Page 152 of Only With You

“I can always make more.” I take a seat on the bench next to his piano and stretch my legs out in front of me.

“It’s not about making more. I wouldn’t share them regardless.” His scrutinizing gaze drifts down the length of my body. He drops his arms and grips the edge of the desk. “You look pretty. Were you…out somewhere?”

I’m wearing nothing special, a brown leather bomber jacket, a cropped white top, a denim skirt, and my tall brown boots with the block heel. It’s casual, or it should’ve been, but I might’ve curled my hair, went a little extra on my makeup, and put on the perfume that Landon hassubtlycomplimented me on quite a few times.

I don’t need male validation. I dress for myself and know I look good. But Landon sort of, kind of is the exception. It’s wrong to say that, becausenoguy should be the exception, but there’s something intoxicating about the way he stares at me.

I don’t know if it’s the dark look in his eyes or the possessiveness that lurks in them, but it shoots a thrill all over my body.

“They’re just treats. You don’t need to get all territorial over them. I promise I’ll make more.” I cross my leg over the other. It’s not intentional, but my skirt hikes up, and his gaze dropsto it. “And thanks, but I didn’t go out anywhere. This is how I always dress.”

“I can’t help it, but I’m going to make sure everyone knows they’re mine.” He pulls the top drawer in his desk and pulls out what looks like a Sharpie pen. “And that isn’t how you always dress.”

I arch a brow, snuffing a laugh. “And what would you know?”

“Your makeup, it only looks like that when you go out. You had it like that when you went out on yourdate. The perfume you have on is for special occasions. That jacket you’re wearing has only been worn a few times, because you said it was expensive. So you only wear it when necessary. That gold chain around your neck is new. And you’re wearing a skirt despite how cold it is, because you said you like how you look in them. But you said you’d only wear it if it’d be worth freezing your arse off.”

I’ve never mentioned any of these things to him. I might’ve said something to Gabby or Polly, but I don’t think Landon was around. Even if he was, I hadn’t thought he listened or paid attention. Even now, it’s not something I see him caring enough to focus on.

Have my standards always been in the pits of hell? Because I’ve never been with a guy who not only notices but seems to appreciate the effort I put in the way I look. Granted, it’s never for them, but it doesn’t hurt to be acknowledged.

“You noticed?” I reach for my brand-new necklace and twirl my fingers around it.

“How can I not? I notice everything about you,” he replies, like my question is preposterous.

He pushes away from the desk and approaches me. I crane my head back as he stands in front of me and my neck strains, but I don’t move. I hold his gaze and drop my hand to my lap.

It’s daunting staring at him from this position, how he easily towers over me and makes the room feel immensely small.

“Aren’t you going to write your name on them?”

“Not them, you. Take the jacket off.”

My chest rises and falls faster. “You’re not going to write on my body.”

He grips my chin. “I am. Take it off.”

A flutter bursts in my stomach and dips down between my thighs. “This isn’t how it works, Landon. Just because we’re fucking doesn’t mean you have the right to do whatever you please with my body when we’re not. Would you let me write on yours?”

He lets go of my chin, holding the Sharpie in front of my face. “Wherever you want.”

I gape in shock. “Anywhere I want?”

“Anywhere you want.” He steps back.

I take the pen and skim every inch of his body, debating where I want to mark him, but his chest and arms are covered in ink. I consider his lower body. He has a few tattoos, but I don’t want to mark him there. Then I zone in on the spot on the right side of his neck.

“Switch with me.” I stand and he takes my place on the bench and tips his head back to look up at me. “Anywhere I want, right?” I ask again.

He must’ve known where I was going to do it because he angles his head to the side, giving me access.

I stand between his parted legs and uncap the pen. Air gets caught in my lungs when he grabs the back of my thighs and pulls me closer.

I make the decision of what I want to write before he changes his mind, though it seems doubtful it’ll happen. He doesn’t move or look regretful. Occasionally, his cold fingers dig into my thighs, his calluses scratching me, but he doesn’t pull away.

“So, what was the special occasion?”

“My test score, of course.”

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