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The idea almost makes me laugh. Pretty sure if I tried to hug The Mike Kesso he’d whip out a spatula from some hidden pocket and slap it against my forehead, holding me out of reach.
Holy Holiday Heaven. Standing before me is a lush-as-fuck angel with evergreen eyes, berry-red lips, and a body I’d write to Santa for.
If there was another man, he’s done now. He let her out, let her cross my path, and that’s his own fault. Because if she was mine, I’d keep her tied to my side. Literally, if necessary.
I’m sorry for making you cry. I know you don’t know a thing about me, but I’m pretty sure I’m half in love with you and I’d rather die than make you cry again.
“Take more,” she sobs. “Take whatever you want.” Images of our life together flash through my mind. Diamond rings. A white dress. Sunny beaches. Tiny babies.
“Never run from me,” I growl between kisses. “Don’t ever run away from me again.”
“Good girls get sweet things. Naughty girls get it rough. And you’ve been very naughty.”
