Page 57 of Keep Me

I pull off him, careful not to spill any of his seed. His chest heaves with deep breaths as I stand and straddle him. I clutch his face and lean over him. He’s so handsome like this, eyes hazy and sated, cheeks flushed and ruddy.

I force his head back and thumb his chin until his lips part. From my upright position, I spit his cum from my mouth to his. The last stringing bit falls from my lips, and I lean down to kiss him as he exhales harshly through this nose, his hands splaying on my hips. A dark, husky sound reverberates from his throat as he swallows. I let my lips linger, licking the taste of him and me from his lips. Cleaning him up just like he asked, I think with a smirk.

“Goddamn.” He shakes his head in disbelief as I sit back on his lap. He looks at me drunkenly. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Order in Thai?” I say with a smile. He laughs, hugging me tight to his chest. I soak in his embrace and realize that the future I thought was impossible might have already begun.

1. Stay—Khalid

Chapter 26

Regular Life

Roan

“Why do you look so lost?” Reggie laughs as I push the shopping cart toward an aisle, any aisle. This place is a goddamn maze. 1

“Because I am. They only have five things listed on the aisle signs, but there’s hundreds of things in each aisle. What idiot decided that?” I grumble as we pass a shelf of canned vegetables, which is four aisles over from the rest of the vegetables. Makes no damn sense.

“Roan…” She eyes me cautiously. “When was the last time you went grocery shopping?”

“A few days ago,” I huff. “I give a list to whatever foot soldier has been annoying me most that week.”

Her lips press tight together, clearly holding back a laugh, the smile clear in her eyes. “No, I mean when was the last time you went? Like actually stepped foot in a grocery store.”

“It’s been awhile,” I admit. “But I’m pretty sure it shouldn’t be this hard.” I scowl at the Rice-a-Roni.

“Okay, tough guy.” She laughs and steps between me and the cart to stand on the back, hands wrapping around the bar. “I’ll lead, you push.”

“That I can do.” I place my hands over hers on the handle. “Where to, boss?”

She points to the end of the aisle, and I give the cart a big push before releasing it. The sweetest squeal spills from her as she flies down the aisle with the cart. Ever since telling her how my mother died, the guilt and the reason my nightmares result in bloody knuckles, there’s been a new playfulness sparked in me. As if by shedding that weight, no longer keeping my deepest shame hidden, I’m getting to experience the whimsies of a childhood I never got to have.

I race to catch up to her before she takes out a row of boxes containing every shape of pasta you can imagine. I grab on to the handle, and her body jolts back. A small little punch of air comes from her as she hits my chest, and I wrap one of my arms around her waist and hold her against me.

My nose grazes her neck, and I’d bet her cheeks are burning when I teasingly trace my lips over the skin. “Roan…” she whispers in both a warning and a plea.

I can’t help but grab her by the chin, twisting her head to steal a desperate kiss right here in the middle of the aisle. She sighs hungrily, but pushes me away with a chastising look.

Maybe grocery shopping isn’t that bad after all.

Reggie swipes most of the pineapple she just chopped into a Tupperware and hands it to me. “Can you put this in the fridge and grab me the jalapeños?”

I take the plastic container, but give her a warning look. “As long as you keep them away from my dick.”

“Deal.” She smirks, and I swap the pineapple for a jar of pickled dick-killers, setting it on the island where she’s topping half of the pizza with the rest of the pineapple.

“Does pineapple belong on pizza, the most divisive debate in history,” I joke as I give the sausage and mushrooms with garlic on the stove a quick toss.

She starts to layer on the jalapeños. “With the right combination of toppings, it’s not bad. But I don’t make it my whole personality.”

The utter mundaneness of this conversation, of this whole day, strikes me like a train to the chest. It nearly knocks me off my feet with the realization that this—waking up tangled in each other, grocery shopping together, cooking dinner side by side—is my new reality.

We don’t speak while we work around each other while finishing up the pizza. I spread out my sausage mixture and add black olives, and she sprinkles some fresh cilantro over the top of her pineapple and ham. I watch her do the simplest things in awe that she is mine.

She brushes a lock of hair out of her face with the back of her hand when she stands back up after putting the pizza in the oven. I want to freeze this moment, capture it like a polaroid picture—memories I never want to forget.

“You’re giving me that look again.” She lifts a brow.

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