Page 186 of Can't Always Get What You Want

“You’re breathing so loud!” Nova shouts, precariouslybalancing on a step stool to rearrange her spices to accommodate mine.

“I’m literally doing manual labor,” I yell back. “You try carrying six boxes of sports gear from the car and into the building.”

“They probably have three things in them.” She snorts. “You brought, like, four hoodies and a drawer of dirty socks.”

She’s not wrong.

I actuallydon’thave much shit but left loads of it at the house in storage.

“You can’t throw socks away—some of them are lucky.”

She pokes her head around the corner. “Just don’t mix your lucky socks into mine, kay?”

What a pain in the ass.

God, I love her.

I drop the last box with a grunt and lean against the kitchen island like I’ve just scaled Everest, hands braced on my knees, sweat clinging to the back of my neck.

It slides in slow drips down the small of my back.

“You know,” she says, one brow arching. “For someone who claims to be in peak physical condition, you were breathing kinda heavy.”

I stare. “Are youtryingto get yourself in trouble?”

Nova shrugs. “Maybe.”

My brows go up.

Oh.

Oohhh….

Nova’s laugh bubbles up as she steps down off the stool and leans her hip against the island, eyes sparkling, lips curved in that devilish way that makes my stomach do all kinds of embarrassing flips.

“Babe,” I say slowly, stepping closer. “Do you know what happens to bratty girls who tease their boyfriends? They get spankings.”

Nova’s eyes widen—just a fraction—but her smirk doesn’t budge. “Promise?”

Oh, hell yes.

My hands find her waist; I tug her gently closer until her thighs brush mine. Her breath catches and I know I’ve got her. “You’re mouthy for someone about to be bent over a marble countertop.”

“You’re all talk,” she whispers, voice full of excitement, clearly begging to be proven wrong.

My brow arches. “That right?”

She squeals out of my grasp and tries to dart around the island, but I catch her by the waist again, spinning her and lifting her up onto the marble so I can step between her legs.

Her hands graze my arms; they’re sticky from all my sweat, blood and tears.

“You’re filthy,” she breathes, grinning wide, hands grasping at the hem of my T-shirt and tugging it up. “I want to lick you all over your naked body.”

“Be my guest.”

“Mmm.” Her tongue darts out and she flicks my nipple. “Wanna make out?”

“Obviously.”Is that even a real question?

---