Submerged(Bound Together Book 1)(54)
“Who’s Bill?” I hear from behind me, knowing that voice like I know my own. I slowly turn around and see Blake, his face trying to convey a message of calm, but failing miserably.
“He’s someone I met at church. He was inviting me to have coffee with him,” I tell him, not moving from my position in the hallway.
“Like a date?” he asks tersely.
My only answer is a head nod. “I turned him down,” I throw out there quickly. For several heartbeats, we continue to stand there and stare at each. Blake gives nothing away for several moments, which causes my anxiety to skyrocket that much more.
“You did?” he asks finally, relief evident on his too-handsome face.
“Yeah,” I mumble as I take a small step towards him.
“Why?” he asks, crossing those big arms at his chest.
“Because I’m already seeing someone. Maybe not officially, but it feels like it to me, and I don’t want to see anyone else,” I answer.
His face is a mask, void of any emotion for several seconds, before I see the lines around his eyes relax. Blake’s large hand reaches out and snags me around the wrist, pulling me against his chest. “It is official. I don’t want anyone else, and I sure as fuck don’t want you dating anyone else either. I’d have to kill him and bury his body in the desert,” he says hoarsely. Besides the fact that he threatened to murder someone, the point that Blake acknowledges me as something more than a fling makes my heart sing.
“And prison life wouldn’t look good on you,” I tell him with a smile. His lips are urgent and hard as he kisses me square on the mouth.
Before he can let it progress towards the direction we both want it to go, he pulls back. “More of that later. Our salads had just arrived when I stepped out to look for you.”
Walking back, hand in hand, we make it to our table and properly dive into the salads left at our seats. Blake opens up and shares a few more stories about his childhood, which are few and far between. Growing up without a father, I find myself latching on to any shred of normalcy when it comes to families. You know, father, mother, two kids, a dog or a cat, and a white picket fence? The American dream. At least, that was what everyone has always said was the American dream. I soaked up every ounce of love my mother offered me, but that still doesn’t mean I didn’t yearn for that one thing she couldn’t give me. Or, should I say, the one person.
After dinner, we make our way outside to the fence surrounding the majestic fountains. We have about three minutes before the next display, so Blake wraps his strong arms around my shoulders, snuggling me in close to keep me as warm as possible from the cooler, late October night. Several times, I hear his quick intake of breath, like he’s inhaling me. In fact, he’s done it several times over the past couple of weeks. I’m pretty sure he even did it that night we met two years ago. Like he’s sucking in my scent, committing it to memory.
When it’s almost show time, Blake turns me around and pulls me in tight, his front to my back. His hands reach down, each taking one of mine. His skin is warm and coarse from hours of working with his hands, yet so soothing and comforting. He bends down slightly and places his chin on my right shoulder. I feel his breath against my ear, sending my blood pounding through my veins. He’s so close, yet still so far away because there are way too many clothes between us.
As the fountain show starts, we both stand perfectly still; eyes wide open as we gaze at the beautiful sight. The music is loud as each fountain shoots up in rhythm. After several moments, Blake turns his head and nuzzles his nose along my neck. “God, you smell so fucking good,” he whispers moments before his lips part and his tongue traces a line from my earlobe to my collarbone. Shivers of anticipation and delight race through my body. “Are you cold?” he whispers against my skin.
“No,” I mumble, lost in the feel of his mouth.
“Does this turn you on?” he asks between swipes of that dangerous tongue.
“Yes,” I whisper, swaying on my feet. Blake clutches my body firmly against his making sure I don’t go anywhere.
“I can see the lights and the water reflecting off of your hair. It’s the sexiest fucking thing ever. It reminds me of the shower. And sex. And now all I want to do is take you home so I can fuck you in the shower.” His voice is firm and full of desire.
“Okay,” I say–or at least, I think I say. My mind is mashed potatoes and unable to process a single thought, so my one-word answer may have come out just a noise.