Page 97 of Newly Tied

“That sounds borin’, and we don’t want that.”

“It sounds like all I want, and I promise, I can’t get bored with you. I’m too excited to be starting everything.”

“I’m gonna get spoiled with you talkin’ this way,” I murmured, kissing along his jaw.

“Yeah, I want you good and spoiled so you never give anyone else the time of day.”

“You don’t ever have to worry.”

Lang and I were out of there minutes later. We both waved at Talia, who blew kisses back, Ian gave us a dismissive wave, but Miro hugged us both. I liked that.

Once we were back at my place, I was ready to start packing up my clothes, but something happened when we got there. Instead of helping me, Lang collapsed on one end of my very uncomfortable, scratchy burlap couch, which was, without a doubt, not going to his place, unlike my very sturdy, sex-approved kitchen table.

After sitting in companionable silence for several minutes, he finally turned to look at me.

“Yes?” I teased him.

“I announce things without asking. I’ve been doing that all my life.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I say you’re moving in with me, and I tell my family that yes, we’re an us, so you can keep him, but I get ahead of myself and don’t consider what you want.”

“But you know what I want.”

“Tell me,” he rasped, seemingly overwhelmed.

“What’s this about?” I asked him gently. “Are you havin’ second thoughts?”

“No, not at all. It just seems like I made the decision for you, like I feel I do a lot of things, and then there was so much going on, keeping us from talking more.”

“Darlin’, we’ve talked.”

“But not enough, and also, I make these statements, and I don’t want you to go along. I want you to want…me. To want this, with us.”

I chuckled.

“I hate you,” he grumbled.

“The problem with you is that you love your words so much, you think that’s all that matters. You think if I don’t say everythin’ right back to you like you said it to me, that somehow, I don’t want the same things, but that’s not true at all.”

“No, I⁠—”

“Stop talkin’ now. Come here.”

He crawled down the couch to me, and I put a throw pillow in my lap so he could rest his head there.

“You have a lot to say.”

“Yes.”

“And you make plans, and I know why,” I assured him.

He turned his head so he could look up at me.

“If you make plans,” I continued, “if there’s always somethin’ to do, to follow, then you—or we, in this case—will stay on track.”

“I don’t want to fail you. I’ve failed a lot of people.”