Chapter 35

My heart is pounding like a locomotive as I lower my head, take her mouth in a kiss that encapsulates everything that I'm feeling.

Love.

I fucking love this woman.

And I want to keep her.

And I thought it, said it out loud, and…

Nothing bad happened.

She sighs, lips parting, and I sweep my tongue inside her mouth, tasting her, taking from her, giving back.

I tug her onto my lap.

"King!" she gasps, hands going to my shoulders, legs straddling my waist.

I drop my forehead to hers, loving the dazed look in her eyes, the way her nails knead at my shoulders when I drag my hand up her side, how her pelvis shifts, rocking against my dick.

Which is hard.

Because…it's Rory.

She leans in and this time she kisses me, all eagerness and heat and need, those hips rocking against me and?—

Christ, I'm going to come in my pants like a teenager.

"Princess," I murmur, cupping her hip, drawing her to a halt.

"I want you," she whispers. "I love you and I want you and—" Her eyes blaze with need. "More than I've ever wanted anyone."

Heat scalds through me and my dick twitches.

I want her too.

So fucking much.

But it's the middle of the morning and we're on a public trail and any idiot could walk up and?—

She moves then, doing it faster than my desire addled brain can process, flicking open the button on my jeans, yanking down my zipper?—

"Princess—"

She wraps her hand around my dick and?—

Look.

Frankly, I don't try very hard to stop her.

Because her fingers are wrapped around my cock and they're stroking and then…

Her mouth joins the party.

And then I'm really not thinking about stopping her, about drawing that warm, slick mouth off my dick, peeling the fingers free.

No fucking way.

Teeth and tongue, lips and suction.

A hand dipping into my underwear to cup my balls, and?—

I stiffen.

Sweet baby Jesus, I'm going to come in her mouth.

On the side of a hill.

On a public trail.

In the middle of the day.

"Princess—"

She hums, her hand tightening, and?—

Shit.

I know I have one second—one fucking second—to gather the remnants of my control, to pull them into something tangible, to?—

"Fuck," I growl, gripping her shoulders, pulling her off.

Pop!

"Dangerous," I mutter, not missing the pride on her face, the mischief in her eyes. "And…convenient."

Confusion sliding through her expression.

Until I reach for the hem of her dress, drag it up.

"King—"

"Shh," I order quietly, dragging her underwear down those lush thighs, wanting to taste the sopping cunt that's partially obscured by blond curls, but knowing that it will have to wait until later.

I nudge the fabric, send it down along her thighs, allow it to drop to her ankles.

Then I'm coaxing her to step out of them, tucking them into my pocket.

Drawing her back onto my lap.

Pushing inside.

We both gasp.

And then she's rocking again, the tight clamp of her pussy all around me. Hot. Slick. Convulsing tightly.

"King!" she cries, head falling back, eyes closed, hair a glimmering golden cape spread out behind her.

Beautiful.

Mine.

And then I'm lost in the pleasure of her, of this moment, of her love and the feelings in my heart and…

The fact that my future—our future—can be different.

Which is exactly the moment that I hear voices echoing up the trail.

"I still can't believe that you almost got me arrested," she grumbles later that day.

We're curled up on the couch, a crappy action movie on in the background that neither of us are paying attention to. Because…things have changed and we're both being careful of that.

Aware of it.

Protecting it.

"No one saw anything," I remind her.

Because I'd swept her off my lap, tucked myself away, and straightened her dress before any of that could happen.

Her underwear was still in my pocket, though.

I grin.

"You're proud of yourself?" she asks, all prickle princess.

"I like your exhibition tendencies," I tell her, leaning close and nuzzling her throat. "Because as you know," I remind her, "you're the one who started it all."

She scowls, cheeks flushing, but I don't miss the pride in her eyes. "Rude," she grumbles. "It was totally your fault."

"So says the woman who stuck her hands down my pants…"

"It was one hand," she exclaims. "One hand—ack!"

I flip us, pinning her between my body and the couch cushions. "But five fingers," I murmur, trailing my tongue along her throat, pressing a kiss to the hinge of her jaw. "All wrapped around my cock."

"Four," she groans, nails scoring over my back.

I freeze, snag one of her hands, drawing it between us. "One. Two. Three." I kiss the tip of her thumb then her pointer and middle fingers. "Four." Her ring finger. "Five." I nibble at her palm. "Am I missing something?"

"Yup."

She doesn't go on, so I weave my hand into her hair, tilt her head back and kiss her throat. "You have five fingers, princess."

She shudders. "A thumb isn't technically a finger."

I freeze.

Then laughter boils up and over, filling the space between us.

This woman is fucking funny.

And sweet, her cheeks reddening, her teeth nibbling at her bottom lip.

But there's uncertainty drifting into her eyes, clinging to the edges of gorgeous emerald.

She doesn't plan for the future, but she told me she loves me.

She's lost so many things that were important to her, but she still found the courage to give me those words.

"Fuck, I love you."

Her eyes widen, the uncertainty disappears, and I know that I never stood a chance at keeping my distance from this woman, know that all the distance I erected, the times I pushed her buttons, every moment I clung to the fact that I'm not my dad…

It was all bullshit.

Because I was scared of getting hurt.

Scared of loving someone and having it go bad.

And because of that…

I almost missed out on this.

If I hadn't seen her on the side of the road that day, hadn't pulled my bike to a stop, hadn't seen the bruises…

I might never have had her like this, might have never seen this side of her.

Might have never had the chance to love her as she should be loved.

Because I'm going to love her so fucking good that she'll never have any doubt where she stands in my heart.

"Even if I'm right about thumbs?" she asks.

Teases.

Because she's here with me. Because, somehow, she can give that to me, even after everything she went through.

"I'll show you thumbs," I tease back, dragging my hand in, dipping my fingers (and said thumb) under the waistband of her pajamas, pressing my lips to hers and kissing her with every part of what I'm feeling—which is a whole fucking lot.

"This isn't fake," I growl when I pull back, holding her eyes, needing her to see the truth in mine, "and it never has been."

"No," she whispers. "It's not." A beat, her palm pressing to my cheek. "And it hasn't been from the beginning."

All the fear in me—not that there's much of it left, Rose's voice in my head fading to a faint whisper—settles and I cup her hip, turning us so that she's cradled against my chest, so that we can watch the movie we've been ignoring.

She doesn't protest, just scooches closer and relaxes against me, her contented sigh hitting my ears. Zeus, who was displaced during my shifting, jumps back onto the couch and settles in front of her.

And…this moment is small.

It's a valley overlooking a gorgeous view. It's giving a meaningful present. It's scoring a goal and seeing her dancing like a fiend in the stands.

It's a dance in the kitchen.

It's teasing and an inside joke.

It's…us.

And that's why I know it's perfect.