Page 78 of I Knew You Were Trouble

“So demanding.”

“You said you liked that about me.” Actually, I think he said he loved that about me. He said love a lot there, and I didn’t have the guts to bring it up then, but I will now.

“Did you notice you started saying love?” I ask, then press a kiss to his forehead, his nose, the apples of his cheeks.

“Huh?”

I snort. Looks like I can turn his brain off, too. “You were saying all these things that you like about me. Then you were saying love.”

His eyes blank out, his breathing becoming rapid and shallow. “Freudian slip.”

I lift a brow. “If that’s your story.”

“Yep, sticking to that.”

He adjusts me again, right as I was diving in for a kiss, so I end up missing by a few inches. We laugh and shake our heads, almost completely in sync with each other.

“Am I too heavy?”

“No.” He’s totally lying. His face is starting to get red, and there’s a vein popping out in his neck. I’m not exactly holding my weight, too comfortable to sit in his arms and let him take the reins. I like that I’m able to fully trust someone like this, not just with my body, but with my heart, my fears, my everything. I think I’ve always trusted him, I just didn’t realize how deeply that went until recently.

“Move me to the couch, then.”

“You’d be okay with that? I mean… you’ll be on top of me.”

“I’m straddling you already, right?” Silly boy. So concerned. But so silly.

“Good point.” He walks me to the well-used couch and starts to ease down, but at a certain point, he loses all control and we crash into the cushions.

“We’re so smooth.” I laugh.

“If you would stop bouncing for a second.”

“I’m happy. Give me a break.”

A light sparkles in his light brown eyes, and he grabs the back of my neck and presses another one of those crowning kisses to my lips. I love that my happiness makes him happy… makes him horny, too I guess. And I wriggle on his thighs, reeling over how comfy it is here. Who’d have thunk I’d be sitting in his lap, free as a bird.

“Can I tell you something without you making fun of me?” he asks, his breath rushing over me.

“Probably not.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and his fingers curl against the nape of my neck. I trace the T on his Troublemakers shirt.

“I’m nervous,” he blurts.

“About what?”

He lets out a breath and rests his head against mine. “You.”

“Stop it.”

“I’m serious.” He sets a shaking hand on my thigh, and I realize he’s not lying.

“Why are you nervous?” Usually that’s my role.

“I’m starting to realize how long I’ve loved you, and it’s freaking me out a bit.”

“There goes that Freudian slip again.”

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