Page 81 of The Final Faceoff
“When was the last time you were tested?” I murmur, my fingers still tracing her lips, down her throat, over her collarbone.
Her brows furrow for a split second before she blinks again, clearing the fog. “Oh. Uh, when I was at the doctor’s office receiving the news that I have a baby on board.” She waves a hand vaguely around her belly. Her fingers skim down my arm, her touch light. “I always use condoms, though. And it’s not like there were many.”
“I was tested about three months ago,” I tell her. “Haven’t had sex in a couple of years, and I always used condoms before that. Always.”
Her lips part, brows lifting slightly. “A couple of years?”
I nod.
Her eyes flick over my face, searching. “Like . . . two? Or like . . . five?”
I snort. “Two.”
“Huh.” She tilts her head. “Did you take a vow of celibacy or something?”
I run my hand up her thigh, squeezing when she gasps. “Not exactly.”
“Then why?—”
I cut her off, brushing my lips over her throat. “I decided I was too old to keep fucking around when I was already in love. It was just a matter of . . .”
I feel the second she gets it.
Her breath catches, her fingers flexing against my arms.
Good. Let that sink in, sweetheart.
I pull back, watching her, giving her time to say something. Anything.
But she just stares, lips parting, tongue darting out to wet them.
And fuck me, I want her mouth on me, but maybe not now. I’ll let it sink into her that I’ve been waiting patiently for her. That I love her, even when I have never said it, only showed it.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Leif
If You Have No Time Left on the Clock
The rotors hum above us, a vibrating whir that rattles through my bones, making conversation near impossible. Not that I need words right now. Not when Hailey is sitting next to me, looking like sin in sundress form.
The cabin is sleek—all polished leather, tinted windows, a ride so smooth it barely feels like we’re cutting through the sky. A picture of luxury.
But I don’t give a shit about any of that.
All I can focus on is her.
Hailey’s got her legs crossed, arms tucked close to her body, trying to look calm. But I see it. The way her thighs press together, the little shifts in her seat, like she can’t quite get comfortable.
Like she’s feeling everything.
She thinks she’s being subtle, but I know my girl. I see the way her dress hikes higher when she moves, the hem barely covering anything. One wrong shift, and I’d have the perfect view of her thighs, of what’s between them.
I smirk.
I drag my knuckles along the bare skin just above her knee, barely skimming the edge of her dress.
She tenses.
