Page 138 of Meet Me in the Valley
I tried my best to wrap it nicely. Watched a damn tutorial and everything. Took me way longer than it should have because my thumbs are apparently too fat for gift wrapping. For a guy who designs homes, I’m shit at creases and tape.
She lifts the black velvet box into view. Easing the lid off, a small gasp escapes her throat.
“Logan,” she whispers, carefully pulling out the gold, dainty watch. “Oh my God, it’s so beautiful.”
“Turn it over.”
Her eyes flicker with anticipation as she turns the gold watch in her hands. Another soft gasp.
Her fingers trail delicately over the engraving as tears fall freely from her eyes. I ache to be there, to catch every one of them.
“Our time,” she whispers.
She looks up at me, choking on a quiet sob as she wipes her cheeks.
I clear my throat, stifling my own emotions.
“Our time, baby. This is it.”
“Yeah?” she breathes, clasping the gold watch around her wrist.
Perfection.
“Hold tight. I’m coming back to you. You still trust me?”
She nods, her smile gleaming.
“Yes. Always, yes.”
Her fingers trace the watch once more, admiring how it shimmers under the soft light of her bedroom.
“I don’t ever want to take it off,” she whispers, holding her wrist up to the screen like it’s a promise. “It’s perfect.”
I lean closer to my phone, eyes locked on her.
“So are you.”
Tia bites her lip, her cheeks flushing that familiar shade of pink—the one that always tells me something wicked is brewing behind that angelic smile.
“Well,” she says with a teasing sigh, dragging the word out, “since you’ve officially earned part one of your gift, I think you’ve earned part two.”
I lift a brow, my pulse quickening.
Her smile curves into something deliciously dangerous. She scoots further up on the bed, just far enough from the camera for me to see the full picture. Her thumbs hook into the waistband of her jeans.
My breath catches.
“I promised you a matching set, didn’t I?”
My mouth goes dry. “You did.”
She tugs down her jeans slowly, the new gold watch glinting delicately on her wrist, to reveal the rest of that cranberry lace set. The barely-there panties leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. It runs wild with images and memories of my hands all over that body.
I tense, fists clenching at the sight of her sprawled out like sin personified, all soft curves and salacious intent. I drag a hand down my face, fighting for composure.
“T, baby, you’re not playing fair.”
“Who said I was playing?” she murmurs, seductively spreading her legs, her movements fluid and confident, like she knowsexactlywhat she’s doing to me.
