Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, but the plot is my own
Chapter 21
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I returned to the bedroom where Edward lay, eyes half-lidded, the covers tangled around his waist. I set the food down on the nightstand, the quiet clink of the plate barely registering.
As I slipped back under the blankets, the movement stirred him. He shifted instinctively, arms wrapping around me as he exhaled against the side of my neck.
"You smell so good," he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
His fingers found the necklace resting just above my collarbone. He held it there—warm, careful—letting the ring settle against my skin.
"I don't think I ever asked you where this came from," I said softly.
He smiled, slow and drowsy. "My grandma—on my dad's side. She gave it to him when he proposed to my mom."
He sighed, thumb brushing over the chain like it was something sacred.
My body still held the tension from earlier—the sharp words with Jacob, how this morning began. I'd been wringing my hands without even realizing it, shifting like I couldn't get comfortable. Edward felt it. At some point, his body went still against mine.
"You want to smoke?" he asked suddenly, voice low, reading me better than I could read myself.
"What, are you reading my mind?" The question caught me a little off guard. But then I remembered the gummies I'd packed. "I brought edibles." A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "Where'd you get weed?" I teased.
He grumbled, half a grin pulling at his lips. "I know a guy."
For some reason, that settled me just enough. His ease. His courtesy. The way he always thought about me—even in the smallest ways. I didn't want to drift too far from him or let my mind spiral down old, useless roads. The farthest I was willing to go was to my makeup bag, where I'd tucked away a few nighttime gummies for this exact kind of restlessness. God, I love the way I think.
I chewed one quietly in the bathroom, brushed my teeth, then padded back into the room. Edward opened the blankets for me without a word, letting me crawl into the warmth of him. The TV clicked off, and all I could hear was the hum of the central air. The kind of peace that only settled in when he was near.
I was still thinking about how he'd said he loved me earlier.
I felt it.
Not just in my chest—but deep in my body. It settled into my bones. I didn't say it back, but not because I didn't want to. It just caught me off guard, the depth of it. The clarity.
Hearing him and Jacob going back and forth earlier—so macho, so layered—had shaken something loose in me. Jacob's presence always complicated things. He's not who he used to be, but he still pushes my buttons. He always has. I used to tell his sisters that he was probably a sadist. Brooding, unpredictable, irritating as hell. Who knew that was just how a boy shows affection? Apparently, it still is.
But he's not all bad. In fact, he's part of the reason Seth is doing better. Jacob got through to him when no one else could. Broke through that hard, stubborn shell. Put that fire back in his eyes. And if he hadn't...I don't think anything else would've worked. Not therapy. Not me.
And yet—Edward. Edward, with his steadiness. His certainty. The way he never lets me forget I'm loved, even before he'd confessed it. He's ruined me for anything less. If this didn't work out, if I lost this, it wouldn't just be heartbreak—it would be a rewiring. Because anyone else after him would have to love me louder, better, deeper than he ever did. And that feels impossible.
I tried to let those thoughts go. I tried to focus on the comfort of the sheets and the warmth of Edward's body beside mine. My hand slipped into his as I tucked myself against his chest, his breathing already deep and slow.
And eventually, somewhere between gratitude and ache, I slipped into sleep—still thinking about the boy who used to taunt me, and the man who now made me feel safe..
I woke up ridiculously early, restless and a little too aware of everything. The house was quiet, still steeped in sleep. I rummaged around, found the weed Edward had stashed, and rolled myself a joint with steady fingers. After cleaning up, I stepped out the front door for some peace and a smoke.
And of course—because the universe had jokes—Jacob was already outside, bustling around as he clipped Kujo's leash.
"Mmm, my favorite—drugs," he said, full of sarcasm.
I scoffed, blowing a slow stream of smoke in his direction on purpose.
He waved it away with a grimace. "I'll never understand how you and Rebecca could stand to smell like that. Or do that shit, honestly."
"It calms us down," I muttered, taking another drag. "God knows I need it after dealing with your crap this whole trip."
He let out a sharp breath, that irritated kind of laugh that came from deep in his chest. As he tied his hair back, he muttered, "You know, my mom used to say—the older you get, the better you get… unless you're a banana."
I stared at him, deadpan. "It sounded funnier when Betty White said it on Golden Girls."
He rolled his eyes, clipped the leash to Kujo's collar, and jogged off, still grumbling under his breath. I stood there, still toking, fiddling with the necklace Edward gave me with my free hand.
By the time he got back we were all dressed comfortably and lugging our stuff near the front door. I'd helped Seth out while Edward was tending to my things, then he met me at the bottom of the stairs to grab Seth's stuff. Always helpful.
Edward wanted to take us out to breakfast before we headed back to the holler.
The Florida heat hadn't hit yet. Morning haze still clung to the air like dew, and the sidewalk out front of the café was drowsy quiet—save for the occasional rumble of traffic in the distance.
Jacob stood alone near the edge of the parking lot, arms crossed, like he wasn't quite ready to go inside. Edward and Seth went ahead wrapped up in conversation, so I kinda side stepped behind to see what's up.
"You gonna sulk through breakfast too?"
He glanced at me, dry and unimpressed. "Didn't know you cared."
"I care when it involves Seth," I said, leveling my voice. "Not very mentor-like of you, Jacob. Leaving him to fuck off and chase tail last night?"
His jaw ticked. Just slightly. But I caught it.
"He's not a toddler, Leah. I didn't leave him on a street corner."
"No, but you left him alone, he doesn't know the area." I took a breath. "You know he's still fragile. He's making progress, yeah, but it only takes one slip—one night—to undo that."
He gave a humorless little laugh, like he couldn't believe I was coming at him with this.
"You wanna talk to me about being a good influence?"
The way he said it—sharp and bitter—made me pause. But not enough to back down.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He shook his head, already turning away.
"Pot head," he muttered.
I blinked at that, stunned.
"I'm not doing this here," he added, voice low but clipped. "Not with him inside. You wanna lecture me, wait until we're actually alone."
He turned back toward the café, pushing open the door hard enough that the little bell above it jangled too loud.
I stood there for a second, heart pounding, unsure if it was from anger or that cold sting of truth hidden in his words.
The door swung shut behind him, and through the glass I could already see Edward and Seth being seated at a booth. His gaze fell to me, as he grinned.
And just like that, I breathed again.
The café smelled like espresso and warm butter, the kind of place where the clink of silverware was softer than usual and everything felt just a little too quaint to be real.
I slid into the seat beside Seth. Edward was across from Seth, already sipping from a tiny cup of coffee like it was brewed from the elixir of gods. His smile widened the second I sat down, and something in my chest finally started to unclench.
Jacob came from the bathroom hall and dropped into the booth next to Edward, probably pissed I'd chosen to sit beside Seth. He didn't say anything. Just grabbed a menu and held it up like a shield.
Edward didn't mention the vibe. Just leaned back and said, "I hope everyone's hungry—I've already ordered like I've got a second stomach."
Seth grinned. "Same, I feel like I didn't eat for two days, ordered steak and eggs."
"Eh," I muttered, nudging his leg under the table. "You lived on corner store candy and chips."
Jacob grumbled under his breath, "takes after his sister."
I gave him a slow look.
He caught it—too late—and quickly dropped his gaze, feigning interest in the menu. "These eggs better be good for how much they're charging."
Edward chuckled softly, smoothing the air. "They're French-style. So, you know—clouds and hope."
Jacob didn't bite. His boot tapped beneath the table, some restless part of him still agitated.
Seth, blissfully unaware of the tension braided into the silence, looked up at Edward. "Hey—have you ever been to South America?"
Edward set his cup down, eyes softening like the question was a gift. "A few times. Argentina, mostly. But I got stuck in Peru for a week once. Canceled flights. Not the worst place to be stranded, though—people were amazing."
Seth lit up. "That's where I wanna go. Or maybe reroute and do Italy."
Jacob raised a brow. "What, you got a passport already?"
Seth shrugged. "Might get one. I was thinking we could do this—all of us—again sometime."
I tried not to freeze as Seth's big eyes looked over to me then around the table. Jacob scowled.
Edward didn't. He smiled at Seth, warm and genuine. "We'll plan something when the time's right. And I'll show you the best street food first. That's how you really learn a place."
Jacob muttered, "Yeah, or get violently ill," before fiddling with his napkin like he'd said something helpful.
Edward gave a brief smirk but didn't take the bait. He shifted his attention back to Seth, asking about the car they'd been working on back home, if he liked getting his hands dirty, and if he wanted to learn more once they got back.
I watched it happen—how Edward gently rerouted every sharp edge. How he gave Seth his full attention, let Jacob brood without feeding the fire, and kept me tethered with a glance now and then. Just enough to remind me I wasn't alone in any of this.
The waitress came back with a too-bright smile, pen already out, but her eyes barely flicked to me. She hovered by Jacob's side, all fluttery lashes and soft chuckles as she asked what we'd be having. Her gaze danced between Jacob and Edward, and though it landed on Edward now and then, his attention never wavered. He was locked in on me. Like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.
I could feel his stare when I glanced over. It lit something up in me. That warmth in my chest bloomed, made me forget whatever irritation Jacob's pathetic attempt at charm had stirred in me. The waitress laughed at something Jacob said, brushing her fingers against his forearm as she wrote down his order, clearly charmed. It was gross. I recoiled slightly, then immediately questioned why I even cared. Because I didn't. Or—I shouldn't.
Seth was too busy texting on his phone to notice any of it, lost in whatever world he lived in when he didn't want to be part of ours.
Edward and Seth had ordered earlier, so it was just Jacob and me now. I gave the waitress my order in a clear, unfussy tone, not bothering to force a smile. She nodded but didn't look up from her notepad. Her eyes were back on Jacob the second I finished speaking.
We finished up breakfast without much incident—unless you counted Jacob subjecting that poor waitress to his best attempt at allure.
Edward paid the check before anyone could think twice, sliding his card toward the edge of the table with an effortless grace. The waitress taking it happily.
The drive back to the house was short. Palm trees lined the road like they were waving goodbye, and sunlight poured through the windshield in thick gold beams. Seth dozed off in the back seat, a full belly finally slowing him down.
At the house, we all split off to grab our things. I double-checked the room Edward and I had shared, then came out watching Seth trying to get himself together near the living room, I helped him stuff his charger into the last open pocket of his backpack. Jacob was near the front door, crouched in front of Kujo, holding out a small chew wrapped in deli meat.
"Alright, buddy. Time to take a nap in the sky."
Kujo sniffed it once, then took the chew obediently and sat back on his haunches like this was just part of the routine. His eyelids were already drooping, still tired from his walk this morning.
He smirked, lifting two fingers to his lips in a mock-smoking gesture. "Did you have your little digression time already, or should we wait for the mood swings to pass?"
I rolled my eyes. "You're an ass."
He shrugged. "And yet, you keep me around."
I didn't bother arguing. Kujo was already wandering over to his travel crate, curling up with a heavy sigh like he was emotionally preparing for the flight.
Once everything was packed into the SUV, we drove to the private tarmac. Edward greeted the pilot with a handshake and a few quiet words while the rest of us stood in the thick Florida heat, watching Kujo be gently transferred onto the jet. Seth was bouncing a little on his toes..
Jacob stayed quiet, watching the dog get settled, arms crossed over his chest like he was personally overseeing airport security. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw ticked slightly, the way it always did when he was chewing on something unsaid.
"Relax," I murmured as I passed him. "Kujo's not gonna hijack the plane."
Jacob didn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to. "If anyone could…"
Edward was waiting near the base of the stairs, hand outstretched like he'd been holding space for me the whole time.
"Ready to get home?" he asked, voice gentle.
"Almost," I said, my fingers sliding into his. "Just gotta get through the flight."
"Piece of cake," he murmured, leaning in so close his breath warmed my ear. "You can even hold my hand."
I rolled my eyes at him, but still—I didn't let go.
Inside, the jet was sleek and quiet, hushed in that expensive way that made it feel like you were stealing peace from the rest of the world. The kind of quiet that cushions your thoughts before they can rattle around too loud.
Seth was already buckled in, legs stretched, hood up, earbuds in. He had one hand braced against the window, eyes squinting like the clouds might offer something he missed on the way there. It was sweet—he didn't know I'd noticed.
Jacob dropped into a seat across the aisle, one knee bouncing. He shoved one earbud in, the other left dangling like he was still listening to something inside the cabin. Probably his own doubts. Or Kujo, whose crate he kept glancing at like the dog might bust out and start barking in German.
Edward and I settled in, side by side. He nudged the armrest up, his arm slipping around my shoulders. I nestled in, resting against him, the scent of his cologne and his skin instantly relaxing me. It was a mixture I was starting to associate with safety—and also, desire.
He opened a book, the kind with worn corners and a broken spine. Something he must've packed knowing we'd be quiet, or that I'd pass out the second my head touched his chest. And I did—somewhere over Georgia, I was asleep, finally too tired to overthink everything.
It was the best nap I'd had in months.
By the time we touched down, the sky was painted in that familiar late afternoon haze—dusky and cool, the golden hour stretched a little thinner here. Florida felt a world away now. The air smelled different. Less salt, more pine. Less humid, more real.
Seth shuffled out first, hoodie pulled tight, already texting someone. Jacob rolled Kujo's crate beside him, calm and composed, but his shoulders still hadn't dropped. All waiting for our bags and setting off.
Edward's fingers brushed mine again as we walked toward long term parking, slow and casual, as if neither of us wanted to rush back into the rest of the world just yet. We'd made it there, meandering along. Reaching my rig, loading both Seth's things and my own with Edward doing a majority of the work.
At one point we gazed at each other.
"You wanna stay at my place tonight?" he asked, voice low, meant just for me.
I hesitated—not because I didn't want to, but out of habit. My eyes flicked to Seth, who was stretching between my car and Jacob's, his backpack slung over one shoulder like he was already in weekend mode.
Seth caught the look and smirked. "I'll be fine," he said, already anticipating me. "I'll just head over to Jake's."
Jacob gave him a look. "Oh, you will, huh?"
Then he scoffed, not waiting for a response, and tapped his rig to life with a sharp turn of the key. The engine grumbled awake—loud, annoyed, just like him.
Seth winked at me as if to say don't worry, I got this. "I'll be good. I can handle all that sass."
I narrowed my eyes, pointing a finger at him. "And don't forget—therapy tomorrow at three."
He groaned, but nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Are you going to yours?"
That made me pause. I hated how quick he was to flip it back on me. "Don't start with me," I said, but there wasn't much bite in it. "I'll text Foreman."
"Mmhmm," he muttered, already heading to the passenger side of Jake's truck.
I looked back at Edward and said, "Follow me to the house real quick? I wanna drop my stuff off, check on everything, pack a bag."
He nodded, his eyes soft.
We'd made it back in no time. On the way I'd stumbled upon a joint in the astray, sparking up immediately.
Inside, the house smelled like laundry and stale coffee, but it was still home—still here. I did a quick sweep: new messages on the answering machine, nothing out of place. I tossed a few things into a small overnight bag, checked the dryer, and scribbled a reminder on the whiteboard by the fridge just in case Seth forgot therapy in the morning. While I did so, Edward had brought the luggage inside for me.
By the time I stepped back outside, Edward was leaning against the passenger side of his car, the setting sun painting him in warm gold. He straightened as soon as he saw me, his eyes scanning my face like he was making sure I hadn't changed my mind.
"You like that idea Seth was talking about over breakfast?" I asked, still a little amused. It was random, but Edward was used to me by now.
He tilted his head, thoughtful. "More travel?"
I nodded, stepping in close with a grin.
His arms slipped around my waist, hands settling at the small of my back—thumbs brushing just above the curve of my ass. "Anything for you," he said, quiet but sincere, swaying us gently from side to side. His persistence brought him a long way.
I nearly laughed. Out of disbelief, maybe—that someone like him was real. That this was real. That someone like him would want someone like me. He nuzzled into the crook of my neck, inhaling like he needed the moment sealed into memory.
"Ready?" he murmured.
I nodded. "Yeah."
We pulled away from the curb, the quiet of the street fading behind us.
The drive to Edward's place was quiet at first, the kind that didn't need filling. His hand stayed resting between us, palm up like an open invitation, and I curled my fingers into his without thinking.
But as we neared the familiar bend by the crossroads, I spoke up. "Can we stop by my uncle's real quick? Just wanna check on him. Let him know we made it back safe."
Edward nodded, already flicking on his blinker. "Of course."
With a few directions we'd made it to the old house. We pulled up front, the porch light already on despite the daylight. I could see Quil through the screen door, rocking slowly like always, a newspaper folded on his lap even though he probably hadn't read a word of it.
Edward opened his door before I could, stepping out and circling around without hesitation. Quil rose from his chair with a grunt, his hand outstretched before Edward even made it to the steps.
I followed behind as Edward took his hand, shaking it firmly.
"Sir," Edward said with that calm, respectful ease he carried everywhere. "Nice to meet you."
Quil's brow lifted, his eyes flicking to me in surprise.
I smiled. "This is Edward," I said, and then, without even thinking twice, added, "My boyfriend."
There was a beat. Then another. I hadn't looked at Edward, but I could feel him looking at me, still and quiet, like my use of the title had landed harder than expected. Maybe for both of us.
Quil blinked at me, then grinned wide, warm and surprised. "Well, I'll be damned."
"Name's Quil." He slapped Edward's back in a way that made me flinch—Quil didn't do that often. "She's a good one," he said, to Edward. "Tough, too. You mess that up, you'll answer to more than just me."
Edward smiled, soft but sure. "I believe that."
I stepped forward and gave Quil a quick hug. "Where's Jr?"
"Workin'," he answered simply.
"Well, if you need anything, call, okay? I'll keep my phone on."
He nodded, still grinning, and waved us off like he didn't want to make a thing of it. "Go on. You two got better things to do than entertain an old man."
We slipped back into the car, the door clicking shut behind me with a soft finality. I barely had time to reach for my seatbelt before Edward leaned over, fingers curling gently around my jaw, turning my face toward his.
His lips brushed mine—tentative for a heartbeat—then deepened with intent, slow and consuming, the kind of kiss that short-circuited my thoughts and made my breath catch. His other hand found my thigh, fingers pressing just enough to tease, heat blooming under his touch. I arched toward him without thinking, needing more.
When he pulled back, his voice was rough, laced with intent. "You just called me your boyfriend."
I felt the flush rise to my cheeks, the kind that burned all the way to the tips of my ears. "Yes," I breathed, voice barely steady. "I guess I did."
His thumb brushed over my mouth, then dipped lower, tracing the line of my throat with aching slowness.
"Say it again."
The command was soft, but it hit hard—something about the way he said it made my spine straighten and my breath stall.
"You're my boyfriend," I whispered, and his eyes darkened, pupils swallowing up the light.
That was a pretty big deal coming from me. I'd mentioned it before, but, brushed it under the rug, and quick. Just putting it out there this time felt like second nature.
He leaned in, lips grazing my ear as he exhaled, "Mine." Then his mouth was on mine again, harder this time—less patience, more want. His hands moved with purpose, mapping every curve through my clothes like he needed to memorize me, claim me. The console pressed into my ribs, grounding me to the moment even as his teeth tugged at my lower lip and his palm cupped me through my jeans, dragging a quiet whimper from my throat.
When he pulled back, I was breathless and flushed, heart thudding against my ribs like it wanted to break free.
He smirked, eyes roaming my face. "We should go," he murmured, voice was husky, dragging over every syllable like it hurt to hold back. "Before I forget where we are."
I nodded, throat tight, still trying to catch my breath and pull myself back together. But his hand stayed on my knee—warm, firm, possessive—even as he started the engine.
His smile didn't fade.
Neither did mine.
He turned the radio on low, the music a soft hum beneath the tension still lingering between us. I watched the way he gripped the steering wheel, how his eyes flicked to the road and then to me, like he was working hard to keep himself in check. I found myself thinking about his hands again, the way they felt on my body, how badly I needed that again. Not just the sex—but the closeness. The connection.
When we reached his condo, the familiar space felt warm.
"Thank you again," I said softly as we walked in, slipping off my shoes by the door. "For the trip... for everything."
He leaned in without hesitation, brushing his lips against mine. Soft. Reassuring. "Anytime."
But even in the quiet, something lingered in his expression—like a thought he hadn't said yet. His hand lingered on my waist as he pulled back.
"I've been meaning to ask," he said, his voice careful. "Is Jacob always like that? With boundaries?"
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
Edward hesitated, then gave a faint shake of his head, like he didn't want to make it a big thing—but also couldn't let it go. "Just… the looks. The way he talks to you sometimes. Like he can say anything, like he doesn't have to filter it." His eyes locked onto mine. "I get that he's important to Seth. He's like a big brother to him. I respect that. But I won't let him disrespect you."
I opened my mouth to deflect, maybe even soften it—but he kept going, gently but firmly.
"I'll talk to him. Just talk," he added, lifting a hand. "No fighting. No scene. I won't start a riot. But I need him to know where I stand. That I see you. That I'm not gonna look the other way if someone crosses a line."
Something about the way he said it—so even, so sure—made something loosen in my chest.
"Edward," I said quietly, reaching up to touch his wrist. "It's okay. Don't worry about him right now. We're both tired. Jet lagged. And you…" I smiled. "You're already doing enough. He's an ass, ignore him, I do."
He searched my face for a second, then gave a slow nod. "I take you very exclusively and seriously, so I will be respectful for you," he said. "But if he steps out of line—"
"I know," I said, stepping in closer. "You'll handle it."
He smiled—small, protective—and tilted his head.
"We should shower," I murmured, fingers trailing the hem of his shirt.
His smile tugged broader, full of mischief. "You read my mind."
We ended up doing just that—something that was quickly becoming our ritual. A slow return to ourselves. Our intimacy.
Steam clouded the glass as his hands found my hips, my back, my throat. There wasn't a rush. Just deep kisses and soapy fingers that explored like they were rediscovering. His body moved against mine under the hot water, lips ghosting over my shoulder, breath catching when I pressed into him.
He backed me into the cool tile, our mouths finding each other again, but before it could go too far—before it tipped over into something we wouldn't come back from—he pulled back, resting his forehead against mine.
"I'm not gonna rush this," he whispered.
It only made me want him more.
I dressed first—if you could call it that. Just his robe. Nothing else. He liked that. Requested it, even. The way his eyes darkened when he saw me wear it was enough of a reward.
"Do you hate that I smoke weed?"
He looked at me crossed. "What?"
"Come on now, you heard me, does it bother you?"
He shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "No, Leah, it doesn't, why?"
That's all I needed to hear. "Oh nothing, just curious."
While he finished up, I padded into the kitchen, stomach rumbling. I needed something comforting, something warm and rich and satisfying. I decided on eggs in purgatory—easy and friggen delish. The spice, the heat... it felt appropriate.
I began to clatter around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients, heating the pan. The rich scent of garlic bloomed in the oil. Tomatoes simmered. In between I did send Dr. Foreman the text, letting him know I'd give therapy another try with Dr. Rivera. I still didn't want to do it. But, to be supportive of Seth's progress, I was willing to be continuously open minded.
I'd had texts from Angela, Damien, and a few others, but I didn't want to completely dive back into regular life yet.
Edward wandered in mid-phone call, leaning against the counter like he had nothing better to do than admire me. One hand in his sweats pocket, the other holding the phone loosely to his ear, humming approval at whatever was being said—though his eyes never left me.
He was watching me like I was the most captivating thing he'd ever seen.
Every time I turned, every flick of my wrist or glance over my shoulder, I found him staring. Not distracted. Not casual. Starving.
The conversation sounded official—brief and clipped. I figured it was a client or his accountant. As I was sautéing the vegetables, I didn't hear him approach, but I felt him—his hand sliding around my waist, fingers teasing over the belt of the robe, his chest melting against my back. Warmth radiated from him, his breath brushing near my ear as his fingers swept my hair aside like it was second nature.
"Call Spun, fill him in. I've got him handling most things right now, I've been busy," he muttered low, the end of the sentence more of a grumble. He punctuated it with a soft kiss just beneath my ear, making me shiver. His hand dragged down my side to push my hips against his rock hard length.
There was some muffled talking on the other end of the call, but I couldn't bring myself to care who it was. Not with the way he felt pressed against me.
I nearly dropped the damn wooden spoon.
"Yeah, same as every year," he added absently, clearly distracted now—for different reasons.
He hung up shortly after with a dry, "Alright, talk soon," and set his phone on the counter.
I set the spoon down on a napkin and turned to face him, arms looping around his neck like it was second nature. His hands slid into my hair like they belonged there—like they always had.
"Who's Spun?" I asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
He shrugged. "My assistant."
I nodded, filing that away. "That's his name?"
His expression tilted towards amused. "No, it's Phil."
"Oh, well what's going on?" I asked. "Does it have to do with the artsy-fartsy stuff?" I teased, letting the question hang with a smirk.
He matched it with one of his own, fingers tightening just a little in my hair. "Event coming up. Sort of an art auction. It's happening at the estate."
"Oh yeah?" I leaned in, curiosity lighting up my voice.
"Should I start begging you to be my date now, or…?"
I laughed and smacked his shoulder, he gathered a bit more of my hair in his hands. "I'd love to join you," I admitted, my voice dropping. "When is it?"
A soft tug followed, just enough to make me lean in. "Friday to Sunday. Full weekend." One hand loosened to trace my pulse point with his thumb. "Big names. Bigger egos."
My breath hitched as I opened my mouth, but his voice brushed over me first—
"If you can't make it, I understand."
I pressed my fingers over his mouth, silencing him. "I'll talk to Seth and Jacob," I whispered. "I'd love to go." I caught his mouth with mine, slow but sure, and when he groaned, I devoured the sound as his hands slid lower to my waist.
He broke away just enough to smirk, that wicked glint in his eyes that always unraveled me.
"When should I put in for time off?" I bit down, not too gentle, dragging his lip between mine before releasing it with a shiver.
"Two weekends from now," he growled, and then, in one swift motion, his hands were under my thighs, his hardness felt against me, lifting me onto the counter. The stove hissed forgotten behind us.
"Edward!" I gasped as he wedged himself between my legs, his fingers already unraveling the robe.
"The food can wait," he murmured against my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "I need to taste you. Now."
I barely had time to inhale before his mouth crashed back onto mine, hungry and demanding. His hands—God, his hands—slid higher up my inner thighs, finding nothing but bare skin beneath the robe.
He made a rough, almost desperate noise, fingers flexing against me. "I can't keep my hands off of you."
I arched into him, my nails scraping along his back as he made quick work of the stove, flicking it off before returning to me with a predator's focus. His palms spread my thighs wider, his gaze darkening as he took in the sight.
"This is beautiful," he said, voice thick.
I flashed a teasing grin, drawing him in. "Want to taste what's yours?"
He growled—low and filthy—before falling to his knees, his mouth close enough for the heat of his breath to tease my skin. "Yes, baby."
And then his mouth was on me, and coherent thought ceased to exist.
His lips were sin, his tongue relentless—every flick deliberate, every slow drag of heat wringing gasps from my throat. My fingers twisted in his hair, holding tight as he worked me with filthy precision. Teasing nips, deep, languid strokes—I was panting, hips lifting shamelessly against his mouth.
Incoherent words splintered into moans, lost in the slick, hungry sounds of his devotion. His grip tightened on my thighs, pinning me like he could feel every shudder coursing through my body. I was just grateful his counters were roomier than mine.
He let out a low hum, the sound crackling through me, igniting something fierce. I cursed, nails gripping his scalp as heat flared beneath my skin. "You—ah—you're showing off."
A dark chuckle rumbled through him as his tongue made its torturous journey up my skin, the sensation almost too much to bear.. "You're like a fucking drug, you know that?" he murmured against my soaked skin, "one taste and I'm gone."
He wasn't wrong. I cupped his jaw to guide him. "Don't stop."
Then his mouth was everywhere—sucking, licking, fingers joining in—until the world shattered into nothing but pleasure. His name spilled from my lips as I came hard against his mouth, essence dripping onto the tile below.
When he stood, those wicked green eyes locked onto mine, his thumb tracing my throat. "Now," he commanded, voice rough, "I want to hear you beg."
I was still catching my breath.
His thumb pressed just beneath my jaw, tilting my chin up as his gaze burned into me. "Say it," he demanded, voice dark with promise. "Tell me how much you want it."
A shiver raced down my spine, my body still humming from the pleasure he'd just wrung from me. But the hunger in his eyes—the way his cock strained against his bottoms—left no doubt that this was far from over.
"Please," I breathed, my voice already wrecked.
His lips curved, slow and sinful as he tisked. "Not good enough."
His fingers trailed to my neck, brushing against the necklace, then down my chest, teasing, taunting, before dipping between my thighs again—just enough to make me gasp, but not enough to give me what I needed.
"Fuck—" I arched against him, desperation clawing at me. "Please, I need you. Now."
He chuckled, low and rough, his free hand unfastening his sweats at a maddening pace. "How bad?"
"So fucking bad." My nails dug into his shoulders as he finally freed himself, thick and heavy in his hand. "I can't—ah—"
"Good." His grip tightened on my hip, dragging me to the edge of the counter. "You talk so naughty when you're greedy for it."
And then he was there, filling me in one relentless thrust, my moan swallowed by his mouth as he claimed me completely.
I growled. "I love when you do that."
His breathless chuckle dissolved into a groan as I clenched around him, my body still trembling from the force of his thrust. His grip on my hips tightened, fingers digging into my skin hard enough to leave marks—good. I wanted them. Wanted proof of how thoroughly he'd ruined me.
"Damn," he gritted out, dragging himself almost all the way out before slamming back in, the stretch just shy of too much. "You take me so fucking well."
I arched against him, nails raking down his back as he set a brutal pace, each snap of his hips wringing another broken sound from my throat. His mouth found mine again, swallowing my moans as his tongue mimicked the filthy rhythm below.
He growled against my lips, pulling back just enough to watch where we were joined. "So greedy for it—" Another deep thrust. "Couldn't wait to beg for it."
I gasped as his thumb found my clit, circling roughly, the dual sensation pushing me toward the edge too fast. "I—oh god—I—"
He cut me off with a particularly sharp roll of his hips, his voice a dark promise. "Tell me who you belong to."
The coil in my stomach tightened, pleasure burning through me like hot coals. I didn't hesitate. "You. Only you."
His control snapped. With a snarl, he buried himself to the hilt, one hand fisting in my hair as the other kept my hips pinned, his mouth at my ear. "You're close, aren't you? I can feel it."
His voice—and the relentless pressure of his fingers—sent me hurtling over the edge, my cry echoing against his skin as I shattered. He followed with a groan, his thrusts turning erratic before he stilled, spilling into me with a curse that sounded like worship.
For a long moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing. Then his lips brushed my temple, tender now, almost at odds with the possessiveness still thrumming between us.
"Next time," I murmured, still dazed, "I'm making you beg."
His laugh was low, dangerous. "I'm looking forward to it."
...
..
.
