She giggled when I arched a brow. I’d all but forgotten the dumbass self-pun I’d invented in high school. “You did not just say that. First, though, this stolen shirt you’re wearing. This was my favorite shirt, you know. For shame, young lady. I should turn you over my knee.”
Her eyes widened. I wasn’t sure which I’d done more—shocked her or turned her on. Hopefully a bit of both.
“As I recall, Boyce Wynn, you gave this shirt to me.”
I looked her over—lying back in my arms, her head braced against my bicep. Smirking.
“I reckon I did leave it on your front porch.” I chewed my lip as if I was considering her line of reasoning. “And it does look better on you than it ever did on me, though I looked pretty damned hot in it, judging by the looks you’d sneak at me from across the lab table.”
I reached to sketch a finger down the side of her face, skirting under her jaw and down her throat. I traced the line of her collarbone to her arm and down to the ring finger on her left hand. Forever stretched out in front of us in a way it never had. My desire for her, my need of her, had rocketed right past this moment and into the distance as far as I could see.
I’d seen Arianna fall apart and shut down when we lost Brent, and it took her a while to come back from that dark place. She’d thrown herself into her work, and a few years ago, Buddy, nearing seventy, transitioned ownership of the tattoo parlor to her. She seemed content with her life, though she did tell me once, “I’m probably never going to be a mommy, so I’m counting on you to give me a niece or nephew to spoil someday.” I didn’t even know how the fuck to respond to that sentence. When my brother died, she was only twenty-five, but she had never let anyone else in, and I guess I could understand why.
As much of a nightmare as Dover’s high school shit had been, Maxfield had gotten over her bitch ass by the time he left for college. But for three years running, he didn’t say much about anyone when he came home. I’d known he had friends there, but he was a natural loner. I figured that damned cat might be as close as anyone would ever get until Jacqueline—the girl who made him smile like a dog with a T-bone at just the thought of her.
Mateo and Yvette Vega were the real deal—high school lovers made good. They’d been together since a game of spin-the-bottle paired them up in fourth grade. I was close enough to the action to know how close they came to losing it though. Vega had swaggered since he could walk, but he was one loyal son of a bitch. If he’d fucked up with Yvette, he’d have never forgiven himself.
Along her collarbone, Arianna had two thinly scripted tattoos. On her right: Life is fragile. On her left: Love is risk. I knew both of these things to be true, but the thought of losing the girl in my arms through my own idiocy outweighed every threat of how life could take her or how she might leave me.
“Hey,” she said, her hand rubbing slow circles over my heart. “Where’d you go?”
Her hair was a wild waterfall, tumbling over my arm to pool on the white comforter. She’d given in to the muggy coastal heat and, I suspected, the way I wound those silky coils around my fingers anytime I got the chance. Her eyes gleamed, fastened on mine, dark as night. I stared, and she stared back, her small hand still massaging my stinging heart, like she was bringing me to life. Maybe she was.
“Nowhere, sweetheart.” I inched the shirt’s hem up and let the fabric catch a taut nipple. “I’m right here.” I made slow loops around that stiff little bud with a fingertip. “I think I could be persuaded to pardon the loss of my shirt on one condition.”
“Wh-what’s that?” She panted.
I laid her flat and kissed her, wrists caught above her head and that shirt of mine bunched up and out of the way. As I took one rosy nipple in my mouth and inched my hand south at leisurely pace, she began murmuring soft, tempting pleas. I kissed down the center of her chest and dipped my tongue into the tiny hollow of her navel on my way down, parting her thighs and kneeling between them. Her breath quickened when I drifted lower to kiss her stomach. “Now where were we…?”
“Your c-condition?”
I shucked my T-shirt and shorts, ripped the condom package open and rolled it on, slowing at the raw fascination in her eyes as she watched me. “Spoke too soon,” I mumbled. I lay over her, kissing her. “No conditions.”
Her hands skimmed over my hipbones, fingers digging into the flexing muscles, thumbs caressing the sensitive spots she’d located on either side of my happy trail that I hadn’t known existed until she found them.
“I want you,” she whispered between kisses.
“Take what you want from me then. It’s been yours all along.”
She took me at my word, sliding her hands to my hips and pulling me in, hard. When I rocked into her, I was convinced we could’ve powered the whole city of Houston on the surge we generated.
• • • • • • • • • •
Monday afternoon, Mom and Riley came home from the title company and packed their shit into the bed of his truck. They hadn’t brought much. They’d sold her coupe to a wholesale dealer for a few hundred bucks because they’d just received a cashier’s check for six figures. Thinking themselves loaded, they were headed back to Amarillo to show off.
Odds they’d blow through that money inside a year? Pretty damned high.
Riley leaned on the truck, smoking, while Mom came to talk to me in the garage. Sam had gone for the day before they’d returned, so it was just the two of us.