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It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
When he’s finally drained, Keller collapses on top of me, careful to keep most of his weight to the side so he doesn’t crush me. I wrap my arms and legs around him, burying my nose in the crook of his neck. I never want to lose this feeling, never want to separate from this man.
I’m in love with Keller Bishop and I’ve never been happier.
After a nap and a shower, Keller brought out his dominant side, forcing me to kneel on the wet tiles to suck his cock before yanking me up, spinning me around, and fucking me into the shower wall until I became limp in his arms. Eventually, we ended up in the kitchen, starving and thirsty after our activities.
Now Keller is bent over, peering into his fridge, gorgeous round ass on full display.
“Britt?”
I blink. Keller is staring at me, holding two bottles in his hands.
“Huh?”
He smirks. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you? You were staring at my ass, weren’t you?” My face heats up, but I don’t deny it. I simply shrug. I mean, how can I not stare at such perfection? “I asked if you want coconut water or sweet tea?”
I shake my head. “Whatever you’re having is fine.” Seated on a barstool at the island, I lean on my elbows, chin propped on my hands, and watch as Keller pours us each a glass of sweet tea.
“Here.” He pushes one toward me while draining his own.
“Thanks.” I take a few sips, but prefer to watch Keller, shirtless and leaning against the countertop, his throat rippling as he swallows his drink.
“Britt.” I blink again, lifting my gaze to find shining gray eyes. Keller looks amused. “Maybe I should put a shirt on?”
This time, my face flames up. Apparently, I can’t go two seconds without ogling the man. But really, he’s stunning, and at work I can’t get caught openly staring at him or I’d be drooling all over the gym, so I’m going to get my fill when I can.
“Sorry.” I divert my attention to spin the stool around, taking in his condo. “This is really nice, Keller.”
I hear him place his glass in the sink, and not gently. “Thanks.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Keller all tense, his mouth pressed into a tight line. Okaaay. Note, don’t talk about his condo.
Keller circles the island and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Let me throw on a shirt and we can… I mean, if you want… I guess watch a movie or something?”
The look on his face makes me burst with laughter. “You have no idea what to do with me when we’re not having sex, do you?”
“Ummmmm, is it bad to say no?” Keller scratches his head and his cheeks pink up. It’s adorable.
“Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.” I wink, getting the serious man to smile. I nearly choke on my drink. He’s so beautiful when he smiles, positively breathtaking. It’s so rare I’ve only seen it a handful of times.
Keller walks down the hall, disappearing into his bedroom. I slide off the stool and wander over to the tall windows on the other end of the room by the couches and television. The view is spectacular. It’s not quite dusk, so the blue sky is streaked with brilliant shades of yellow fading to tangerine along the horizon. I turn and check out the rest of the living area and frown. No art on the walls, no pictures, no personal items. It’s almost as if Keller moved into a staged home, cold and impersonal. This is a pretty expensive home for a rookie fighter. Just one more of a million things I don’t know about Keller.
On a
small table next to the door is a pile of papers and bills. I don’t mean for it to happen, but one of them catches my eye, an embossed corner peeking out from under a larger envelope. I step closer and my heart slams against my ribcage. I shiver, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin as I approach the table.
It can’t be.
As if watching myself on TV, my hand reaches out, going through the motions without being aware of it. With one finger, I nudge the larger envelope to the side, exposing the one underneath.
Panic grips my throat, sucking the breath from my lungs, and my vision shimmers. Unable to make sense of anything, I bend over the table and read the silver embossing.
My head spins, the room suddenly too hot, the floor tilting back and forth beneath my wobbly legs. I read the return address, already knowing what it says, because I have the very same envelope sitting at home, buried under my own thick stack of mail.
I stare at the invitation to the tenth anniversary of “the incident,” pain and confusion shattering my reality.
Why? Why is this here? Why is his name Keller Bishop… Keating?
