Until June (Until Her 2)

Sliding my hands up her waist, I palm her breasts, kiss her ear, and then demand, “Stop being mad,” while tugging her nipples.

“Ev.” She inhales sharply, and my eyes meet hers in the mirror.

“And don’t look at me like that unless you want me to bend you over the counter and actually make you late.” Her eyes heat, and I fight my smile, lean in to kiss her neck, muttering there, “I’ll be back with coffee.”

Heading toward the kitchen, with Ninja following behind me, I let him out the back door, fill his bowl with food, make sure his water’s good, and start up the coffee pot. Leaning back against the island, waiting for the pot to fill, my eyes catch on an envelope on the counter, stacked with the rest of the mail June brought in yesterday. Picking it up, I flip it over and see the letter was forwarded from her old apartment and that the return address is a prison in Alabama, the same prison Lane is serving time in while his trial is in progress.

Opening the envelope, I pull out the thick stack of papers and grit my teeth as I read. Most of the letter is an apology for getting her involved. The other part is him explaining that he made it so that she would break up with him because he knew he didn’t want her to be swept up in his mess, that he was attempting to protect her. But the last page has me seeing red. Him telling her that he’s in love with her and that he knows she felt the same is not something I want to think about. Crumpling the paper in my hands, I go to the back door, let Ninja inside, and head for the bathroom, taking the letter with me.

“I thought you were bringing me coffee,” she says, shutting off the blow dryer. Going to her side, I set the letter down on the vanity. Her eyes drop to it, scan the first page, narrow, and then lift to mine. “Did you open my mail?” She frowns, studying me.

“I did.” I lean back against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Why?”

“I wanted to see what he had to say. He shouldn’t be in contact with you at all, so I thought it might be important. It’s not.”

She scans my face, and she asks, “Are you pissed?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Why?” she questions, sounding baffled.

“A man telling my woman that he’s in love with her is the kind of shit that pisses me off.”

“Maybe we should talk about the status of our relationship,” she murmurs, setting the blow dryer down on the counter next to the sink, then leans back, crossing her arms over her breasts.

“You’re mine, there is nothing to discuss when it comes to who you belong to.”

“I wasn’t yours, for a long time, Evan. You left me. I didn’t have a choice. I had to move on.”

“You were always mine,” I growl, leaning forward. “You know you were mine.”

“How many women were you with while I was ‘yours’?” she asks quietly, and I narrow my eyes and lean back.

“None.” I run my hands over my head and growl, “Jesus, you think if I couldn’t have you, I would have someone else? To what, pass time? Get off? Fuck no.”

Her enormous eyes stare up at me and her lips part before she whispers, “What?”

“Baby, I wouldn’t settle for someone else if I couldn’t have you,” I say, trying to gentle my voice.

“You…” She pauses, then points at my chest. “You haven’t been with anyone since me?” she asks, pointing at herself, and I close my eyes then open them back up.

Reaching out, I wrap my hand around her waist, and drag her into me. “I love you, only you,” I state firmly, dropping my forehead to hers.

“But—”

“No buts. Fuck, I may not have been married to you anymore, but that didn’t change my feelings for you.”

“Oh, my God,” she breathes, placing her hands against my chest leaning forward.

“Were you in love with him?” I ask through gritted teeth, not really wanting to know the answer but needing it all the same.

“What?” She blinks, leaning back.

“Were you in love with HIM?”

“No.” Her head shakes and she tilts farther back as her hands slide up my chest and wrap around the sides of my neck. “How could I love someone else, when you still had my heart?” she asks softly, running her fingers across my jaw.

“You were with him for a while,” I remind her, and her face softens.

“I was trying to move on, but he wasn’t you.”

“Fuck.” I squeeze her to me.

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m pissed at myself that he ever had a shot at you, so fucking mad that my actions meant a man like him was able to breathe your air,” I growl, gritting my teeth.