Page 53 of My Rose

She didn’t bother adjusting the edge of my shirt from where it rested over the tops of her thighs. I turned and filled my hands with the trays instead before my cock would lead me back to that bed, where I’d spread her thighs further apart from where they were already parted, seemingly waiting for me to do so. I wanted to devourher, not the food in my hands.

She scrunched up her nose at something on the tray, and I pulled it back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

I groaned. “Don’t lie to me. Tell me what it is that you don’t like here, and I’ll remove it.”

She glanced at the tray in my hands and then back at me. “Blueberries.”

“You don’t like blueberries?”

“I hate them,” she admitted. “But I like everything else there. It’s just…blueberries remind me of something kind of terrible now.”

I placed the tray back down, removing the blueberries from hers and adding them to mine before passing it back to her. “I get that. I don’t like caviar, or champagne, or anything that’s—”

“Rich people shit?” she said with no hesitation and then burst out laughing. “Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

“No, you’re right.” I took up my tray and sat next to her on the bed. “I prefer things more casual.”

A forkful of eggs hovered right in front of her lips, her body noticeably tense.

Shit.

“Casual like…just sex?”

“No, Rose.” I removed the tray from my lap and cupped her chin, pulling her gaze back to me as she lowered her fork. “I won’t becasualwith you. Not with how I feel about you, and not with how I’ll be with you, and certainly not how I’ll choose to fuck you when that time comes. You’re mine just as much as I am yours in the least casual sense there could ever be.”

She swallowed audibly. “I just don’t know how this all works now.”

I released her chin. “Start with eating, baby.”

“Are you mad?” she breathed out.

“No.” I settled the tray back onto my lap, but it wobbled a bit. I groaned, trying to think of the heavy snowfall outside or driving my car to the gas station. Maybe Jim’s floors? Yeah. That seemed to be working.

“What is it, then? I feel like I say things sometimes, and you just—”

My eyes snapped to her, and all those unsexy thoughts flew away. My tray started to slide down to the bed. “Oh.” She glanced at my lap, her eyes wider than the plate that was about to crash to the floor.

My hand slapped down on top of the tray, making her jump a little. “Eat,” I gritted out through my teeth. “Then we can go to the movie room.”

“You have a movie room?” Her lips popped open and I fixated on the way they were naturally red and full. And how full they’d look wrapped around my cock. Yeah, thinking of Jim’s floors wasn’t going to help with her sitting right beside me. Nothing was.

“Yep. You can pick whatever you want.” Her eyes lit up, and I had to force myself not to wonder whether August denied letting her do what she seemed so happy to do or not—make decisions. I thought giving her that freedom to use her voice around me—to put me in my place—was going to be my biggest downfall. I hadn’t even considered the way it would make her feel.

She loved it just as much as I did.

“Except for Attack of the 50ft Woman. We have to do that in the theater.” Some things just had to be rectified, and I’d be damned if she remembered the theater as a place where I almost abandoned her because she was still agitated over another man. I’d even rent the entire place out just so I could bend her over the seats in front of us and take her on every single one of them.

The looming dread the estate held over my shoulders, the reason I refused to sleep with her even on a new day August hadn't planned for, was turning into the biggest burden of my life.

“So, I can pick a chick flick?”

“Yeah, of course.” It wasn’t like I’d be watching the movie that intently in the first place. I’d be watching her. “Like I said, whatever you want.”

She bit down on her lip and glanced back down at my lap, then blushed as she whispered, “Even Pretty Woman?”

“Why do all the rooms look like you never go in them?”

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