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What did that Katy Perry sing about again? I kissed a guy. And my dick really fucking liked it.
I kiss him again before pulling myself away. Before the elevator doors can close again, I throw back over my shoulder, “I think I like you a little bit more than that.”
Guy, girl, I’m long past caring. The only thing that matters in this equation is Beck. And that whenever I’m with him, I want him closer.
The asshole has made me like him, which months ago I would have assumed was impossible.
But I refuse to keep Beck a secret. It might have made sense early on when I’d been sure things were only physical, but now we’re actually together, now we’re both committed to this thing, I’m going to claim him. Beck is mine. And everyone is gonna know it.
I’m in love with my Teddy Beckett.
I’m in love with Christopher Jacobs. And that wasn’t supposed to happen.
“That, and … I love you.” He rolls beneath me without throwing me off so I’m straddling his waist. “You want to say that to my face?” “Need an ego stroke?” “No, I’m giving you a chance to say that shit properly.” My smile splits my face. “I. Love. You.”
His mouth closes over mine, and I push every promise I can give him into the kiss. I love him so much it physically hurts sometimes, and together, we’re going to make this year our bitch.
