Page 64 of T-Bone
T-Bone and I slipped out of the casino just past midnight, hand in hand. I’d won thirty bucks on a machine that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the nineties, and he’d lost fifty playing blackjack, something I didn’t think I’d ever hear the last of.
He looked unfairly good under the city lights—his dark hair tousled by the wind, his sharp jaw tense like he was calculating the shortest path to the hotel and straight to my skin.
I didn’t mind. My thoughts were heading in the same direction as well.
Vegas was chaos, but right now it felt like we were in our own little bubble. Just the two of us, stealing time from the world.
We made it back to the hotel in record time, a sleek, modern high-rise with floor-to-ceiling windows that gave us a view of the Strip that could knock the breath right out of your chest.
I toed off my heels and padded toward the window while he locked the door behind us. The city glowed below us, a glittering mess of indulgence and dreams. But the only thing I wanted to look at was the man behind me.
T-Bone peeled off his shirt in that slow, deliberate way he always did, like he knew I was watching. Because I was. Of course I was. His body was a masterpiece—broad chest, thick shoulders, every inch of muscle earned and inked with stories. I was still learning half of them, and exploring his body was one of my favorite pastimes.
“You keep lookin’ at me like that, sweetheart, and I’m gonna forget we’re still dressed,” he said, his voice low and rough with the kind of promise that turned my knees to water and soaked my panties.
I turned slowly, one eyebrow raised. “Still wearing your leather pants, though. Planning on going out later?”
He gave me that crooked half-grin, the one that made me weak in places I really didn’t need to be weak right now. “Depends. You planning on wearing that tiny scrap of a dress much longer?”
I walked up to him, dragging a single finger along the trail of ink that started just under his collarbone and dipped toward his abs. “Not really. But I like the view from here.”
He caught my wrist before I could pull back and brought it to his lips. “You remember the first time we met?”
I blinked, surprised by the shift in tone. “Sure. You mean the time I showed up at the garage?”
He chuckled, warm and deep, “Wearing your fancy pantsuit, looking like you were about to serve a warrant.” He shook his head, nostalgia softening his voice. “And I thought,fuck, that woman is trouble on two legs.”
I smiled. “You weren’t wrong.”
“No,” he agreed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I wasn’t. But I also knew right then I wanted you. Didn’t care if you came with storm clouds or barbed wire.”
Before I could answer, he stepped back slightly and reached into the back pocket of his leather pants.
“You been hiding something in there this whole time?” I teased, my tone light even as my heart kicked into a gallop.
He pulled out a small, black velvet box and my breath caught.
His face changed—still that gruff, rough-edged man I loved, but serious now. Completely open.
“I know we’ve only known each other for a few months,” he said, voice gravel and truth. “But when you get to our age, you know what you want in life. I’m done playin’ the field. I’m a one-woman man, and I want that woman to be you.”
He opened the box. The ring wasn’t dainty. It wasn’t flashy. It was a dark sapphire nestled in a silver band. I suddenlyremembered a strange conversation I’d had with Laura, Hawk’s old woman, a few weeks ago about gemstones. It all made sense now.
“Faith,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “Marry me?”
My heart jumped so hard it almost hurt. I’d known things between us were serious, but I hadn’t even let myselfthinkabout what came next.
And yet, before my brain could catch up, my mouth was already shouting, “Yes! Yes!”
His grin was everything—hot, sweet, wolfish. He slipped the ring on my finger, his hand lingering as he looked at me like I was already his and always had been. Then I launched into him, arms tight around his neck, pressing my mouth to his with so much force it stole my breath.
T-Bone kissed me back like he’d been waiting a lifetime. Deep, hungry, slow at first—his tongue teasing the seam of my lips, coaxing them open—then harder, more urgent, as his hands gripped my waist and pulled me flush against him.
I could feel the roughness of his stubble scraping my skin, the heat of his bare chest pressed to mine, my thin dress and bra the only flimsy barrier between us. His hand slid under the hem of my dress, up the curve of my thigh, his palm dragging along my skin in a way that made me tremble.
“God, Faith,” he rasped against my mouth. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Then show me,” I whispered.
