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Honey. She’d called him that before too. The term translated as a food that was sweet and thick. The byproduct of an insect, but the way she said it in a purr sent chills down his spine. He didn’t like it.
Alex’s breath caught in her throat, and her sex clenched. She could feel something large and hard pressing into her back. “This is why,” he breathed into her hair. “Touching may be normal for you, but it isn’t for me.”
No matter how hard he’d fought against it, he’d bonded to Alex, and now his possessive side would not shut the fuck up.
“I don’t know about you,” Meg whispered while eying the savage opponent who’d flipped his own board, “but this ridiculousness is making my weakness for himbos flare up real bad.”
Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her close. “You’ve converted me. If I had it my way, you would never stop touching me.”
As the first hints of alcohol hit his system and relaxed his muscles, he understood why some people enjoyed doing nothing. Nothing, if done with the right person, was like a balm for the soul.
They were here together now. She was his, and he was hers. And she was greedy. She might not be able to keep him forever, but she could have this perfect day. She’d regret it more if she didn’t give herself to him now than if she’d held back for the sake of her heart. A part of it was already his anyway.
How could any emotion simultaneously lift you higher than you’ve ever been and smother you in weighted blackness?
