Page 61 of Conflagration
Instead, I go for the next best thing and kiss her with the hunger that’s been burning in me since I saw her sitting in that front pew next to my mom, looking every bit a part of the family as I want her to be. In this kiss, I try to convey how I feel, pouring every ounce of love and longing into it, until she pulls back, seemingly breathless.
Her eyes are questioning as she looks down at me. The sight of her ravaged lips, swollen and pink, has me wanting to whisk her away as far as I can so I can worship her body. Just as I’m about to suggest leaving again, I hear a soft chuckle from behind me.
“Branson, honey, if that’s how you kiss her in public, I can see why your mom’s so hopeful for grandchildren soon.”
I groan as Grandma Kate sits down in the chair next to me. Ariana’s cheeks flush—whether from my kisses or Grandma’s implications, I’m not sure, but it makes me grin.
Shrugging my shoulders, I give Grandma a wink. “I’m not getting any younger, you know.” Ariana stiffens, and I tighten my arm around her waist. “But I think Knox might beat us. He’s one step ahead.”
She studies us both, a gleam in her eyes. “We’ll just see about that, now won’t we?”
Before I can respond, the emcee opens up the dance floor, and Ariana stands up, a hand on her hip. “You owe me,” she says, and I know she doesn’t just mean a dance.
Giving Grandma a smile, I stand up and let her lead me to the floor, more than ready to have her close in my arms.
IT’S NEARLY midnight when we finally get home, and I’m exhausted. My knee hurts like hell, after standing for entirely too long without my brace on. Once Ariana got me on the dance floor, her moves were much better than they were the night of our first date, and we spent almost the whole night out on the floor. Which wasn’t good for my hard-on, but fortunately, she blocked me from any embarrassment.
As I shrug out of my jacket and start to unbutton my shirt, I pause to watch as Ariana slips off her high heels and places them in the closet. She takes off her earrings and sets them on top of my dresser. Then she unzips her dress and removes it, one shoulder at a time before sliding it down her body. Seeing her walk around the master bedroom in nothing but a sexy pair of panties does something to me—and I don’t just mean to my dick. My own heart skips a fucking beat. It’s intimate. It’s domestic. Like this is just as much her domain as it is mine, and I know I want it to be.
As I remove my shoes and slide my pants off, I grimace when I see my swollen knee. Ariana slips on a T-shirt and turns around before I can mask the pain etched on my face. It’s manageable, more of an annoyance than anything, but she gasps anyway.
“Oh my God, Branson. It’s so swollen,” she says, rushing over to me and pushing me towards the bed. She finishes undressing me until I’m left completely naked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
I scoot back until my head’s resting on a pillow against the headboard, clicking on the television and turning on an old rerun while I wait for her. A few minutes later, she reappears with an ice pack in her hand. She elevates my leg and wraps my knee with the ice. Instantly, it feels better.
“I never should have let you go so long without your brace. This is all my fault. All that dancing? What was I thinking?” she chastises herself.
Taking hold of her hand, I bring it to my lips, giving her a kiss. “Hush, baby. I’m fine. It’s just a little sore. Tonight was perfect, even if you did make me dance my ass off.”
“Are you sure? I feel awful,” she says with a wince.
“I promise. I’ll be as good as new tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she responds, not sounding convinced.
When she joins me on the bed, she curls up against my chest. I turn off the bedside lamp, and we lie in silence watching the television. Just as I think she’s asleep, she breaks the silence.
“Branson? Can I ask you something?”
“Mmmhmm,” I murmur, absentmindedly playing with her hair.
She lifts her head to look up at me. “Do you want kids?”
My hand stills just as my heart starts to race. “Do you?” I ask, echoing her question without answering it.
Her eyebrows narrow, confusion crossing her face. “What I want doesn’t matter,” she responds, a faint hint of sadness in her tone.
I tuck her into my chest and roll us both until she’s flat on her back and I’m hovering over her, the light from the television illuminating her face. A quick flash of pain bursts in my knee as the ice slips off, but I ignore it, not caring about anything other than her right now. “Baby, of course what you want matters. If you don’t want kids, then what I want doesn’t mean a thing. Because, ultimately, what I want is you.”
Her eyes widen as she looks up into mine. “Wha… What are you saying, Branson?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper.
“What I’m saying”—I pause, taking her left hand and holding it up between us, my thumb rubbing her ring—“is I want you. I want a future with you. Theonlyfuture I want is the one with you in it. I’m tired of waking up each day and wondering if it’s going to be the last one we have together.”
“What about temporary?”
“Temporary’s over, Ariana. I told you. This is real. How I feel… I don’t want some unknown expiration date hanging over us any longer. Move in with me. Stay with me. Be mine. Let’s make this official.”
She swallows hard, and I see a wet sheen glistening in her eyes. My heart races as I wait for her to respond. “I…I want that, too. And just so you know, I’m already yours. I have been this whole time. Just, now, it’s permanent.”
