Page 49 of Gluttony

His gray-hazel gaze speared her, and in his eyes she saw scorching heat, blazing desire, and a flash of humor—all of which made her warm all over.

How the hell was she supposed to keep her wits about her for their conversation finale if she couldn’t even ride behind him on his bike without getting a wettie?

“Right,” he drawled, chuckling.

She huffed again, and let him take off her helmet, securing it in his saddle bag.

He helped her off the bike, waited for her legs to hold her up, then took her shaking hand in his.

This…this was the first time she’d ever been seen in public with him. Her…the chubby, utterly white bread computer nerd was walking, hand-in-hand, with a man who made even blind women do a double take.

But he didn’t seem to think anything was weird, wrong, or out of place.

As they walked from the parking lot to the entrance, people stared. Of course, they did—but Red didn’t seem to notice. He just kept walking, his pace steady, his stride confident, his hand gripping hers like it was his lifeline.

Like she was the one thing he didn’t want to lose.

Hurrying alongside him to keep pace with him—her legs were comically shorter than his—she didn’t bother telling him to grab a cart so he could fill it with whatever he planned to feed her over the next two to three days.

Right inside the door, he grabbed a red basket with black handles with his free hand, and lead her toward the meat section. He grabbed $200 in steak, $50 in chicken, and then hit the deli counter for gourmet cheese. He snagged a few potatoes, an onion, a pepper, and a carton of eggs.

When they finally hit the self-checkout, she was panting, and he was easy breezy, like he hadn’t just hauled ass through the Weis. Again, people were staring, and they weren’t even bothering to hide it. She grit her teeth and ignored it, knowing it didn’t bother him as much as it bothered her. She knew him being a beautiful beast was something she had to deal with because it came with public attention, which meant that when she was with him, attention was on her, too.

Fighting the urge to tug her t-shirt down to hide more of her pooch, she watched as Red scanned each of the items—still one handed—and then paid. When he tried to bag his groceries one-handed, she drew the line.

Scoffing, the pulled her hand from his grip. He grunted in displeasure, glared at her hand, and then tried to grab it again.

She chuckled. “Come on, you don’t seriously think you can bag your groceries with only one hand,” she teased, moving toward the end of the checkout to start loading the groceries into bags.

Red growled, coming to stand right behind her, close enough that she could feel his body heat against her back.

Goddamn, down boy!

“I don’t like not touching you, baby,” he admitted, a sort of disgruntled pout in his voice.

She grinned, shook her head, and finished bagging while he just stood there watching.

“For someone who likes to get their groceries delivered, you seem like a pro at this,” he remarked.

She shrugged. “I didn’t always have a computer, and I needed money when I lived in the group home. I worked at a grocery store as a bagger for a year, saving up money for a used PC. After that, I didn’t look back.”

Grabbing the bags in one hand, Red snagged her hand with his other, and hurried from the store. Storing the bags in his saddle bags, he helped her put on her helmet, helped her onto the bike, then got on himself.

As the bike rumbled beneath her, she laughed, making Red turn his head to grin at her, his smile slamming into her like a sex hammer.

“Just hold on, baby,” Red called over the throatiness of the engine. And she did, she held on as he roared from the parking lot.

They were so caught up in their urgency to get home, neither of them noticed the pregnant woman glaring at them from the car parked next to the cart return, her face red with rage, her purpose fixed, her intent devastating.

SEVENTEEN

By the timeRed parked at his house, unloaded and put away the groceries, and gave Valentina a quick tour of his place, he was ready to get it the fuck over with. Yeah, he wanted to plant his face between his woman’s thighs and hear her scream his name as she came, but he…well, he couldn’t do that, not with this utmost focus, if there were stillissuesbetween them.

Fuck, he hated being the responsible type, but he never shirked what was right in order to do what he wanted.

Case in point, you fucking other women, and now you’re having to deal with your own bullshit.

Leading Val from the kitchen and into the living room, he pointed to the middle seat of his six-seater brown leather couch. It matched other shit in his place, but he didn’t care about that, he just knew it was comfortable.

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