Finding Him (Covet 2)

“And yet you’ve been doing so well.”

“Cold showers,” I joked.

Which just made her duck her head and laugh against my neck. “Why are you so easy?”

“I think I’m offended,” I grumbled, leaning back against the pillow while she joined me, placing her gauzed-up hand on my chest and drawing small circles.

“You know what I mean. It’s only been a few days. Normally I’d be bolting my door closed, sleeping with a knife under my pillow.”

“Dear God, please tell me you didn’t bring the knife in here.”

“No.” She laughed. “It’s safe in the kitchen.”

“Not what I’d call safe since you can still access it, but I’ll take what I can get.” My mind and heart raced like crazy. Time continued to slip right by us, and it didn’t seem like we were going to have enough to hash out whatever was taking place between us.

Because as crazy as it sounded.

She was right.

It was easy with her.

It was like finding someone and immediately having inside jokes, reading their mind and knowing their thoughts without even trying. It wasn’t something I’d ever experienced or hoped to experience once Izzy chose Bridge.

“What happens tomorrow? What happens in a few hours?” Keaton asked softly like she wanted—no, needed me to tell her something good, something happy.

I let out a long sigh. “That’s the beauty of being the one who’s living, Keaton. You get to decide how you spend each moment you’re given.”

“There are always consequences.”

I just shrugged. “I’m done being that person, the one who measures everything by what could happen or what should. It’s exhausting, and there’s nothing like being brought back from near death to show you how important it is to do something with the seconds you have even if they don’t amount to the same as others you’ve lost.”

“Okay.” She nodded her head; I felt it against my chest. “You know, for being a rich man whore, you’re pretty wise.”

I smiled. “I have my moments.”

“You have more than that, Julian.” She said it like she had full confidence in my ability to make good life decisions, when all I really wanted to do in that moment was kiss her, breathe her in, strip her down, and lose myself in her.

“Do you want a cookie?” she asked in a lazy voice.

I frowned at the subject change. “I guess since someone woke me up . . .”

She moved to grab a cookie from the nightstand, then fell back against my chest. I loved her there. Keaton dangled the treat in front of my lips.

I took one huge bite and moaned. “You should probably move in with me.”

“And just make you cookies every day?”

I felt my eyes heat while I watched her watch me. “Yeah . . . just cookies.”

“Liar.” She looked away and bit down on the cookie. A piece of chocolate stuck to her lower lip. I reached up and brushed it away.

Her body shuddered as she closed her eyes and leaned toward me. “Did you get all of it?”

I pressed my fingertips against the cookie in her hand, swiped some melted chocolate onto my finger and then brushed it against her lower lip and whispered, “No.”

“Well?” She opened her eyes.

I cupped the back of her head and leaned in, brushing my lips across hers before licking her bottom lip and pulling away. “Got it.”

She shook her head no and leaned forward, crushing her mouth against mine in a way that was as aggressive as I’d wanted to kiss her. Punishing, bruising, sad mixed with a heavy amount of ache.

Our pain collided with that kiss.

And like setting fire to gasoline.

We were ignited whole.

I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her onto my body while she straddled me. Cookie abandoned, her hands gently cupped my head as I grabbed her shirt, jerked it over her body, and threw it to the ground, briefly breaking the kiss while her hands flew to my jeans.

She fumbled with the first button. I grinned against her mouth. “Having trouble?”

“Injured,” she said between kisses. “What are we doing?”

“Stop thinking.” I kissed her hard then, so hard that it consumed me, set me on fire, set my heart hammering in a chaotic rhythm that refused to let up. I undid the buttons and kicked the jeans down while she moved off me and lay down on her back.

I wasn’t prepared for the vision of her hair spread out across my pillow, or the way her lips looked swollen and pink from our kiss. I leaned over her and gently pulled the sweats she was wearing down her legs, leaving her in neon-pink underwear and black bra with all the polka dots. “We really need to talk about your lingerie.”

She laughed and kissed me again. “Because you love it so much?”

“I’m going to go blind from all the neon polka dots.” I laughed, and then nearly stopped kissing her. We were laughing, half naked, more than likely going to have sex . . . and we were talking, conversing.