Page 80 of Kneeling to Candy

What am I going to do with this man? His reaction to me not being where he expected me to be was over the top. His solution to moving me into his room was bold.

However, if I’m being honest, I’d react similarly out of retaliation had the shoe been on the other foot. Can I blame him for his outlandish reaction when I know my reaction would be no different? Yes. But will I? Absolutely not.

I shake my head at how ridiculous the two of us are—vindicated individuals of the same mindset.

My shoulders bounce with silent laughter. “Since we’re being honest, I have a confession, too.”

“Which is?”

“I’m not upset with you moving me in with you.”

Butch ducks his head to look me in the eyes. “You’re okay living with me?”

“More than okay,” I confess, happiness coating my tone. “I was more pissed with the lead-up to finding my stuff gone—not the arrangement.”

Butch’s smile stretches across his handsome face. “So you’ll stay?”

I nod, matching his smile. “Of course I’ll stay with you—I’m your old lady.”

My biker’s arms engulf me in a firm hug, lifting me off my feet. I squeal, laughing as he swings me around in a circle like I’m some kind of fairy tale princess and he’s my dashing knight.

Back on my feet, he holds me tight against him as my body molds around his like a second skin. The moment is something serene. We’re quiet, absorbing each other’s presence. It seems to be our thing, to take the moment in as it’s happening.

For me, I have few memories of happiness. It makes these moments more intense—something to cherish. And I suspect Butch feels the same.

There’s a certain reassurance knowing we’re the same. We’re learning this new life together.

For reasons I cannot quite explain, it feels like our relationship is experiencing a breakthrough moment. The openness with how we talked, the vulnerability with an audience present when neither of us is great with self-expression—him because he’s self-conscious of his voice and accustomed to internalizing his feelings, and me because I’m learning to process my emotions in a healthier manner.

Maybe it’s different with couples who have healthier communication skills in their arsenal. I wouldn’t say we’re emotionally incompetent, but we’re emotionally stunted.

Relationships are new. A romantic partnership is more foreign. We’re bound to stumble this early in the game.

But goddamn, those were a lot of hurdles to jump during the honeymoon stage. Here’s to hoping the rest of our relationship isn’t as turbulent.

“Goddess? Can I please help you into this jacket? I’ve waited a long time to see my property patch on you.”

Squealing, I spin around, practically vibrating with joy as Butch helps me slip my arms into the soft leather of the sleeves. When it’s snug around my body, I peek over my shoulder at him, giving him a wink.

“Fuck, Candy.” Butch palms his chest. “You look good with my name on you.”

A flash of my wedding dream dances through my mind where a strange man announces us as “Mister and Misses Penn Lawson.” The dream feels oddly like a hazy memory. Too bad it’s not. I’m over the moon wearing my biker’s patch. But having his name is something I long for, a dream I want to come true.

Maybe someday…

Butch gently turns me around, holding me by my shoulders at arm’s length. “Are you still mad at me?”

I can’t help smirking. “Yes. I’m still hella pissed with your caveman antics.”

There’s a sinful gleam in Butch’s hazel eyes. “Good. I’m still upset you didn’t talk to me first.”

He slips away from me, backing up a few steps. I frown, hating the distance he’s created.

“Don’t be distraught, Goddess. There’s a way for us to work out our frustration on me.”

Huh? What is he talking about?

Confused, I watch Butch reach for the buckle of his belt. He undoes the buckle and slips the belt out from the loops in his jeans in one swift motion, creating a whooshing sound of denim rubbing against leather.

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