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Stormy
“If you’re not careful, your face is going to stick like that,” Mila says, patting my face like a grandmother would.
“You know why I’m in a mood.”
“And I’ve been telling you for months that you’re crazy.”
“There’s nothing crazy about wanting to marry you, Mila. I’m starting to think you don’t love me at all.”
She snaps her head in my direction. “Vincent Chilton!”
Guilt swims inside of me. It was a low blow, and I told myself that I’d have patience with her. I know she thinks this won’t last, but what she can’t get through her thick head is that what we have isn’t controlled by karma or the universe or whatever other nonsense she thinks. We control our destiny and ours is intertwined. I told her she was mine, and that wasn’t enough. I’ve asked her to marry me and she just chuckles and acts like I’m playing. My seriousness has somehow turned into a game. I usually smile and let her play it off, but it’s really starting to eat away at my confidence.
I shrug when she just continues to glare at me.
“Are you using me for my body?”
Her eyes drop to the front of my jeans, and I can’t help but begin to thicken with her attention there. Thinking for one second I was in control of this situation was a huge mistake. I’m like a puppy on a leash with her, and she figured that out very early on.
“Am I using you for that thick, scrumptious cock of yours that gets me off so often I’ve grown addicted to the way it feels inside of me?”
I swallow, wanting to close my eyes to gather some control but I just can’t stop looking at her when her attention is on me. I thicken further, my need about to pass the point of no return regardless of where we are and the meeting about to take place.
“It’s been months,” I tell her, well aware of just how whiney my voice sounds.
“And other than when we’re working, we spend every second together. I’m not going anywhere, Vincent.”
She’s the only one who still calls me by my given name. I sort of love it. It’s something I’ve had since birth, but since no one else uses it, it feels like something that is ours.
“What does that have to do with you continuing to refuse to marry me?”
Her smile goes wider.
“You say refuse like you actually spend the time asking. You demand it of me.”
“I thought you liked me in control.” I cock an eyebrow at her, shift my hips on the chair until I draw her attention back to the front of my jeans.
I know she’s just as insatiable as I am.
“I think we need to have this conversation another time,” she says.
“We always have this conversation. Our home is under construction and halfway done.”
“And the answer doesn’t change.”
“Yes, but I thought we established that I’m not crazy, and that it isn’t a bad idea.”
Her eyes narrow. “Not once have I ever said marrying you would be a bad idea.”
“But you also haven’t said yes, either.”
“I think I might, one day,” she says, rolling her lips between her teeth to help fight her smile.
“That’s so unfair,” I say, a little angrier than I should probably feel for a man who fully believes everyone should have free will. “You’re playing with my emotions. It’s manipulative, and I—”
“I’m so sorry about that,” Mr. Dobbs says as he walks back into the conference room, his hand on his lower belly.
“Are you okay?” I ask the attorney when I notice just how pale his face looks.
