Page 42 of Owned In Misty Mountain

“Keep talkin’ like that and you’re not finishing breakfast.”

I hum. “Promise?”

—-

Ten minutes later, I’m still teasing him.

He’s trying to rinse a dish. I’m standing behind him in nothing but his flannel and my smug little smile.

“You always this bossy?” I ask, letting my fingers trail across his bare back.

Mike sets the sponge down and turns.

“Only with you.”

His hand cups the back of my neck. The other one grabs my ass through the flannel.

“You want to date?” he asks. “Go out to dinner. Walk around town like I’m not thinking about bending you over every surface in it?”

I blink. “That was the smoothest offer I’ve ever heard.”

He dips his head, chuckling. Kisses me slow. Deep.

Then growls against my mouth, “You’re mine. We’re doing this.”

I pull back just enough to grin. “You gonna growl at every man who glances my way?”

“Yes.”

“Well then,” I say, curling my fingers into his chest, “I guess we’re dating.”

Seventeen

Mike

Her apartment is too damn small.

That’s the first thing I think when I walk through the door behind her—duffel bag in one hand, her keys in the other.

There’s nothing wrong with it.

It’s clean. Bright. Smells like her.

But the second I see her bed—twin-sized, ornate metal frame shoved against the wall—something hot curls in my chest.

It’s not good enough for my girl.

She drops her bag on the couch and spins around to face me, hands on her hips.

“Okay, big guy. We said one bag.”

“I said I’d carry the bag. Didn’t say how many I’d leave with.”

Her brow lifts. “Are you planning on emptying my whole closet?”

“If you don’t stop me,” yeah, I reply flatly, walking into her bedroom.

She follows, huffing.

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