Page 59 of Texting My Valentine

She shakes her head. “I’m not so sure. Maybe it shows that there’s this broken thing inside me that knows I have to sabotage anything good because it scares the hell out of me.”

“You can be scared all you want,” I say earnestly. “That doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere.”

“What if I’m never as certain as you?” she whispers. “What if I’m always caught in the middle?”

That stings. But I’m not going to let it show. The last thing she needs is more pressure.

“It’s been a long night,” I say. “I think you should try to get some rest. Tomorrow, with the security, you’ll be safe, at least.”

She places her hand over my heart. “Why don’t you have pictures of Elliot on your phone or any photos on the walls here?”

“It’s… complicated,” I murmur. “And like I said, it’s been a long night.”

When I turn away, she grabs my hand and pulls me toward her. She pulls herself in for a kiss. I’m stunned by the sudden passion.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” she says.

“Don’t sweat it.”

She arches an eyebrow, magnificently sassy. “Now, who’s keeping it casual, huh?”

I take her hand, leading her to the second spare room. Even now, my body thrums hotly, begging me to drag her into the bedroom, strip off her clothes, and reveal the gorgeous gradations of her sumptuous body.

In the bedroom, I slide my hand to the small of her back, feeling her tempting heat through her clothes. She smiles and looks around the room. “Simple, but it looks comfortable.”

I smirk, leaning in for a kiss. She makes a soft gasping noise that makes me wonder if I’m pushing things too hard after all the mayhem with Damien.

Plus, she thought I made up Elliot and the crash. Maybe I should be angry about that. I wonder if I should be, but holding a grudge against her feels as impossible as hunting down Cupid and confiscating his arrows.

She puts her hands on my chest. “If you don’t stop, I won’t be able to.”

I sink my hands into her waist. I’ll never get tired of greedily caressing her curviness, feeling her full body, her breasts pressing against me when I pull her close. She moans through the tightness of our mouths, sinking her fingernails into my neck, standing on her tiptoes so she can push against me with more firmness.

“Maybe I don’t want you to stop,” I groan, pushing her toward the bed.

“Alex, the door,” she whispers urgently.

I let her go with reluctance, then turn to close the door. But when I reach the threshold, she says, “Sorry. I think I just want to get some sleep. Is that okay?”

“You don’t have to ask,” I tell her, striding from the room and closing her door behind me.

I walk around the house, looking at the beach and the front of the property. So far, there’s nothing strange, but I know I won’tbe getting much rest tonight. Some motherfucker attacked my home. Sure, it could be a coincidence, and some neighborhood kids are playing games like the cops suggested.

Or it could be Damien Kent and his father—criminals with a sick link to my woman and her family.

I sit on the front porch, scanning the road, getting ready for violence if it comes to that.

Tori:You didn’t have to storm out, meanie.

I smirk at her text. It’s always easier for us to communicate like this without the sexual simmering temptation of being face-to-face or body-to-body.

Alex:If I hadn’t left quickly, I wouldn’t have left at all. I would have turned into an animal, my virgin Valentine. Maybe you would’ve told me you don’t want it. You want to slow down. But when I started touching you, your moans would’ve told a different story.

After sending the text, I glance at the street again then type some more.

Alex:But now that I’ve left you, I can think just a tiny bit clearer. I don’t want you to feel your performance has been lost in tonight's mayhem. You were excellent, Tori. Powerful. Impactful.

I almost want Damien and his father or his goons to appear so I can end this now. I don’t want to live with their shadow hanging over us. I want us to be free to begin.

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