I slowly bring my hands down her body, once again memorizing the feel and shape of her. I move slowly, taking my time, rewarded by a small sigh of pleasure as Kayla settles against me, laying the side of her face against my chest. I don't stop until my fingers are around the edge of the shirt she's wearing. Then I slowly begin to gather the ends in my hands, distracting her by letting my thumb brush back and forth around the back of her leg, driving up to the globe of her ass.
"White!" she squeals. Once I get the shirt gathered, I waste no time in moving it up and over her body, holding her still as best as I can so we both don't end up in the floor. "What are you doing? I'm not sleeping naked in your mother's bed!"
"I wasn't planning on sleeping at all," I tell her honestly.
"I'm not having sex in your mother's bed either!"
"Honey, we're not in my mother's bed. We're in my bed. But regardless, whatever we do, we are not doing it with you wearing my brother's shirt."
"You have to be joking. It's not his shirt, you goofball. It's mine! I bought it when I went to see him play last year."
"It has his team's name, so same difference."
"You are seriously nuts."
"I have a t-shirt with my team on it in one of those drawers over there. You can wear it if you want."
"How have I known you for over fifteen years and never realized what a jealous freak you are?" she asks.
It's a damn good question. I've never been jealous in my life, not before Kayla. Hell, I thought that men who got jealous over their women were losers. I was secure enough in my manhood to know any woman I chose wouldn't stray because I could give it to her better than any other asshole out there. In short, I was a cocky, stupid motherfucker. It's not about trusting your woman not to stray. It has everything to do with the fact that Kayla is mine. I want my name all over her. I want my ownership stamped on her damned body. I want her to walk down the street and men to step the fuck back because they know she's mine and I will fuck them up if they so much as look at her. I want her to know with every breath that I’m the lucky son of a bitch she’s coming home to. Me, and I'm not going to let her go.
Jesus. When did this happen?
I feel like an idiot thinking these thoughts. I don't know how to verbalize them with Kayla, so instead I clear my throat and give her part of it.
"With you, honey, I feel the urge to stamp my name on every part of your body."
Her eyes go wide. Maybe she gets what I'm trying to say. Maybe she can hear the commitment in my voice. I don't know. I do know when I feel her soft hand glide along the side of my face and her eyes capture mine, my heart feels like it swells in size.
"Do I get to do that with you?"
"Absolutely, if that's what you want," I answer without hesitation.
"That's some heavy words there, White Hall."
I move my hands down her back, letting them move down to her ass and massaging it while pulling her deep into my body. We fit together perfectly. Does she realize that? That we're a perfect match?
"Give me your lips, honey."
"You're very bossy," she says, her tongue running across her bottom lip, her eyes still on mine.
"I know. Now do it."
"I'm only doing this because I want to," she whispers.
'I know," I repeat, and then when her lips touch mine, I try to give her all the words I couldn't voice earlier in the kiss. Then, I try to give them with my body. I'd like to think she gives them back. It feels like she gives them back, and that will have to be enough for right now.
CHAPTER 33
KAYLA
“Jesus Christ, Mom, what is this shit?”
“What?”
“This crap,” White says, holding out this putrid green liquid that Ida Sue handed him when we walked into the kitchen.
“Oh. I went shopping last night and decided to buy myself a juicer. Did you know that vegetables and fruits have a million uses that the good Lord intended?” she asks, picking out more produce to torture. “But people don’t use them. I guess because it’s just simpler to buy things provided on a shelf in a grocery store.”
“Really?” I ask, watching as White pushes his straw through his drink. He’s so cute when his nose is turned up like that. He’s cute any way, really. He’s sexy and funny, loving and gentle. I’m pretty sure I’m in over my head with him too. I’m scared to death, but I can’t seem to stop it.
“Yes, Buttercup. Some even say the cure to cancer can be found in the pit of a peach.”
“Why do you insist on calling her Buttercup?” Blue asks, walking in looking like he’s put in a day’s work already, even though it’s barely eight in the morning. Truth is, he probably has. Blue runs his own ranch and helps out with this one. He is the quintessential cowboy from his well-worn chambray shirt, to his tight-fitting Wranglers.
“Her eyes remind me of them,” Ida Sue says, putting more innocent fruit into her next concoction. From the look on White’s face, I can only pray that I’m not expected to drink what she’s fixing next.
“You keep saying that, but we all know you mean Black-eyed Susans. Buttercups don’t have a dark button in the center,” Blue says, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek.