“Micah,” Peyton barks from the other end of the bar. I glance her way and smile. “How’s the rash?”
Dear god, woman.
I sincerely hope Peyton has no concerns about me picking up other women. Not when I kissed the hell out of her three hours ago. But the way she marks her territory without it being obvious to outsiders has me biting my cheek.
“Better since the cream.”
The woman quickly removes her hand. “Never mind.” She hops off the stool. “Have a good night.” And then she waltzes over to a table of women, whispers something to them and they all look my way with wide eyes.
I wipe down the bar top and head toward Peyton. She restocks the disposables—one less thing to do tomorrow before open.
“Did you enjoy that?” I ask when I reach her.
She bats her lashes excessively. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Cute.”
“What’s cute?”
I love how she plays coy. Goes toe to toe with me or lips off. But this new possessive side… I think I love this side the most. The spunk and bite and territorialism. The unspoken claim only I hear when she fends off other women. Her silent, “He. Is. Mine.”
Fuck. The ownership makes my dick swell.
One year ago—hell, two months ago—I would never have imagined this raw hunger I harbor for Peyton. Or vice versa. But damn, do I love the energy vibrating through my body. The extra bounce in my step. The constant compulsion to smile. The rapid beat of my heart and expansion of my lungs.
Never imagined I would feel like this again. That I would want more than friendship or meaningless sex with a woman. That I would want to caress and taste a woman more than once.
But Peyton… she changes everything.