Page 164 of King of Pain
“And now?”
“Now,” I say, “you’re splashing around freely. Untethered. Like you’re… in control.”
He looks down for a second, cheeks pink. “After you left, I had to face how I felt about you, and what that meant about me. I had to accept who I was, sexually.”
My heart clenches when he looks at me—so calm, so self-possessed.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “And, well, three years of therapy hasn’t hurt either. I had to learn how to disconnect my sexuality from what they did to me. That changed everything.”
“Really?” I ask, my voice a little hoarse. “Do you still see a therapist now?”
“Yeah. I probably will for years to come.” He pauses, eyes searching mine. “You know… I could ask if he has room in his schedule for another client. He’s incredible. He’s very confidential, of course. And what you’ve been through, Chance…”
My voice sounds like pure gravel when I admit, “I think I need it, Ant. I don’t want the pain to take over. I want to build something real. I want us to have a beautiful life together—if you’ll let me try.”
Ant squeezes my hand tighter.
“If you think I waited three years, finally have you again, and I’m not going to let you try? You must’ve lost too much oxygen under the sheets this morning.”
I let out a surprised laugh.
“But yes,” he says, “I’m going to let you try. Again. And again. And again.” Then he leans in closer, drops his voice, and finishes me off. “And again.”
I shake my head and reach for the little check holder at the edge of the table.
“I better get the check before I leap across this table, and we’re never allowed in here again.”
Ant and I walk out of the restaurant, the sun climbing higher in the sky. It’s a perfect morning and I don’t want it to end.
“Will you come somewhere with me?” I ask, glancing at him as we step onto the curb.
He raises a brow but doesn’t pull away. “Depends. Is it a cabin? A murder mansion? Ooh, is it a sex shack?”
Holding back a laugh, I rest my hand on the small of his back, and guide him toward the street.
Deacon’s SUV is parked on the curb, and I motion Ant toward it. He throws me a smirk and says, “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
I groan, open the back door, and lean down. “Gallery.”
Deacon nods once. “Yes, sir.”
Ant climbs in with a dramatic sigh and I follow him in, closing the door.
As Deacon pulls away from the curb, Ant leans forward, assessing him. “This is kind of convenient. You're like an Uber and an assassin in one. Ooh, we could create an app. UberAss.”
From the driver’s seat, Deacon flatly says, “No.”
Ant snickers and elbows me. “See, I told you. Reacher.”
Deacon looks in the rearview and deadpans, “I don't have as many social skills.”
Ant smirks. “You don’t say.”
Fuck, Ant's got a bratty edge to him now. Makes me want to haul him across the seat and kiss him breathless.
A few minutes later, we pull up to the gallery. I hop out and hold the door as Ant steps out, smoothing the front of the t-shirthe's wearing. My t-shirt. It stokes the possessive flames in my gut that burn for one man only.
Ant leans in, wraps a hand around my bicep and whispers in my ear, “Keep looking at me like that and I'm going to throw you back in the SUV and send Deacon to go get coffee or something.”
