Page 55 of Saving His Heart
“I’m just doing my job, Preston.”
Ouch, that one hurt.
“You’re not my doctor, remember? Not really.” My words make her uncomfortable, and she goes about arranging the bed and pillows. “You know, you could probably just forgo the pillow fort now, Goldie. You’re like a heat-seeking missile, and no amount of pillows or weird bed-making is going to keep you from snuggling up next to me.”
“I don’t just snuggle up, Preston. I wake up sprawled out on top of you every morning. That is not normal. I did a double twist with the sheets tonight. If this and the couch cushions don’t keep me on my own side, I don’t know what will.”
Every night before bed, she builds her pillow fort, and every morning, we wake up with her sprawled out on top of me, right where she was always meant to be. I wait for the moment she wakes every single morning. She’s at the point now where she is getting pissed, and it’s so fucking cute.
“What if I like waking up with you on top of me every morning?”
“You cannot possibly be able to sleep like that. I don’t know what my sleeping self is thinking, but I am determined to let you have as much sleep as you can get.”
“Come on, sweetheart. Is it really that bad to wake up in my arms every morning?”
Lifting her head to meet my eyes, I see something like love reflected in hers.
“No, Preston. It’s not—”
“I know something that might tire us both out?” I say suggestively.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” She asks it so innocently, I almost feel like a douchebag for even continuing, but who the hell am I kidding. I’m bursting at the seams to be inside of her again.
“Never have I ever tried the cowgirl position.”
I laugh when she drops her pillows on the floor.
“Shit.”
“I know you wanted boundaries, Goldie, but I’m over them. I just want it to be us, no rules, no worries. We leave for Vegas in two days for the bachelor and bachelorette parties. I want us to go and just have fun, for real. Ems, have fun with me?”
Standing behind her, I run a finger down her spine. When I reach her sleep shorts, I hook a finger and pull her back into my front.
“On a scale of one to ten, you’re a nine, and I’m the one you’re missing,” I whisper, relieved when I get the reaction I was hoping for. Sweet, musical laughter fills the room.
Gently, I turn her to face me. “I know what I’m asking isn’t fair. I realize what I’m asking of you goes against everything you’ve trained your brain to reject. But I’m a selfish bastard, and I’m asking anyway. Be with me, Emory. Really be with me.”
I read the conflicts crossing her beautiful face as I wait for an answer. When she reaches up on her tiptoes and kisses where my jaw meets my neck, I tense, waiting for what comes next.
“A new spot for every kiss, right?”
“Fuck,” it comes out in a possessive growl, and I don’t give a shit. Taking control by holding the base of her neck, I continue to growl as I speak. “You’re mine, Emory. From here on out, you’re mine.”
Chapter 23
Emory
My stomach tingles, and I lick my suddenly dry lips before answering. One word, one syllable, and it sets my mind free on a breathy whisper, “Yes.”
Preston’s hands tighten around my scalp, almost to the point of pain, and my nipples harden when I realize I like it.
“Say it, Goldie. Say you’re mine.” His voice is gruff, and I feel his arousal growing between us.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot over the last couple of weeks, and no matter how much I try to fight it, I can’t lie to myself anymore. I want this man to set me free in a way only he has ever done. I want him to take control. For the first time in my life, I want to be taken care of. I’ve decided I don’t even care if that goes against every feminist bone in my body. I’m not delusional, I know this isn’t forever, and perhaps that is what makes it okay in my mind. But as I stand here, looking into his eyes, I know I’m done fighting.
“Say you’re mine,” he repeats, more desperate than before.
“Yes, Pres. I’m yours—”
