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I’m not sure I want to leave her alone, not that I think her piece-of-shit mother and brother are going to do anything. I am fairly certain they won’t even think about doing shit, let alone attempt anything.
“Yeah,” I grunt.
She smiles as she reaches out and takes my hand in hers. Why does this, her simple touch to my hand, make my cock twitch? I could fuck her any minute of any day. I can’t get enough of her. I’m obsessed.
And I’m afraid it could turn goddamn unhealthy if I’m not careful. Though I’m not sure I want to be careful either. I like being obsessed with her. I like the way she feels. I like the way she looks at me. I like everything about her, and I want more.
So much more.
Wrapping my fingers around hers, I gently tug her behind me and toward the door. We need to leave before I fuck her again. Once we’re outside, I watch as she locks the front door, then she does something that surprises me: she lifts her hand and places her palm on the door, right where the sticker of the bakery’s name and logo are placed.
Shawn turns her head, her eyes finding mine, and she smiles. “I jumped into my dream. I jumped into you,” she begins. I wonder if she’s going to say that it was all a mistake, but she slides her tongue along her bottom lip and shrugs. Staying quiet, I wait for her to continue, and she does. “But I don’t regret any of it. I couldn’t.”
“Even when I’m an asshole?” I ask.
She laughs. “Are you ever not one? Truly?”
Grinning, I lean forward and touch my lips to hers. “Not really,” I murmur.
“Then even when you’re an asshole,” she breathes against my lips.
Instead of picking her up and fucking her against that door, I take a step backward and hold my hand out for her, palm facing up. She slips her hand in mine, and I curl my fingers around hers as we walk toward her place.
“We’re not riding?” she asks.
Turning my head, I look down at her with a smirk. “It’s nice out. Let’s walk.”
Before I realize what’s happening, she lifts her other hand, wraps her arm around mine, and rests her head against my bicep. Me in my boots and leather, her in her sneakers and fitted T-shirt. We look like complete opposites together, and yet I know we fit.
It doesn’t take us long to make our way toward the apartment. Climbing the stairs, I hate that we’re already here. She lifts her head, slides her backpack off her shoulders, and begins to dig into the front pocket, producing her keys.
I watch as she opens her door and steps inside, then follow behind her, closing the door and flipping the lock into place. The apartment seems undisturbed, empty. Shawn is talking, but I’m not listening to her as my eyes scan the small space.
“Did you hear me?” she asks.
Flicking my gaze from the sofa to her, I tilt my head to the side. “I didn’t,” I confess.
She wrinkles her nose. It’s cute as fuck, but I can tell she’s likely annoyed with me. Doesn’t matter. Scanning her surroundings was a lot more important than anything she had to say.
“I wanted to know if you were hungry? Thirsty?”
My lips twitch into a small smile. Shaking my head slowly, I clear my throat. “No, sweetness. I’m good. I should probably get back to the clubhouse and get to work. I’ll text you, yeah?”
She nods her head, her gaze focused on mine, and the way those green eyes look into my own, I don’t want to fucking go anywhere. I want to stay right fucking here—forever.
Fuck.
Goddamn.
I’ve never been owned by anyone. I’m owned by my club in a way, but this is different. I never thought a woman would own me this way, but she does. She fucking owns me, all of me. And I don’t think I want it any other way, ever.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
SHAWN
I’m not sure what I expected.
