Page 160 of Branded
Now, it was just another nudge, another push to the door.
“Go try on the shoes, sugarpie.”
My lips twitched. The doors rattled.
But their locks held fast.
And…I walked in through the entrance of the store.
And…I bought the sparkly sandals, the flats with the pretty detailing on top, and a pair of boots that I was pretty sure I was going to hell for buying.
Spike heels.
Thigh high.
Zippers along the inside.
But I’d bought them because of fire in bright blue eyes, a muscle in his firm jaw twitching. His voice rasping, “You’re getting those, or I’m getting them for you.”
They weren’t practical.
They would be sitting in my closet for months.
But that look in Raph’s eyes, the huskiness of his voice. It wasn’t even a second thought.
I’d bought the boots.
Raph had spent some quality time playing Jenga with my bags to get them all to fit into his trunk, and early afternoon had turned to early evening by the time that I’d finished making my way through the outlets.
I had the shoes.
I had some sweats and loose sweaters.
I had maternity jeans and tops.
I had underwear that had made fire reappear in Raph’s eyes, underwear that I’d stupidly bought from a store I’d stupidly gone into. But I’d wanted to pick up some nightgowns and there had been a pretty purple lace one in the window, and then he’d leaned close and murmured, “Don’t mind going into this one, sugarpie.”
Sugarpie.
It was cheesy and ridiculous.
And it was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard when he leaned close and rumbled it in my ear, surrounding me with his strength and his warmth and Raph.
So, I’d gone in.
And…I’d gotten that violet nightgown, including a pair of pretty purple panties that went with it, along with several other matching sets of gorgeous, sensuous sleepwear.
And…I’d gotten that muscle twitch, that fire, and?—
I’d decided I was going to play with it.
Stupid, huh?
But the banging in that basement, the claws gouging at the locked doors…all of that was easy to ignore when he was with me.
My stomach rumbled, and it wasn’t a quiet hey-I’m-getting-hungry-so-feed-me-bitch rumble. It was a fucking growl, reverberating through the insides of my skeleton, echoing through the car. We’d stopped for pretzels and sandwiches a few hours before (along with the eight million bathroom stops I’d made because Raph kept reappearing with bottles of water and making me drink them).
But this was a growl, and it wouldn’t be satisfied with water or pretzels or sandwiches.
