Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“Take off your clothes.”
Apparently not.
“I think we should talk,” I said, trying to be an adult and accept the consequences of my actions.
“Is that what you want right now?”
I stared at him. “No.”
He stepped forward and cupped my face. “What do you want, Jethro?”
His expression was sweeter than I deserved. Kinder. Affectionate. Every move of his hands was gentle and tender. Almost too much.
I didn’t deserve it.
And despite his announcement downstairs, it was too good to be true.
Part of me felt like this was all part of an elaborate ploy. A revenge plot expertly targeted to enact the most amount of damage.
I’d been here before. But neither of the men I’d trusted to love me in the past were even remotely able to hurt me like this man was.
If this was all a joke, it would end me.
Which was why it finally happened. The dam burst, and the first tear came.
I’d learned from my dads a long time ago that crying was nothing to be ashamed of. But just as long ago, I’d learned from my school friends that it was. The result was my brain being completely on board with a good cry and my heart being mortified by it.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, moving as far away from him as possible and dropping down to sit on the far side of the bed. “Ignore me.”
He didn’t let me hide. Instead, he followed me around the bed and pressed me down onto it, lying on top of me and covering me in his warm strength. He pressed soft kisses to my cheeks, forehead, eyelids.
Lips.
“I will never ignore you, Jett Talmadge Marian,” he said reverently.
I blinked up at him, remembering he’d known my name when making his big public declaration. “How do you know my name?”
“I know people,” he said with a soft smile.
“And now you know me,” I said, stupidly, trying to make a joke on the off chance it would stop my meltdown. “The real me, I mean.”
The look on his face was making it hard to breathe. He still looked fondly affectionate. Adoring.
In love.
“I always knew the real you, Jethro,” he said.
He moved a hand to my forehead and smoothed back my hair, the movement comforting and sweet. The smile was still there. And the kind eyes.
It was too much to take in.
“I came here to tell you that I need you,” he said. “But I think I had it wrong. Well, partially wrong, anyway.”
He leaned down and kissed away the line of tears across my temple. “I think you need me,” he whispered. “Just as much as I need you.”
My breath hitched, and more tears spilled. “Please don’t mess with me,” I begged. “I want you so much. I want to keep you and have you be mine.”
He pulled back to meet my eyes, both hands now cupping my face. “I’m already yours, baby. I think I was that night at the Candy Bar. When you told me to ‘sit my sexy fucking ass down’ and proceeded to sass me, Magic Mike–style.”
A helium laugh bubbled up. “You tried so hard to act unaffected.”
“I was affected, Jethro. Very, very affected.”
His smile was more relaxed than I’d ever seen it. And there was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Your Jethro?”
“Mmhm. If I have anything to say about it—which I do because you will do what I say—you’ll be my Jethro forever.”
“So fucking bossy.” More tears. “Forever?”
He pursed his lips and shrugged. “Unless you send me away. And even then… I gotta be honest. I don’t take well to being denied by you.”
I barked out a wet laugh. “When have I ever denied you?”
His thumb brushed more tears away. “Because you’re my good boy,” he teased softly.
My stomach tightened with need. “I want to be,” I admitted.
The moment sat heavily between us. Monumental. Toes off the edge of a diving board and all the weight shifting forward.
“I love you,” I said, words featherlight and hopeful.
His smile widened. “I know.”
“How could you know anything? I’ve been keeping so many secrets from you.”
Locke leaned down and kissed me slowly before pulling back up to peer down at me. “Not as many as you think. Not the stuff that counts.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
He pressed a kiss to my temple, taking in the last of my tears. “Wait here.”
He got up and found his pants on the floor. And then he pulled out a tiny box. For a split second, I recoiled in uncomfortable shock. This was way too soon for tiny boxes. We had days and weeks of conversations that needed to happen first—
“Relax, baby,” he said with a chuckle, shaking the box gently. Then he moved next to me on the bed. We both sat up and leaned against the headboard. “Open it.”
I pulled the lid off and peered inside. There on a tiny little handful of sand was a perfect triton, the brown and white spines forming a familiar spiral design.