Page 84 of Loathing My Boss
“If, through mysterious means, I set part of the house on fire, you have to do something more than cuddle mewhile murmuring how it’s fine and you’ll just buy a new one.”
His pupils enlarge, dark blots gulping amber whole. “Why would I punish you for something you had no control over?”
I twist his shirt in my fist. “Because. It’ll make me feel better. I need you to react in the way you responded to the bee sting whenstuffhappens that inconveniences more than just me. It helps me feel less like a burden. Even if I complain about how you choose to let me make amends, it helps me feel a little more in control to know that I can atone. Please. Don’t let me abuse you. Help me outgrow that.”
Realization strikes him, and he frees a breathless, “I will. I promise.”
“Do youreallylove me two hundred thousand words deep?”
Raw, he rasps, “And counting, sweet pea. Forever, and ever, counting.”
“I don’t want to regret trusting youifI believe you really mean that.”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
Searching the black pools of his eyes, I consider that, no, he hasn’t. But more importantly, I don’t think people can on-command change the size of their pupils without some kind of assistance. The lighting in here hasn’t changed. Neither has the temperature. Yet, he’s shivering and touching me as though I’m glass.
My love language is words of affirmation, but people stole the love out of my words, and I couldn’t trust them anymore. I’ve long since grown to rely on more concrete things. Like actions. If every inch of Viktor were not being honest with me right now…I don’t think I’d have the strength to lift myself fragilely to his lips and kiss him.
His phone hits the floor before I understand what I’ve done—what I’ve unleashed. His arms are around me in an instant, raking my body into his. “Crisis.” He chokes on my name. “Does this mean—” He swears. My back hits my bedroom wall, and I gasp, wondering when he started walking us toward it. His hands fall, lower, lower.
I curse and shudder as he clasps my thighs. His fingers dig into the flesh beneath my pajama shorts as he braces my wing bones against the wall to lift my legs and lock my ankles around his waist. All the while, he lays waste to my mouth, kissing me like he’s starved.
I whimper when his hand slides up my back. His babbling overtakes all rational thought as heat erupts to consume me. “This,” he says, breathless, “I dream of this. You.” He nips my lip, moans, nuzzles. “The way you arch, when you stretch at your desk.” He pants, grips my hair to jerk me away from the ambrosia of his mouth. Heated, the dark pools of his eyes laced in honey amber glaze as they lock on mine. Coarse, he commands, “Stretch for me.”
My head teeters on a dazed edge, happy to oblige anything—anything—for him. For the promise of one more kiss, I would doanything. Shaky, I draw my hands off him, lock my fingers together, and stretch, arching my body into his chest as I loosen the muscles in my neck, letting my head fall back against my bedroom wall.
His grip slams my hands into the pale blue paint. His finger curls under my chin—then follows my swallow down the column of my throat, eliciting a shudder so potent I may never stop shivering. “Yeah,” he breathes, while I come utterly undone. “That.”
Well…ThatI can do.
My arms go limp, trusting his hands to keep them up, trusting him to catch me as I fall.
“I dream of this.” He kisses the birthmark on myshoulder, repeating, “I…dream of this, of you. Let me love you forever, Crisis. Sayyes. And become mine.”
Arms pinned, feet off the ground, I am helpless. I am floating. A pea puffer in a tank, at the mercy of the current, too lazy perhaps to fight it…or too trusting to care where it brings me.
I know Viktor Bachelor inside and out. I have counted how many breaths he takes in an hour. I have learned how to make them stick in his chest. I know Viktor Bachelor inside and out…but for the first time since we met, I am convinced he has also counted mine.
“Kiss me,” I whisper.
He touches his lips to the corner of my mouth. “Say you’ll marry me, and I’ll do more than kiss you.”
Vivid imagery bombards.
My heart skips beats. “Is that a threat?”
“A promise.”
“When?” I ask.
“Our wedding night.” He rests his mouth against my neck, nibbles. “I need to look up a guide first.”
I bite my lip to kill the laugh trying to escape. “Is that—” I swallow as my stomach spins. “—so? A guide, huh?”
“I can feel you shaking with suppressed laughter, Crisis. You, as always, are fooling no one.”
“Rude.” I tug on my hands, but he only tightens his grip and pins them harder against the drywall. To get him back, I say, “I’ve a splendid idea. The guide can be our bedtime story tonight.”
