Page 112 of Renegade Ruin

“Who is it from? Is there a note?”

Leigh’s voice is excited as I reach for the box, but she’s faster. Picking it up, she examines the outside before poking around inside until she pulls out a small slip of paper.

She holds it up and reads in a sultry tone. “Now you have a bag of tricks for the beach house.”

My hands find my face, hiding me away from my best friends. I shouldn’t be embarrassed. These two know I read books filled with smut and kink—they read them too—but I haven’t told them about living out my fantasies with Bishop or all that he has opened my eyes to.

Let’s just say it’s thanks to him I have a penchant for five finger necklaces, spanking, and I’m no longer opposed to butt stuff.

Fucking Bishop.

“Oooooooooh,” Indie sing-songs as she stretches out her arm and offers me the shot I requested. “Is this a gift from the casual dick?”

Without thinking, I take the shot and down it, grimacing as the tequila burns the back of my throat and warms my belly. “It would seem so.”

“Are you going to tell us who the mystery guy is? Or should we continue guessing?”

“I—” My throat swells as I try to figure out how to word everything that’s happened. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so easy to rip off the bandaid. What the hell am I supposed to say?

I lied before and I’m totally fucking Bishop, but it’s not what you think. You were right when you said I wasn’t over him after the flight down here, but then we sort of agreed to be fuck buddies, and I fell for him all over again. He’s not ready to say he’s all in. But I think he feels the same. He’s just scared. I am too. I don’t know what this looks like. I could lose everything. But I don’t want you guys to hate him for that. We’ve been through a lot. But I think he’s it for me. Maybe. I don’t know. I think I want him to be.

“Willow.” Leigh’s voice pulls me out of my spiral. “You’re doing that thing where you freak out in your head. Just tell us what’s going on.”

I blink rapidly at her and blurt out, “I need a minute.”

As soon as I’m locked in the safety of the half-bath off the kitchen, I yank my phone from my pocket and fire off a text to the catcher responsible for the flush on my cheeks and the anxiety in my chest.

WILLOW: Did you send me a package?

BISHOP: So it arrived.

WILLOW: What the fuck Bishop?

BISHOP:

WILLOW: That’s it? That’s all you have to say for yourself?

BISHOP: How about thank you daddy?

WILLOW: Considering I just opened the damn package and everything fell out on the floor in front of Leigh and Indie, I’m not sure you deserve that thank you. Now they have questions.

BISHOP:

BISHOP:

BISHOP: I’m dead.

WILLOW: What am I supposed to say to them?

BISHOP: Tell them I know how to take care of you.

I imagine him saying it with a cocky tilt to his lips, which only makes my heart thunder harder against my rib cage. It’s one thing to decide for myself to tell them, but having Bishopclaim me to my friends is a huge step. One I shouldn’t read too much into, but damn if I don’t want to. And if the way my pussy clenches is any indication, my body wants to as well.

Three little bubbles float across the screen, and I hold my breath, waiting to see what he says next.

BISHOP: Pick your jaw up off the floor, Kitten. I told you, for as long as this lasts, you’re mine.

BISHOP: Plus, I told Jackson about you. It’s only fair you get to tell your friends.

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