Page 68 of Imperfection is Beauty

I nodded, “Yeah, she makes my days better. And it’s for her that I breathe.”

They didn’t say anything more, and then I headed to the bathroom, saw the door was cracked, and heard her quiet sniffles.

Knowing she wanted alone time, but deciding against it, I opened the door and then slipped inside.

Scarlett

Was I being stupid again?

I mean, the way we were with each other, the way he was either always touching me or I was touching him, the kisses we shared.

I don’t do that with anyone but him. Never even thought of doing that with anyone but him.

But before I could really get into my thoughts, luckily, I still had my phone in my pocket and knew I needed to make a call.

Pulling up his contact, I called my daddy, and he answered on the third ring, “Hey Pumpkin, what’s up?”

Softly, so as to not be overheard, I asked, “Quick, do you have any beef with a member of Wrath MC?”

He was silent for a beat, then I heard, “No, they are actually an allied club of ours. Well of sorts. Why?”

“Marcus is here, and two people are with him, a woman, and a man. His name is Knox, and her name is Fiona.”

He was silent for a moment, then I heard, “Marcus brought Knox and Fiona to you?”

Hoping and praying they didn’t have any conflict with them, I said softly, “Yes, he did.”

My dad’s tone told me I shouldn’t have worried, “Know both of them, they’re good people.”

Once I heard his tone and his words, I felt the tension in my body drain away, “Okay, thank you, Daddy. I didn’t want them in my home if they would cause trouble.”

After we talked for another second, we hung up.

And there, I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

Then that was when the door to the bathroom opened.

My body was spun around, his face within inches from mine, a startled yap escaped my lips. Right where his lips were close. Oh, so close.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against my lips.

Not his woman, my ass.

I was panting now, my god.

I whispered back, my voice craggy, “And if I don’t?”

He stared into my eyes, and there, he said, “Because if I don’t stop, I’ll make you mine.”

Yes! God. Yes, please. I wanted him to make me his. I wanted everything with this man. And since my father raised a straight shooter, I offered him a knowing smile, “What if I’m ready to be yours?”

He stared into my eyes, “I’m domineering. Controlling. I want to know where you are at all times. I won't ever let you open your door. You’ll never open your own drink. What I say, goes, that means in and out of the bedroom

I tilted my head, “How’s that any different than the way it is now?”

And that wasn’t a lie. He liked to know where I was at all times. To some, that wouldn’t fly, but knowing the reason behind it, so he could get to me any time I needed him, was refreshing.

And yes, I never poured my own drink when he was with me, and I never opened my own bottle, or can.

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