his hair. “Thanks, by the way. For dinner. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I didn’t mind.” I reach for his hand, relieved when his fingers instantly lace with my own. I confess, “I thought you might be mad at me. It felt like maybe you were avoiding me earlier.”
He sweeps my hair from my shoulder, green eyes tracking the motion. “Would you believe me if I said I was avoiding you so you wouldn’t think I was mad at you?”
I search his eyes, finding nothing but truth there. “Yes.”
His forehead creases with a frown. “I don’t play games, V. If I’m mad at you…” His cheek pulls up into a crooked grin. “Well, I wouldn’t be, but if I were, I’d just tell you. That’s sort of how I operate.”
I nod. The exhaustion and irritation make more sense. “I’m sorry you had a bad day.”
His face falls. “I didn’t want to dump all my shit on you.”
“No, dump away,” I insist. “Please?”
His hand slides up my side, thumb setting just below my breast, and I think he must understand what I’m asking. “I meant it before.” He kisses me again, mouthing against my lips. “With you, I’m good. None of that shit matters.”
If this is what he needs, I can gladly give it to him. I like knowing that I make him feel good, that I soothe the impulsivity of his fingers and elicit the hard arousal in his pants. I love the rush that he gives me. The way my skin, my nerves, my body blaze beneath his touch. It seems like the past few weeks have been all about things we’ve taken from one another, but there’s also this.
There’s the give.
Reyn’s hands move behind my thighs and he lifts me off the ground, my legs latching around his waist. I plant kisses on his neck, tugging the shirt aside to suck on his collarbone. My core heats against his hard, taut belly, craving more. I want so much more—more than I know how to properly express. When he carries me to the bed, I exhale in relief.
We haven’t talked about it, but I want it.
I’m ready.
He lays me on my back and stands over me, staring at me as though I’m already naked. I’m not, I’ve got on a T-shirt and shorts, but my nipples peak under his intense gaze and every inch of my skin pebbles with goosebumps. I remember what I was thinking earlier in the day, about wanting to give him what he likes most, and I spread my thighs, toes curling at the look on his face at the sight of it. He’s caught mid-expression, like he’s trying to decide if he should take what he wants or control himself.
“Don’t,” I say.
His forehead furrows at my incoherence. “Don’t?”
“Don’t control yourself.” I lift up on my elbows and get an eyeful of his long, lean body.
His lips twist into a dimpled grin as he bends to meet me, voice hot in my ear. “I always knew you were cute, Baby V, I just didn’t realize you’d be this incredibly sexy.”
Sexy.
Not pathetic. Not weak. Not broken. Not defective.
Reynolds McAllister sees the real me, the girl underneath all the history and hurt. A rush runs through me and we reach for one another. He pulls off his shirt and drops it on the floor, giving me the hard expanse of his abs to kiss. His breath sucks in, just as a loud knock bangs on my bedroom door.
“V,” Emory calls, jiggling the doorknob.
“Shit,” I say, instinctively pushing Reyn off as I scramble off the bed. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“V—I need to ask you something.” Again, the knob twists. “Why is your door locked?”
“Bathroom,” I whisper, shoving Reyn out of the room. He’s already two steps ahead of me though, eyes blank as the door shuts in his face. I cross the room and open the door.
“What?” I ask this with a perfect façade of calm, as though my heart isn’t about to beat out of my chest.
Emory assesses me. “Why was your door locked?”
“Because it’s my room, Emory. Sometimes I want a little privacy.”
He huffs, like the thought of me expecting a grain of autonomy is downright absurd. I can’t even recall the last time I went into the dungeon he calls a bedroom. He frowns, studying me. “And why are you so sweaty?”
“I, uh.” Shit. Why? Because your best friend was about to ravage me on my bed, that’s why. Have you seen him shirtless? Logic prevails.