“She did?” She lowers her lashes, shielding her eyes. “She was at my house when everything went down."
“I know.” A laugh forces its way past my lips. "Once she knew the plan, nobody was keeping her away.”
“She and I kind of had a moment at my place.” A small smile touches Bristol’s lips. “It was just a look, but I think it was a good moment. I know it won't happen overnight, but I think maybe she'll come around.”
A little laugh slips from her, but I know it hurts her that my mother doesn’t want us together. As tough as she wants me to think she is, I know it hurts her that during the scandal with Qwest, so many people came out saying we shouldn’t be together.
“Bris, look at me.” I wait for her to comply so she’s looking into my eyes and I can look into hers. “My mom will come around. She’s already starting to, but there's something you should know. Something I want you to believe."
I frame her face between my hands and tenderly run a thumb over her mouth.
"You’re the most important thing in my life,” I tell her. “I would leave everyone for you.”
Her tiny gasp tells me that on some level she didn’t realize that. The line of her mouth wavers. Her brows knit and tears slip over her cheeks. She presses her forehead to mine, and her shoulders shake. She folds her arms between us against my chest and surrenders to the emotion she’s been fighting, maybe for years. I roll my palms over her arms and back, wanting to send my love through her pores, giving her no choice but to believe down to her bones that she’s the most important thing in my life.
“Grip.” She sniffs and swipes tears from her cheeks. “No one’s ever . . . that means the world to me.”
She bites her lip to suppress emotion, but it does no good. Emotion suffuses the air around us, reaches inside and clutches my heart. Head lowered, she touches the gold links Parker tried to chain her with, and chews the corner of her lip.
“Grip, if it didn’t work, if I’d had to—”
“I would have loved you just as much.” I tip her chin up and force her to look into my eyes and see the truth of it. To see the irrevocable nature of my love for her. “I would never have let you go.”
She nods, sniffing and smiling.
“I’m still mad at you.” With a teary laugh, trying to lighten the moment, she loops her arms over my shoulders and strokes the back of my neck.
“Really?” I frown and cock my head. “You don’t look mad to me.”
“How do I look?” A grin tips her mouth.
“Like you wanna fuck me.”
Her eyes widen and she scoots forward, pressing herself into me. “That, too.” She laughs. “But I’m still mad at you for telling my mother and your mother.”
"I have a feeling I can persuade you to forgive me."
I fit my hands to her waist, flipping her back onto the bed to brace myself over her. With one finger, she traces my mouth, my cheekbones, my eyebrows.
God, her touch feels so good.
My lips are just shy of hers, and we swap breaths and promises. I study her face like an artist, painting each feature—her eyes, her lips, her cheeks—with love. She leans up, touching her lips to mine, and the stress, anxiety, indignity of the last few days disintegrates. Our love is powerful enough to shrink the world down to this moment, down to a circle no wider than her arms around me. The circumference of her and me. So powerful, but her eyes, if you know what you’re looking for, can’t hide her secret vulnerability.
Bristol has always watched me. I know because I was watching her, too. I observed her for years like an anthropologist untangling the mysteries of a new tribe. There’s something in her eyes when she watches me that isn’t there for anyone else. I was never sure what it was. Now I know. It’s a passion so wild there are no borders. A limit- less, loving fealty beyond what I could deserve. Not my music, not my money, not fame, or anything I dreamed would satisfy comes close to what I feel when she looks at me like that.
She feathers kisses over my lips, down my neck. We start slow and tender, but every touch, every long, lush stroke of our tongues together tosses kindling on this kiss until we’re grunting and hungry.
She pulls back, seducing me with her eyes, and reaches down to my waist. Her fingers tease the waistband of my jeans before pushing the sweater over my head. She kisses my neck and shoulders, all the while undoing my belt and sliding my jeans and briefs over my hips.
She peels off her leather jacket and tugs the tank top over her head, sharing herself with me in erotic inches. Her breasts, tipped with plump nipples, come into view.
I ghost my palms over her nipples until they tauten into ripe berries. I squeeze them between my fingers and massage the fullness of her breasts until her breath labors and her head tips back, exposing the column of her throat. I trace the fragile framework of her ribs, gliding my hands down to her hips. I tug the panties down, and palm her center. My fingers tuck into the hot, silky slit, running up and down until she’s dripping wet.
“Oh, she missed me.” I grin and invade her with two fingers.
Bristol's breath catches in her throat, and she squeezes her top lip between her teeth.
“Did you just personify my pussy?” She laughs in between hitched breaths.