I go to move away but he grabs the back of my neck and keeps me pinned to his hard body as he growls, “Maybe I should make you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Maybe you should.”
“There was a reason I told you to stay put. You could’ve been lost.”
“I was perfectly safe. I just wanted to say hi to Cleo.”
“Who’s Cleo?”
Seriously?
God, my boyfriend.
He doesn’t remember anything, does he?
I’ve talked about Cleo a thousand times before. I’ve talked about her husband, Zach, a thousand times before too. We’re at his show, for God’s sake.
Zachariah Prince, aka The Dark Prince, is a performer who does amazing things with his motorcycle. He flies it over holes. He circles the wall of death – like he did at the show that we just saw. He jumps off ramps and does all sorts of daring and dangerous things.
Cleo Prince, his wife, handles all his social media and that’s where we became friends. Because I wouldn’t stop fangirling on Zach’s Instagram and somehow, she found out that I’m Arrow’s girlfriend and she’s a huge fan of The Blond Arrow aaaand yeah.
Today was the first time I met her in person and I totally loved her.
We’re planning on going out to dinner together, all four of us. I just have to convince Arrow and she has to convince Zach because Zach gets a little jealous when Cleo fangirls over Arrow.
And well, we all know how Arrow gets when I fangirl over someone else other than him.
But come on, The Blond Arrow and The Dark Prince together? It’s so happening.
Anyway I remember telling Arrow about meeting Cleo at the carnival thingy.
I sigh.
I shouldn’t find this so adorable, but I do.
So much so that I kiss his jaw again.
“She’s the wife of the guy we came to see.” I explain further when he doesn’t seem to grasp it, “The Dark Prince. Zach. The amazing guy who does wonderful things while riding a motorcycle, remember? We just saw him.”
Finally, the bell rings and a thick frown appears between his brows. “I wouldn’t say wonderful.”
“You’re kidding, right? It’s beyond wonderful. Above and beyond.”
His grip on my neck contracts and goes tighter. “I thought you were my groupie.”
Warmth blooms in my chest at his possessive tone. “Are you jealous?”
“Keep it up and you’ll find out.”
I shake my head at his irritated tone. “You’re so cute.”
“Cute.”
I wish his cap was off so I could grip his hair. His wonderful, rich, sun-struck hair, and mess it all up.
Because he looks a little too uptight, a little too irritated for such a wonderful occasion.
“Yes. You’re the only one who gets to write his name on my chest. Don’t you know that by now?”
His beautiful eyes move to my chest and my breaths start to come out in soft gasps. My bra-less breasts tingle and my nipples get all hard and achy.
Maybe because he did write his name there, last night. He also wrote his name on my stomach and way high up on my thighs.
He likes to do that.
Write his name everywhere on my body.
And then, he likes to fuck me really, really hard while he stares at me, at the girl who belongs to him.
At the girl who has his name on her skin. Because he put it there. Because he wants to declare to the world that I’m his. He has claimed me.
I think I’ll have it tattooed one day, his name, on my ribs, where my heart is.
A flush comes over his gorgeous high cheekbones when he lifts his eyes. I’m so busy staring into his dark gaze that I don’t even notice when he’s crept his hand forward and grasped the chain sitting between my heaving breasts.
He tugs at it, pulling me forward and making me arch my back. “I do, don’t I?”
“Yeah.”
His eyes sweep over my face in the usual way. My hair, my nose.
My lips.
He tips his chin. “What’s this one called?”
“Sweet Little Sweetheart.”
“Sweet Little Sweetheart,” he repeats on a whisper.
“There’s a reason I chose it,” I tell him.
“I know.”
“You do?”
His gaze comes back up and arrests all my breaths and heartbeats. “Because it’s been two years since I called you that and you like to celebrate every little thing like the needy girlfriend you are.”
I gasp, dropping my ice cream – because who the fuck cares about ice cream when your boyfriend just said he remembers – and clutch his t-shirt with both hands. “You remember?”
It has been two years since then.
Since the night I went to see him in his motel room.
Two years since I became his and he became mine.
Our anniversary.
Dropping his cone as well, he tugs at the chain again. “Why do you think we’re here?”
“B-because I was bugging you to go see the show.”
I have been bugging him. As soon as I knew Zach was going to be doing a show in California, so close to LA, I started begging Arrow to go.