Page 95 of Wishing Hearts

“Just met him tonight. He was here on a date.”

I nod, swallowing, a little relieved to hear that.

“Sam,” Harrison says again. “You growled for me.”

“I didn’t growl,” I grumble.

“You growled.”

I bite my lip until Harrison tips my face his way. “Sammy.”

“I’m sorry,” I get out, chest aching. “I know that was rude. I just… I get a little…”

I don’t know how to finish that sentence because any which way I do, it makes me sound like a caveman. I get possessive over what’s mine? I get jealous at the thought of other men coveting you?

I get scared someone or something is going to take you away from me?

Luckily, Harrison doesn’t ask me to finish my thought. He simply hums, stroking over my jaw. He doesn’t seem upset. In fact, he looks quite the opposite.

“I’ve never had anyone fight for me, Sam,” he says quietly.

I give a start, his words about his ex floating into my mind. How Harrison was his second choice. I never—ever—want Harrison to feel that way with me, whether or not the truth of it makes me sound like a possessive ass.

“I will always fight for you,” I tell him truthfully.

He stutters a little breath, his eyes on my mouth. “Because I’m yours?”

“Yes,” I answer, the one word resolute. I wait to see what Harrison will say. Wait to see if it’s too much.

He strokes along my jaw again, eyes meeting mine. “Then take me home and show me, Sammy.”

Relief hits hard, and I nod, holding out my hand. Harrison grabs on, letting me lead him from the bar.

The trip home is made in silence, but Harrison’s palm rests above my knee the entire way there, a steady, warm presence. He doesn’t say a word when I park in front of his house, and when I drag him up the stairs, he follows willingly. I shut and lock his bedroom door once we’re inside, more out of habit than anything else, and Harrison watches me steadily.

“I have a surprise for you,” I say, backing him slowly toward the bed. His legs hit the mattress, and he sits down. I slide between his knees.

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” he asks, hands holding tight to my hips.

I shake my head slowly. “No, I’m gonna show you.”

Harrison licks his lips, swallowing, as I start to unbutton his shirt. He lets me maneuver the material off his arms, and then he leans back on his elbows as I set to work on his pants. I pull his jeans down one leg at a time, dragging them off his body. His cock is already tenting his briefs, and it springs free when I tug the material down.

He’s a fucking sight.

“God, Sam,” Harrison says softly.

“What?” I ask, standing upright.

“That look in your eye.”

“What do you see?” I ask him, stepping close again, slotting myself between his legs as I brace my hands near his.

He takes a beat to answer, the quiet extending a long moment. “So much.”

My heart skips fast, and I step away.

Harrison makes an affronted sound. “Where are you going?”

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