Page 52 of Chasing Wildflowers
“And don’t even think about touching yourself,” he warns, closing the bathroom door behind him with a soft click.
My jaw drops as I stare at the door. I can touch myself if I want to. He’s not the boss of me. He doesn’t own my pussy. I’m an independent woman who does what she wants, when she wants.
Well, apparently, he does, in fact, own my pussy.
Instead of giving myself the relief I desperately need, I am currently sitting uncomfortably in one of my kitchen chairs. My center throbs and aches withunfulfilled need as I stare at the plate in front of me; pancakes, bacon, eggs, and toast.
My mouth waters, the savory aroma of fried pork mixing with the sugary sweetness of the syrup drowned pancakes. “This is a lot of food for just the two of us.”
His lips lift in a knowing smirk. “You’re going to need your energy.”
I pick up my coffee, a soft moan leaving my lips when the bitter sweet liquid touches my tongue. “How did you know I take my coffee?”
He forks up a bite of fluffy scrambled eggs, and shrugs. “I called Kam and asked her.”
My eyebrows knit together. “You called Kam just to ask how I make my coffee, so you could have it ready for me when I got out of the shower?”
He chuckles but his eyes are serious when they meet mine. “Yes, Lane. It took me minimal effort to find out.” He nods at my plate. “Eat your breakfast. We have to get on the road soon. We have a bit of a drive ahead of us.”
I cut into my pancake, the fork gently scraping across the glass plate. “Can I have a hint?” I ask, bringing my fork to my mouth. A moan slips from my lips when the sugary, buttery goodness hits my taste buds. They are so fluffy and soft. I think he added vanilla and maybe a little cinnamon.
His eyes twinkle with satisfaction, but he doesn't budge. “Sorry, Wildflower. It’s called a surprise for a reason. If it helps ease your mind, Kam helped me plan it. Now eat so we aren’t late.”
He called my best friend to ask how I take my coffee. He also asked her to help plan a surprise for me.Not to mention the delicious breakfast I’m currently eating and all of the amazing dates he’s taken me on already. Oh, and let’s not forget his magical, pierced dick.
Just when I think there’s no way he could be more perfect, and there is no way I could want him more, he proves me wrong.
I’m practically vibrating with excitement as we stand in line outside of a used book store. “I can’t believe you did this.” I cock my head to the side. “How did you do this? Tickets sold out almost immediately.”
My favorite author, Katherine Stuart, announced her book tour months ago and I eagerly waited for the tickets to go live. They sold out within seconds, and Lady Luck was not on my side that day.
He shrugs as if it’s no big deal, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I have a friend who’s an editor. He owed me a favor.”
I put my hands on my hips, a playful grin tugging at my lips. “You just so happen to have an editor friend?”
He slings his arm around my shoulder, pulling me against his side. “I’m full of surprises, Wildflower.”
Guilt rushes through my body coiling in my gut. “Was this the surprise you had for me the night everything happened at the bar?” I ask softly, looking away.
He tips my chin up, forcing my eyes to his. “Tell me about this author, Wildflower,” he says, changing the subject, not letting anything, even me ruin this day.
A smile tugs at my lips, and I sink into his hold. I swear I hear a few women around us swoon as he listens intently, taking in everything I’m saying, only interrupting when he has a question.
Somehow I manage to hold my shit together when it's our turn to meet Katherine. She is warm and welcoming, offering both a hug and a personalized autograph, which she scribbled in the special edition copy of her newest book, courtesy of Jameson. The picture at the end completed the day, landing it at the number one spot for best day ever.
Life is good. So good that part of me is afraid to enjoy it. Afraid something is going to happen, ruining the happiness I’ve finally found.
Twenty-one
Jameson
Lane jumps, a scream ripping from her throat, popcorn flying everywhere. The rich buttery aroma mixing with a sweet-smelling candle she has lit somewhere.
She hides her face in my shoulder, and I chuckle, pulling her closer. “We can put on something else, baby.”
She peeks at the movie, face scrunching up when she sees the masked killer chasing the main character through her childhood home, barely missing her with his knife. “No. I said you could pick the movie.”
I look down at her, giving her a sexy smirk. “We could do something else that makes you scream.”
