I run my finger along the rim of the box. “I’m keeping this forever. You know that, right? It must be displayed prominently behind protective glass.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.” He spins me around to face him, pulling me flush to his hard chest. “Now can we finally dispose of that Ex-Files box?”
“Hell to the yes.” I laugh, already spinning on my heel to grab it from my room, eager to put the past behind me.
* * *
? ? ?
THE VAPOR FROM my breath coils into the night air as I set my bare feet onto the snow-covered deck.
We toss our towels over the banister. I’ve selected my favorite pale-blue bikini with a little fabric bow tying the front together. Trevor dips in first, his gaze blazing a trail from my face all the way down to my toes. His throat ripples as I follow him into the scalding water without hesitation.
“I’m really going to miss that Flynn Rider vest.” I faux-pout as he extends his hand, tugging me closer.
He smirks. “I mean, I’m not super into role-playing, but I’m willing to make an exception.”
I mock shock. “Oh really?”
“Anything for my girlfriend.” His eyes widen, as if he’s caught himself in an embarrassing mistake. “Unless you don’t want an official label, though I assume you do—”
“Oh, I want the label,” I assure him. “But on two conditions.” I hold him at arm’s length, my palm flat against his chest, glistening with water. After everything, I decide to set some ground rules.
He indulges me, nodding respectfully. “All right. Hit me with them.”
I hold up my index finger. “One, you won’t wimp out when I’m being extra. If I do or say anything that freaks you out, you’ll be mature. You’ll talk to me like an adult before running scared and avoiding conversation.”
He sets both hands on my waist, his mouth slanted in a smile. “Just so you know, I love you most when you’re being extra. It’s a massive turn-on.” He pauses, absorbing my serious expression. “And you can say whatever is on your mind, at all times, without worrying about whether you’re too much. Because you’re not too much. Ever. Okay? And I swear I’ll talk to you first about anything that’s bothering me. Anything we can’t resolve, we’ll go to therapy. We’ll work it out in a healthy way.”
“Deal.”
“What’s the second one?” he asks, pulling me closer. He’s mere inches from me, and I’m losing my resolve. He knows it too, based on his knowing brow raise.
I fight to maintain my stern look by staring at the condensation flecking his lashes. “As my official boyfriend, you’d have to promise to hold my hand every ten minutes.” My straight face doesn’t last long before both our chests are heaving in silent amusement. “And you have to make a regular habit of kissing me in public. I want all the PDA.”
“I think I can manage that.” His deep laugh echoes into the void of the night around us. He studies my face for a moment, tracing my cheek with the back of his knuckle.
“You better,” I warn.
He smiles, pressing his free hand to my chest, over my wildly hammering heart, audible to me even over the rumble of the jets. “Your heart is beating so fast.”
I panic for a split second, willing it into a steady drum—the heartbeat of a calm, sane person. And as usual, my emotion trumps my logic.
It’s like the floodgates of happiness I’ve chased my entire life have unleashed and I’m ready and willing to drown in it.
He tugs me closer to him, pressing another trail of kisses around the edge of my lips as he hoists me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He backs us up through the water, lowering himself onto the seat. I’m clinging to him like a spider monkey, straddling his lap, one hand in his hair, the other around his neck, pressing and pulling.
He drags his teeth over my skin. His tongue does something magical to the smooth skin below my ear, all while he’s running the tips of his fingers down my back at an agonizingly slow pace, stopping at the waist of my bikini bottoms. His right thumb slips under the band, inching along the seam toward the front, exploring the sensitive area where my upper thigh meets my hip.
When I arch myself against him, he lets out a string of garbled curse words, desire radiating in his eyes.
“What if someone catches us?” I whisper. “Like Gerald.”
“Please don’t remind me of Gerald when I’m hard.” He squeezes his eyes shut for a second before lifting his chin toward the door. “And I put the broom in the door. It’s locked.”
The words have barely escaped his lips before he’s unhooked my top, shamelessly tossing it over the side of the hot tub.
He bends down slightly, his tongue sliding against the undersides of my breasts. Both of them receive their fair share of attention and lavish compliments before his fingers travel back to my bikini bottoms.
He isn’t gentle when he tugs, signaling he wants them off. And quick. We stand frantically to remove our bathing suit bottoms, only feeling whole again when I settle back over him, skin to skin. He sucks on my bottom lip as he circles me with his thumb, testing. When his swipe nearly ends me, he slows the pace.
The jet underneath us hits me with the perfect amount of pressure, pulsing exactly where I want it.
“Did you know every second we were in this hot tub together before was torture?” he whispers against my neck. “All I wanted to do was—”
“What did you want to do to me in here?”
His eyes darken as he smooths his thumb where I want it, keeping his touch light as he shifts my leg over. “This. I’d spread your legs apart.”
At my shudder, he groans, sliding another finger in. “You’d be dripping all over my hand, just like this. And I’d fuck you harder and deeper until you were begging for me.”
I shudder at his words in my ear, doubling the pleasure of his hand. “Oh God. That feels so good.”
“Fuck, I’m never going to let you go.” His voice is strained in my ear as his pace picks up.
I angle a brow at him. “Now who’s the possessive one? I never would have guessed.”
“Only when it comes to you.” He looks pleased with himself as I buck against his hand, relishing the control he has over me.
“Well, good luck ever trying to leave me now that I’ve sunk my claws in,” I manage.
“True. I’d be a fool to ever leave you. Who knows what kind of messed-up shit you’d do to my car.”
I pretend to smack him in the shoulder.
“Seriously, though. I love that you’re mine,” he tells me, eliciting a single tear from beneath my lid. He presses a soft kiss over it, absorbing it. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” he whispers.
Seconds away from losing all control, I nod, unable to stop my grin as the emotion rolls over me. “I’m just . . . happy.”
“Even if you’re not getting your second-chance romance?”
“Trevor, you are a million times better than any trope I could ever dream up.”
He meets my smile, and I swear his entire face lights up brighter than Times Square. He presses his lips to mine, sealing my declaration. And when he tells me to come for him, his voice pushes me over the edge, free-falling into oblivion without fear or hesitation.