Page 47 of Two For the Show
“Rose.”
“That’s cute. I’ll answer whatever question you have, Dr. Alex Rose Shields,” I tell her. “You just have to ask.”
“Okay, Jude Charles Oliver. Do you think there are enough hours today to feel certain about our relationship?”
What a loaded question.
I can’t even begin to know how she wants me to answer that.
So I tell her the first thing that pops into my big, stupid head.
“No. Until we’re bonded, I’ll never feel like you’re mine. Not fully.” She opens her mouth to refute me, but I hold up a hand. “Wait. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I think it’s a failsafe in our designations. It’s as if we’re holding back a part of ourselves, preserving a little bit so we don’t lose ourselves in case it doesn’t work out. But that doesn’t mean I’m not all in, Alex. I don’t need to feel like every piece of you is mine. I just need to know that part of you is.”
There’s a moment, between when lightning flashes and thunder sounds, that you hold your breath, bracing for it. When you’re a kid, you count the seconds, approximating how many miles away the strike was. When you’re an adult, you’re waiting for that loud, rolling sound, so you can know that the cycle is complete.
This moment is like that.
I’m holding my breath, counting the seconds.
One.
Her eyes are wide.
Two.
Her lip quivers.
Three.
Her chest hitches.
Four.
Her fingers dig into my shirt.
Five.
Five.
Five.
She plasters herself to me, desperately seeking my mouth, her movements wild as she pulls my hair and tiltsmy head back, lips trailing across my chin, down my throat.
Alex pauses, panting in my ear, her grip tight on my dark waves.
Six.
“Please.”
One word.
One plea from her.
One moment between us that says everything that needs to be said.
“I’m yours.”
Her teeth sink into the crux between my neck and my shoulder, and I feel the fire of her bond run from the point of impact through my body, to my fingertips and toes, and I cry out in delirious pleasure.
