Page 31 of Summer Redemption

“A lot of people are staring at us,” I point out.

He glances around, but it’s quick and then his eyes are on me again. “Naw, Little Ray,” his voice is smooth, “they’re not looking at me. Just you.”

My mouth drops open, and I sputter, “Wha-what do you mean?”

He pulls me even closer to him, his eyes becoming intense and focused in a way which has me squeezing my thighs together. This is not the right time or place to get turned on, but here I am.

“They’re looking at you,” his voice is an octave lower and lulling me into a haze of need, “because you’re the most beautiful woman at the market today.”

“You’ve already gotten me into bed, Hux,” I sass him, “you don’t need to try and charm me even more.”

He swoops down and steals a kiss, one which is over far too quickly. When he pulls back, his lips still hovering over mine and close enough that I can practically taste the cinnamon of his gum, he murmurs, “Not trying to charm you. Just telling you the truth.”

I blink up at him a few times while my brain short circuits and I seriously contemplate climbing him like a tree for the entire town to see. Why not give them something to talk about, you know?

With another kiss on my lips, he pulls back while keeping me close to him. My knees go more than a little weak when he winks at me like he knows exactly what he does to me.

He probably does. This man, my man, is all trouble.

My man?

Fucking hell.

When did this happen? How did Huxley steal through my defenses like a damn cat burglar? He’s sneaky.

I eye him as he gently leads me through the market. We’re stopped periodically and not once does Huxley drop my hand.Not when old teachers greet us. Not when people who have brought their pets in since I came home stop and say hello.

Then it happens. A woman approaches us with swaying hips and too much makeup for a summer day at the market. Her eyes are focused on Huxley.

“Hi Hux,” she purrs when she’s close enough.

Huxley gives my hand a squeeze and when I try to pull it free, he tightens his grip even further. He hardly glances at her, his voice artic, “Hello.”

Then we’re moving and she’s left in our rearview with her mouth hanging open and incredulousness written on her face. I almost laugh. Almost.

“Jeez,” Huxley grumbles, “have some class. She saw I was out with my woman.” He shakes it off and flashes me a soft smile. “Honey?”

And that’s the end of it. He doesn’t look bothered that he couldn’t make a play for the woman. There was no way he even fully looked at her with how quickly he glanced in her direction.

But then he looks at me, stares at me really, like he’s trying to memorize every pore. Something settles inside of me, but it doesn’t assuage all of my fear about this thing between us.

Every time we turn around, someone else is greeting us and looking at us like we’re an exhibit in a zoo. Huxley takes it all in stride and the longer it goes on, the more comfortable I feel. It’s not malicious, only curious.

I can understand why they’re curious. Huxley hasn’t been one for settling down and now he’s out with me, my hand in his. And I’ve been gone for eight years.

We’re probably not the pair anyone would put together.

Then there are the looks of confusion from people who were in school with us, even if they weren’t in our grade. Their confusion smooths out pretty quickly and I can only hope it’s because they see something in the way Huxley is treating me. No one brings up the past.

By the time we leave, and Huxley helps me into his truck, I feel like I’m floating. Today went a lot better than I was expecting. I shouldn’t have expected the worst, and I feel bad I did.

We’re parked away from everyone else since the market has been clearing out for a while. When I look around, I don’t see anyone close and this gigantic truck of Hux’s provides a little bit of cover. I’m going to take full advantage of it.

I don’t bother buckling my seatbelt and reach over the console, my hand finding his cock like a heat seeking missile. He jumps before turning toward me, his eyes wide.

His voice is strained as he chokes out, “What are you doing?”

I give his shaft a squeeze before turning and undoing his belt and jeans quickly. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

---