Page 34 of I Choose You

I put my head in my hands and squeeze the back of my neck, hoping like hell it’ll take away the building tension. My lips part slightly, and I’m ready to respond, but my words get caught in my throat.

She moves to her elbows to sit up. “I’ll make it really,” she starts with eyes closed, “easy for you.”

I scratch at my eyebrow. Mind you, it doesn’t itch. I just need to keep my damn hands busy. “What do you mean?”

She grips onto the hem of her top and, without warning, drags it up her torso and over her head. She blinks lazily, shielding her eyes until they adjust to the light. I openly gape at her curvy waist, the spatter of freckles on her shoulder, and the peak of her breasts in the skimpy, black bra she’s wearing. My breath quickens in slow increments. My teeth slice into my bottom lip, and I hope to God that the pain it causes is enough to distract me from the goddess of a woman in front of me.

My voice strains—just like my dick does against my boxers—and turns husky. “God, you are fucking magnificent.”

Out of all the damn minutes leading to now, she finds this exact second the best time to look at me. “Hm?” Her pupils constrict. The hue of her irises take on the most fascinating swirl of green and honey brown.

It throws me off and distracts me from what I should be doing, which is pulling her pajama top down over her head. “Sorry. What?”

She blinks slowly. Twice. “Did you say something?”

Don’t do it, Mason.

Do. Not. Touch. Her.

And don’t fucking repeat yourself.

My gaze flicks to her sullenly curved lips. My hand reaches out, my finger moving to trace the plumpness of her lower lip, while she stares me down in her rum-induced state. “No,” I lie, looking back at her. “Nothing important.”

She smiles wistfully. “You have my pajamas?”

“Here,” I say, shaking the fiery material in mid-air. I slip it over her head, and she pokes her arms through. When it pools around her waist, I’m grateful as fuck that it’s a nightgown. Luck must be on my side tonight because now I don’t need to also be tortured by her panties.

I’m willing to bet they’re as black as the leather she dons on her legs.

Fuck, that’d be sexy as hell.

She’s quick to undo the button on her jeans. “Pull them off for me?”

I move to yank them down her legs, keeping my gaze trained on the headboard. Having her in front of me like this is torture, though somehow, that doesn’t seem like the best word to describe what I’m enduring.

Seeing an inch of skin higher than her knees would definitely do me in. The thoughts I’d have would make me crouch and pray for holy water to wash away my sinful thoughts. And I can’t fucking have that. As much as I would love it. I can’t.

The second they’re off, she rolls to her stomach and falls asleep. As for me, I groan and grumble and lock myself in the bathroom, twisting the knob for the water as cold as it’ll go.

16

Mackenzie

Pacing the grassy area out front of my favorite ice cream shack, I wait for Nelly. I’m ready to place my order solo when I see her jog up to the ice cream parlor—a beach-like shack shaped like an oversized banana split with the best ice cream in Quaint.

She’s sweaty, her skin damp from perspiration, and she leans down on her knees to catch her breath.

“What happened to you?” I ask, eyeing her suspiciously.

She heaves out a breath, holding up a finger to tell me she needs a minute. “I ran here.”

“Uh…” I glance around. It’s not as busy since it’s getting cooler, but I still can’t help but wonder why she ran here. “Why?”

She runs in place and swipes at the beads of sweat on her forehead even though she’s out of breath. “Because…”

“Can you stop that?” I wave my hand at her while she jogs in place. “You’re making me queasy watching you jump like that. I would rather not ruin my craving for ice cream before I get it.”

She stops and sucks in the air her lungs are desperate for. “I’m trying to get my ass in better shape. Now might be,” she pauses to fill her lungs with air, “a suitable time to tell you I can’t get ice cream.”

---