“Fuck,” she huffs then looks at us. “Go.”
“Door’s already sealed,” Tobias tells her.
“Then get in the fucking closet or something, Tobias. You have less than three months until this is no longer your life! Why you chose tonight to step off the wagon is beyond me,” she whisper-snaps at him.
My phone pings in my pocket, and I pull it out to quickly type back:
- Cops are here. Going to be hiding in a closet or some shit. I’m fine. See you soon. DON’T message me. I’ll message you all.
“You done?” Tobias asks.
“Well, yeah, but you don’t have to be such an asshole. I’m trying to help.”
“Truth, I don’t deserve this, but could you please handle him?”
“Handle me?” he asks as I again try to wiggle free, and again, he grips my ass harder.
“You keep handling my ass like that, and my dad’s gonna make you wife it.” I knee him in the chest hard enough that he loses his grip, and then I shimmy down his big, hard body and ignore every snap, crackle, and pop going on inside mine.
Chapter Fifteen
Idiom
Love Begets Love.
Truth
I call bull.
“How the hell does a house this big have such a small closet?” I ask myself out loud.
“The others are bigger,” Tobias whispers.
“Lovely.”
“That’s not what I—” He stops talking and huffs, “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“Not thinking I asked you to.”
“Maybe not in words, but your fucking eyes are constantly questioning everything—every move, every intention, every—”
“I’m going to save you some embarrassment, stop you right there, and remind you that it’s dark in here, pitch dark, as a matter of fact, and neither of us can see a thing.”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
I turn my body, knowing full well I’m going to be face to chest with him. And he’s right; it doesn’t matter how dark it is in here. It makes things more … intense.
I can tell he’s holding his breath, and for some reason, I like that I make him feel as on edge as he makes me.
“I need something from you.”
He doesn’t respond, and he still hasn’t let out a breath, so I do something … extremely immature, and I poke him in the belly.
A burst of hot, sweet-smelling mix of cinnamon and whiskey hits my face, and he lets out a low chuckle then asks, “Did you just doughboy me?”
I like his laugh as much as I like his smiles that always fade too quickly.
I poke him again, and he chuckles … again.
“Do that again and you’ll regret it,” he warns.
So, I don’t doughboy him; I spread my fingers wide, lay my palm flat on his incredibly ripped abs, and kind of, sort of tickle him.
“The fuck,” he says, trying not to laugh.
I don’t move my hand away from him, and every time he starts to say something, I dig my nails into his belly, but just for a second, because I can now hear the cops inside the house.
“Can’t let her do this shit alone, Tiny T,” he whispers.
Tiny T?
He grips my hips gently. “Gotta move so I can—”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” I grumble as I turn and push my back against him to stop him from moving forward.
“Shit.” He somehow stumbles and grabs me as he goes down.
“Oh my God, is that your phone in your pock—” I smash my hand over my own damn mouth when I realize exactly what it is.
“Been drinking, you got your paws all over me; what do you expect?” he hisses.
I try to move, but he flattens his hand against my belly now to keep me in place. And that one touch releases a swarm of butterflies whose wings are fluttering beneath the surface of my most private parts.
“Where’s your nanny this time, Gabrielle?”
“I’m steps from eighteen; I don’t require a full-time babysitter. She does get time off. And how the hell should I know? She’s an adult and can do whatever she wants.”
A different cop asks, “And how long will she be gone this time?”
“Do you really think I’m going to tell you two when I’ll be alone?”
“Heard from your parents, Gabrielle?” one asks.
“Fuckers,” Tobias grumbles.
“Are you about done here, or should I call my guardian or my lawyers this time?” she snaps.
“You gonna send an anonymous noise complaint later just to get some attention?”
“Get! Out!” she screams.
“We’re gonna take a look around a bit more. For your safety, of course,” one says.
“I’m done,” Tobias says, and I scramble to ensure he stays put.
Straddling him was not the intention, but it seems to do the trick.
He expels a breath in a slow, steady hiss as his fingers flex on my hips, as if he’s trying to decide whether to toss me off him or keep me in place.
“This can’t happen,” he groans.
“It’s not like we have a choice,” I say, gripping his shoulders—his freaking hard, strong shoulders—to brace myself above him.
“She needs my help,” he says, squeezing my hips tighter.
“No, Tobias, she needs you to stay right where you are.”
Needy, so needy, I scold myself.
“It’s not a good idea. This can’t happen.”
“What if it’s the only chance for it to happen?”
His pause makes me realize what I said and how it, too, could have dual meaning. Honestly, I need them to have dual meanings.
To save face, I quickly add, “What if you open that door, and it causes more problems than she already seems to have?”
His breath seems to be closer and, in the darkness, so close to him, all other senses heightened, those feelings from just a touch soar.
“Making that move would make things harder, without a doubt.”
I find myself pinching a lock of his hair between my fingers and rubbing them together, enjoying the silky softness of it as I ponder his words and wonder if he’s talking about me or Gabrielle. But right now, I desperately want it to be me.
“And what about you?”
“What about me?” His words are heavier, breathier, deeper.
“What do you really want, Tobias?”
He shifts, and I drop, and then I freaking moan at the feel of his hardness against the thin material of my panties. It immediately makes my stomach flip and my head spin.
“I want her to be happy. I want her to have a great life. I want her to never look at me and think I did her wrong.”
I lean my forehead against his chest and can literally feel his heart rate accelerate, and his breaths grow harder.
I inhale his scent—clean, manly, earth, so fucking sexy.
“Truth,” he groans, gripping my hips, and only then do I realize I’ve been rocking against him.
How embarrassing. How fucking embarrassing.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“Yeah, me, too.” He runs his hand up my back, causing it to arch and my hips to rock. His chest rumbles in a silent, not so happy laugh as he moves his hand to the back of my neck and pulls my head against his chest. “Me, too.”