“Jealous, much?” she says on a shaky breath. “To be jealous, one would have to assume that you might eventually stray. You’re not going anywhere. And neither am I.” Brushing away her hair, I bury my face into the back of her neck and breathe in the scent of coconut on her skin. “I don’t want anything else, but you, chère,” I say, raggedly. “No one else.”
