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“Do you have to ask?” she says rhetorically.
I get the meaning hidden within her words. Any time we spend together is a good time, and the more, the better.
“So you’re already thinking about starting a family,” I say, a tight ball in my gut clenching.
I’m getting far too close to telling her the truth, all of it. The fact of who she belongs to and everything that means.
“I don’t see any reason to waste time,” she says softly.
I sense she’s keeping her voice low because she knows I know that she’s only ever dreamed about me. Everything she says, logically, has to be about me. So if she starts talking about children…
“You want children that badly?” I ask.
“Definitely. Lots of them.” She laughs gently. “I know that sounds keen as hell, but—”
“You don’t need to explain yourself. I love how enthusiastic you are about it. How many do you want?”
I turn to her at a red light, drinking in her vivacity, flushed cheeks, and passion.
“At least two, but honestly, if I knew I could give them the life they deserved, I’d have three or four or five.”
“Let’s hope the tattoo studio is a success, then.”
“Brian…”
I won’t look at her, focusing on the road, my words clashing in my mind.
“Brian,” she says again, but I know that once I turn and drink in her beauty again, I won’t be able to hold it back. I won’t be able to stop myself from revealing that I’ve got need smoldering in me too.
“You can’t say things like that if you don’t mean it.”
“Do you want me to mean it?”
I’ve pulled up at the side of the road, in the shadow of a tall building, a jewelry store on the ground level, currently shuttered for the morning. She reaches over and gently touches my chin, turning me so that I’m looking at her. Her eyes are glistening, but these seem like hopeful, happy tears, not like when I found out about the crush.
“What would you say if I said yes?” she whispers. “If I told you, yes, I want you to be talking about us, our future, a life together. Would you find that as weird as the crush?”
“I have to know you’re choosing it,” I say huskily.
“How can you know that?” she asks. “I’ve already told you I want you. I can make my own decisions.”
Without thinking—if I do, I’ll be paralyzed—I lean across the car and bring my lips close to hers. It’s reckless, but the street is quiet, the shops not yet open.
“I didn’t decide to feel this way about you,” I say fiercely. “I didn’t decide to look at you and just know, instantly, that you’re the woman for me. I didn’t choose to look at you and immediately imagine children, a future, a happy home, a life together. I didn’t choose for this ice around my heart… Goddamn, that’s cheesy.”
“Don’t stop,” she whispers, touching my face. “I don’t care if it’s cheesy.”
“You melted it.” I breathe heavily. “The second I saw you. I’ve been trying to fight it. The crush thing should’ve stopped me, but it hasn’t. It can’t because you belong to me. You’re mine. You always will be. Maybe that’s why the crush scares me so much. I know how badly I want you. I need to know you feel the same.”
I can’t wait for her response. For a moment, I exist in this place of possibility, without the crush, Roger, or common decency clinging on, dragging my hopes into the dirt.
When we kiss, it’s perfection, and I can get forget about everything else.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Evie
“Say it again,” I moan between the kisses. “Tell me, Brian.”
“You’re mine,” he growls, seeming unhinged like any second he could pull me into his lap, right here on the street, grind against me, free his manhood, push up inside me, and complete the wish I’ve had for so many years.
“You belong to me,” he says, his hands sinking into my sides possessively. “No other man will ever touch you. That’s why I’m so goddamn happy you’re a virgin. You are mine, nobody else’s, ever.”
I’ve dreamed you’d say something like this so many times.
The words die on my lips. I can’t let myself say something like this because it would too easily lead back to the crush talk, and he hates that, but it’s the truth. With each word, he’s bringing my wildest fantasies into reality.
“I don’t want to be anybody else’s,” I murmur.
Our hands are all over each other, mine spreading across his back, feeling his swelling muscles through his shirt. It’s the same polo he was wearing last night, and he smells faintly of sweat, a musky just-him smell that isn’t off-putting even a little.
“Just yours, but when you say ever—”
“I mean forever,” he growls, then kisses me again.
We’re in public, but it doesn’t matter when our lips make contact. The longing triggers deep within. We’re gasping through the kisses, our desire taking over.
