Page 16 of Psycho

“The last time we saw each other,” I said, fighting to focus through the haze of ecstasy clouding my senses. “We were in a psych ward. Do you really think we have what it takes to make a good marriage?”

Arrow lifted his head to look at me. His pupils were dark with arousal, and there was no mistaking the growing bulge in his jeans, pressed to my hip. He said nothing for a moment, tracing my waistband with his knuckles.

Then he unbuttoned my pants, holding my gaze as he slid his hand inside my underwear. A moan fell from my lips when his callused fingertips brushed my clit.

“I think our marriage would never be boring."

The huskiness of Arrow’s voice sent a flood of throbbing heat between my thighs. I clutched his wrist, digging my nails into his skin as he moved lower, stroking my slit. With agonizing slowness, he sank into my pussy, knuckles deep.

Arrow gripped the back of my neck, preventing me from looking anywhere else except him. He pressed his fingers upward at just the right angle to steal my breath away and curl my toes.

“I may lose my mind someday,” he said. “But I’m not losing you, Bobbie. Not again. I’ve waited a long time for the privilege of calling you my wife. And if—when—we end up back in that damn psych ward, I want the paperwork to show that we belong to each other.”

The last shred of my resolve to stay out of Arrow’s life crumbled to dust.

My family had abandoned me. My relationships never lasted longer than three months at the most. I couldn’t hold down a job.

But Arrow wanted me. Even after all these years. He wanted me with everything he had and more.

Chapter five

Psycho

Our mouths collided in a hungry kiss as we stumbled up the staircase to the loft. Bobbie stripped off my cut and my shirt, draping them over the railing. She smoothed her hands over my chest and traced every inch of tattoo ink she could reach. When her fingers found the old knife scar on my ribs, I shivered at the ticklish sensation.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you in the hospital,” Bobbie whispered.

"How did you know I was in the hospital?" I replied.

"I'm nosy, remember? Lurking and snooping around in the shadows. I wanted to know what you've been up to. I wanted to know…if you were happy."

Taking Bobbie's hand away from my scar, I placed her palm against my heart instead.

"And what did you find? Am I happy here?"

She nodded.

"I think so."

"Well, secondhand gossip can't always be trusted. So, let me give you a piece of information straight from the source. Yes, I'm happy here. But I'm always happier when I'm with you."

Bobbie's eyes softened and her cheeks went a little pink.

"And for the record, I'm glad you weren't there for the knife incident," I added. "I was in rough shape for a while. You didn't need to see me like that. Besides, it's in the past and I'm fine now."

Still, she looked doubtful.

I peeled her oversized denim jacket off, kissing her neck as I did so. Bobbie murmured a pleased sound, swaying closer. Eager to distract her, I slipped my fingers under the hem of her shirt.

Instead of touching her smooth skin, I found an additional shirt. And another. I grunted with frustration as I sorted through three more layers.

“How many clothes are you wearing?”

"I get cold easily." She paused then added with an edge of sarcasm, "And some of us don't have a cozy remodeled barn to live in."

It wasn’t that cold though—not yet anyway. There were a few hard frosts in the season so far, but nothing close to how frigid it would get in the dead of winter. Bobbie would be a block of ice by then.

I cradled her hips as she tugged off her myriad of clothing—two T-shirts, and a long-sleeved thermal. At last, she was left in just a snug white tank top. No bra. And her nipples were already pebbled. My mouth watered at the thought of tasting them.