Chapter 67

He was not the guy who’d rush to her bedroom and return with a couple of blankets, make a tent for them both to stake out on the kitchen floor. No. He’d carry her unless she explicitly stopped him.

She was staring at him from underneath her lids, her eyes spoke volumes. She was pushing his limits like always. Her cleavage, incidentally, fell in the direct path of the moonlight from the opposing window. The bared flesh was an invitation to be stroked and marked.

“That’s your final choice?” He wanted the pretense of choice, so he could take back some control. His voice had gone hoarse, and he was hard enough that the constraints of his jeans made him uncomfortable.

She bit her lip and nodded. He stared at her, wanting to tuck back the locks that escaped her rubber band because they were standing in the way of appreciating her small chin, and full cheekbones. It was unfair at times, how tender and volatile she made him.

He didn’t let her gauge his actions, hooking his hand under her a