her into an embrace, enveloping her in my arms, fighting the urge to stroke my hands down and massage her needy ass. I must be a real horny prick because even as she opens her heart to me, I’m thinking about her body, her wetness, my need for her.
I tighten my grip on her shoulders instead, holding her as a sob makes her body quiver.
“Were you close?” I ask.
“She raised me,” Lola says, letting out a short quivering sob. “My parents died when I was young, and she was there. She never wanted to be a mother. But she did it. She rose to the occasion. I won’t say she was perfect, but she always encouraged my interests. She bought me my first guitar. We spent a lot of time together. We were friends as much as anything. But then she got sick – cancer, freaking cancer – and it just ate her away.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, stroking a hand through her hair, my chest tightening at her pain.
I wish there was somebody I could fight to make it go away.
But loss doesn’t work like that.
All I can do is hold her.
“You can let it out. You don’t have to be ashamed.”
She shivers and cries against me. I wrap her tighter, holding her closer.
Fierce protective fire rises up inside of me, making every piece of me blaze with the heat of a thousand stars.
I want to find anyone who has ever hurt my woman and make them pay. She doesn’t deserve to suffer such heartache.
I want to make it all go away.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, stroking her hair.
“I’m sorry,” she gushes. “This is so unattractive. I’m slobbering all over you.”
My cock stiffens at her words. It makes me envision her mouth all shiny with spit and precome as she gaspingly takes my cock one more time. I imagine her cheeks bulging and her eyes widening when she realizes how huge I feel in her mouth.
I’ve got a savage mind.
But it’s impossible not to when Lola’s around.
“No,” I assure her. “It’s good to cry sometimes. Or so I’ve heard.”
She leans back slightly. Her eyes are red. She looks around for something to wipe herself with when she sees me looking. I reach into my suit jacket and take out a handkerchief.
“Since when do people still use handkerchiefs?” she giggles, bright through the winter shielded clouds of her sadness.
I live for that. I breathe for that. Her moments of brightness.
And I’ll kill any man who tries to take that away.
“Are you complaining?” I smirk.
She shakes her head. “So you cry, Liam? You said it’s good to cry.”
“I also said that’s what I’ve heard, you little sass monster.”
“Little?”
She shakes her head again. It makes her breasts jiggle and that soft belly of hers reverberate for me. I want to grab it all. I want to sink my hands into the curvaceous full glory of her hips, feel how ready she is to give me a child.
“You always call me little,” she says. “At least, you have a few times. I guess always is a slight over-exaggeration. And I’m rambling. Sorry, Liam.”
I could watch her ramble all day, the way her cheeks flush red, the cute way her speech picks up.
I smirk. I watch.
“But I’m not little,” she goes on.
“You are to me,” I snarl. “You look tiny from up here. It hurts my neck just looking down at you. But at least I always get the best seat in the house.”
