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"You didn’t answer me, baby," I murmur.
"What was the question?" Her tone is distracted, her gaze still fixed on my lips.
"Keep looking at me that way and we’re never leaving this room."
"Nothing wrong with that." Her mouth curves.
I take the book from her lap and slide it to the side. When she parts her legs, I lower my head and press my nose into the space between her thighs. I inhale deeply, and the sugary-sweet scent of her pussy goes straight to my head and to my cock, which instantly swells. "Fuck, Rabbit, I need to bottle the scent of your cunt and carry it around with me."
"And then how will you relieve your are-you-happy-to-see-me-shaped baseball bat in your crotch?" She reaches between my legs and squeezes my shaft, and I almost come in my pants.
"Woman, you’re a menace," I grumble.
"You taught me well, Tiger."
I blink. "Tiger, huh?"
"You call me Rabbit; figured it was time I came up with a name for you," she says in an innocent voice.
"Hmm." I sit back on my haunches—my head, my heart, my soul still full of her scent, her taste, her very essence. These weeks we’ve spent locked in my house have been the best of my life. And if I could, I’d simply stop the production of the movie and devote the rest of my days to keeping her high on post-coital endorphins. But I need to keep her in the style she deserves. More importantly, I need to ensure she gets her chance at reviving her career. I cannot—will not deprive her of this. "I’m rather partial to you calling me Lord or Master."
She rolls her eyes. "Of course you are."
"Yep, definitely time."
"For what?"
"For now, it’s going out and facing the press."
"Which should be a breeze, since I’m with you." She raises a shoulder.
"So much confidence in me, hmm?"
"Always, Tiger. Always."
"I’m keeping count of the number of ways you sass me, and I’m going to return it to you with interest," I say in a low voice.
A shiver runs up her spine. She leans in until her nose brushes mine. "I’m counting on it."
"You two ready?" Giorgina’s voice says from the doorway.
Neither of us looks away.
"The crowd is getting restless," Harry’s voice pipes up from somewhere in the same direction.
I rise to my feet, and this time, when I hold out my hand, she takes it. I pull her to her feet. Once more, I scan her features—the lack of black circles under her eyes, the healthy color of her cheeks, her pink blouse and skinny jeans teamed with Doc Martins. On her right wrist she wears the bracelet with the charms I’ve given her. On her left hand is the engagement ring. All pieces of jewelry that I gave her. And inside her is a part of me. I touch her side. "How does it feel?"
"It doesn’t hurt at all." She smiles. Then, in a move that mirrors mine, she presses her palm against my side. "How does it feel?"
"Don’t feel a thing anymore." So, maybe I’m lying a little. Maybe the lingering pain in my side is one that may never go away. It’s similar to the pain of a phantom limb, the doctor told me. It might fade with time, or grow worse, or neither. So, I might need to take painkillers until I find a better way to manage it. But it’s worth every bit of inconvenience, every twinge that grips me when I move, every bead of sweat that slides down my spine as I entwine my fingers through hers and turn to face our managers lurking anxiously by the doorway.
"You sure you’re okay?" She tugs on my sleeve.
I glance down at her. "As long as you’re by my side."
Her eyes light up. "I’m a sucker for romance, and you know it."
"I’m just getting started, too, baby."
