Page 141 of The Keeper

Tears stung the corners of my eyes when I nodded. “You’re being too kind.”

“Nah. Just being me. Are you okay?”

“I will be.” I blew out a breath. “You must think I’m crazy as fuck.”

He chuckled, rubbing his thumb along his lower lip. “I think you’re hot as fuck. Dirty as fuck. Smart and funny and loving. All as fuck, by the way.”

My mouth curved into a smile with no effort. “You’re not upset?”

“No.” He reached for my hands. “Should I not call you by that name?”

I laced my fingers with his. “The only people who call me Tori are Killian and my dad.” I swallowed. “Charlotte loved to call me that. After she died I didn’t want anyone to say it.”

“Is it something only for the people who are closest to you?”

My heart cracked a little. “You’re close to me.”

“I’m getting there, love. Come here.” Xavier banded his arms around me. Nuzzling into my neck, he pressed gentle kisses against my skin.

“Sorry I ran out.”

“No apologies.” He kissed me. “You feeling okay about what we did in there?”

I smiled. “Absolutely.”

“Good.” He kissed me again. “Ready to go back and join the others?”

“Do they know?”

He grinned down at me. “Know what? That you went out for a little air? Yes. That you and I snogged like horny uni students at the bar? Yes.” He traced along my lower lip. “That I came so hard I couldn’t walk straight? No.”

“You couldn’t walk straight?”

“Not really. I think I hid it pretty well though. Weaving in and out of the crowd to get to the loo helped.”

“Were they watching us the whole time?”

He toyed with a few strands of my hair. “On and off, yes. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

I shook my head. “Have you ever watched them?”

“Only at Bennet’s parties. And only if they requested an audience.”

“Were you alone?” I regretted asking the second I finished the question. The mere thought of him enjoying a moment as intimate as that with another woman made my stomach turn. I know I’m being irrational. I have a past, too. Pretty sure he doesn’t want to know the dirty details of what I’ve done.

“Not always.” He leaned his forehead to mine. “Not for anything but I didn’t picture us having this discussion in a smelly New York alley.”

“Foetorem extremae latrinae.”

“I’ve no idea what you said but knowing you, it’s probably something filthy.”

“Pretty much. It basically means stench of a sewer bottom.”

He inhaled and coughed. “Accurate. Let’s go back inside.”

“Hey.” I held his arm.

He lifted my hand and kissed the pulse point on my wrist. “Yes, love.”

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