Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
He did this for me. I don’t know when or how, but he’s fixing what he fucked up, and that goes a long way in soothing my anger toward him. It’s not an apology of words but of action.
We’ll have to deal with each other eventually, and it won’t be pretty, but this is a huge step in the right direction.
“Fucking hate you too,” I answer just as quietly. He doesn’t react, just faces forward and gets into his van, but he heard me. I know he did.
I turn back to Hope, who gives me a cute two-finger wave and a surer grin. “Hi. Could I interest you in some candy or a puppy?”
Yeah, the vans are a bit sketchy, but their blandness is what makes them work for our purposes.
I climb in, slam the door behind me, and sit on the floor beside her as the van starts to move. “You’re here. How’re you here?” I murmur. I feel like my world has been rocked off its axis. I want to believe that her appearance here means that she’s forgiven me, but I know it’s not that easy. Still, hope is growing wild in my heart.
She starts to answer, and I remember that we’re not alone. We can’t speak here, not safely, not confidentially. The drivers are vetted, and there’s a wall between him and us, but part of the top-secret deal is no talking so that there’s zero chance they’ll hear our real voices.
I hold up a hand and then gesture toward the driver. She follows my finger, nods, and then mimes locking her lips.
I want to hear what she has to say. I want to know everything she’s thought, done, and felt over the last couple of weeks. But also, I need to touch her to make sure she’s not a figment of my imagination. Because my mind has been a dangerous place lately, and I wouldn’t put it past my brain to fuck me over with a lucid hallucination of my fantasy come true.
My hands are a mess, literally covered in smeared paint and sweat, but I cup her face, running my thumb over her cheekbone. She leans into my touch, which leaves a smudge of black on her soft skin. I’m quite literally corrupting her with my filth, but I refuse to stop. She reaches up to remove my mask and I help, ripping it off. I swipe my mouth on my sleeve, thankful I don’t paint fully beneath the mask but knowing I’m still gross post-concert. She doesn’t seem to care, running her thumb over my bottom lip and staring at it as she flashes a naughty smile, making me wonder what she’s thinking.
I don’t have time to wonder for long, because she lifts her chin, kissing me confidently. Her lips are soft and warm, parting on a sigh like she’s finally getting what she wants. Me. But the truth is . . . I’m the one possessing her. Claiming her. Marking her as I nip her lip. She gasps and I chase that breath with my tongue, wanting it too.
I want all of her. Forever. I will do whatever it takes to make that happen.
Leave the band? Done.
Move to Maple Creek? Absolutely.
Become a no-credit commercial-jingle writer? Ding-a-fucking-ling.
Spend the rest of my life apologizing between her thighs, on her heart, and with my soul? Yes, without hesitation.
I slide my fingers into her hair, holding her head still as I tease over the curve of her ear with my nose. “I love you,” I whisper, needing her to know that. There’s more to say, so much more, but that’s the crux of it all.
She melts into my caress, dipping her chin to turn into me. “I love you too.” The words are more air than sound, but I hear them all the same.
Somehow, in what is the weirdest mix of darkness and light, we kiss again, the sweetest, softest kiss of my life, which grows into something more. I war with my need to touch her and my need to get this costume off. I push the cloak off, undoing the clasp and letting it fall to the van floor, and rip my shirt over my head. Beneath it is another shirt that’s skintight and covers me from neck to wrists, an attempt to make sure nothing can be identified onstage. I fight to get the wet, clinging shirt off, and every inch higher I get it, I’m rewarded with Hope’s exploration of the new territory of my skin. When I’m finally shirtless, I go for hers, which is much easier to pull over her head. She wastes no time, undoing the hooks of her bra and letting it fall to the wayside too.
I cup her breasts in my hands, any care of the body paint gone as I mark her all over, branding her with my touch. I tease her nipple with my tongue, sucking it into my mouth as I look up at her. A little smile tilts her lips, and I lift a brow, questioning her.