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I expect a slap, not that I deserve one, it’s just that... well. Ava. But as I’m bracing myself, she seems to fold, and defeat looks utterly shit on her. “Is it your mission objective to make my life as difficult as possible?”
“No,” I breathe. That hurt. “I’m sorry.” It actually hurt.
“Forget about it.” She whirls around and starts walking away, and I trudge after her, giving myself a thorough telling off. My age bothers her. Her parents’ opinion bothers her.
Obstacles. Constant fucking obstacles.
I shouldn’t be making this harder for her because in the process I’ll be making it harder for me. Fuck everything.
I catch up and throw my arm around her shoulders, pulling her into my side, and she comes with ease, my stride dropping to her slow meander. Her head sits perfectly on my chest. Her arms fit perfectly around my back. Her hand rests perfectly on my stomach. She’s mad with me but finding comfort in me. I drop my mouth to the back of her head and hold it there as we walk, and she answers by slipping her hand beneath my T-shirt, stroking over my stomach. Her tracing stops over my scar.
And I squeeze her into me that little bit harder.
I never knew wandering aimlessly could be so pleasurable. She moves so in sync with me, her steps following mine, as I weave our joined bodies through the crowds of Camden market. Every so often, she stops at a stall and pokes around, but never, not once, does she break her hold of me. For every second we’re stuck together, I feel myself fusing to her even more. My heart blending with hers. My mind traveling in circles. My skin permanently buzzing.
My fears intensifying.
I’m a man tiptoeing on the edge of paradise and destruction, and this woman in my arms will dictate which way I fall. I look down at her tucked into me, mentally begging her to find strength to see this through, and when she breaks away from me, I think she might have heard my silent pleas. She starts wriggling out of her cardigan, huffing and puffing. My amusement can’t be contained, my smile breaking. For the past few hours, I’ve been thinking she must be stifling. What took her so long?
She turns a full circle, her eyes down as she pulls her cardigan around her waist, and my smile plummets when her back comes into my view. Hernakedback.
“Ava,” I blurt, “your dress is missing a huge chunk.” What the heck is she doing? My dick twitches behind my jeans at the gorgeous planes of smooth, delicious skin staring back at me, then I’m checking to see if anyone else has copped a load of my half-naked girlfriend. I spot a man walking past, looking back over his shoulder. I snarl at him, returning my attention to Ava as she pivots toward me. She’s smiling. Why the fuck is she smiling?
“No, it’s the design,” she says, blasé, rolling her eyes. Another man wanders past, and my narrowed eyes follow his path, daring him to look back for another peek. He gets a good few paces before he does, and my nostrils flare dangerously. Lucky for him, he catches the growling wolf beside the beauty he’s admiring and quickly gets his wandering eyes under control.
No. This isn’t happening.
I huff and take the tops of her arms, turning her away from me and pulling the cardigan up her back, covering her up. “Will you stop?” She chuckles, batting my hands away and slipping from my reach. She might be laughing now. I guarantee she won’t be when I get her home and cut up another dress.
“Do you do this on purpose?” I position my hand over the gaping hole in her dress, fanning my fingers to cover as much of her exposed flesh as possible. I don’t want an argument. I need her in the best mood, loving me the most, when I drop my bombshells. I walk us on, my eyes scanning the crowds for potential pervs.
“If you want full-length skirts and polo-necked jumpers,” she mutters, “then I suggest you find someone your own age.”
My spare hand goes to her ribs, and she squeals on a jump. She’s joking.I think.Is she? “How old do you think I am?”
“Well, I don’t know, do I? Do you want to relieve me of my wondering?”
“No.”
“No, I didn’t think so.” She’s suddenly gone from my side, shimmying through the throngs of people.
“Ava,” I call, my eyes like laser beams on hernakedback as I hurry to catch up with her, knocking people out of my way as I go. I arrive at a stall and grimace, the stench of burning fragranced sticks dotted everywhere irritating my nose. She’s reaching up for something on a shelf, but before I can make it to her to help, the stall owner—he’s definitely the stall owner, all dreadlocks and baggy pants—is by her side doing my job for me, pulling a cloth bag down and handing it to her. I scowl at him too and move in, returning my hand to her back as she rummages through the bag and pulls out...
“What’s that?” I ask, frowning as she flaps out a huge piece of material.
“These are Thai fisherman pants.”
Now, I’m all for plenty of material to hide her precious body from roving eyes, but, even for me, this is going a bit too far. She could cloak the entire market in the things she’s currently holding. “I think you need a smaller size.”
“They’re one size.”
“Ava, you could get ten of you in those.” And probably ten of me too. In fact, are they maternity pants? I tilt my head thoughtfully. She’d look good in maternity pants. She’d look good pregnant.
“You wrap them around. One size fits all.”
“Here, let me show you.” The hippy takes them from Ava’s grasp and kneels before her. What the fuck is he doing?
“We’ll take them,” I blurt, his face way too close to Ava’s legs.
