Page 50 of Old-Fashioned

To which I whispered as I stared into his eyes, “That all depends.”

He wrapped his arms around my body, and said, “It all depends on what?”

I lifted one shoulder, “On your intentions.”

And then, my whole world stopped, it just freaking stopped.

Abel Black?

Did he back down? No.

Did he hesitate in answering me? No.

Did he look uncomfortable? Again, no.

He simply smiled down at me and whispered, “My intentions? Can’t say I’ve ever been asked that. What I will tell you is that I lay awake in my bed, thinking of you. Jacking off to you in your white denim cut-off short shorts. I jack off to the way your eyes sparkle when you laugh. I think about having you in my arms ten years from now. A boy that takes after me but knows to cover his mama up with a soft blanket when she falls asleep on the couch.”

“I think about a little girl that’s the clone of you. Know if she asks for anything, I’ll move hell’s mountains for her. And for you, I’ll move heaven and hell for. If you only asked.”

My breaths were stalling in my chest at his words, which was why it sounded like I was croaking when I asked, “So, what are you saying?”

We both ignored the knock that came at the office door, as well as the raven-headed head poked her head through the door and gaped.

“What I’m saying is, I intend to have you in my arms, your name on my body, my rings on your finger, and you having my last name, and people calling you Mrs. for the next fifty-plus years.

I couldn’t help the girlish giggle that bubbled up at my thought, “You’re talking about fifty years from now, you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

And that ladies and gents, was all she wrote.

The only thing I could see was the soft smile on his face, feel his warm and calloused hand cusping my cheek.

All before his head lowered, his mouth descended, and lightning strikes sounded in my ears as we made contact for the first time.

His lips against mine? Perfection.

His tongue begging for entry, the feel of his warm calloused hand on the side of my face.

Opening my mouth, his tongue slipped inside and as our tongues tangled for the first time, I couldn’t help the moan that escaped out.

Not when my hands moved of their own accord, up his sides, over his shoulders, and running my hands through his hair.

His body pressed deeper into mine, his head angling a different way, and only then did I realize that certain parts of me weren’t just on fire, no, they were a raging inferno.

Suddenly, Abel slowed the kiss, pulled away, pressed one more soft kiss against my lips and whispered against my forehead, “didn’t want to stop. But if I hadn’t something would have occurred that I know you’re not ready for.”

I grinned, finally coming back to myself, and whispered, “Need you to make me a promise. Okay?”

He tilted his head and looked down at me, “Anything.”

“Don’t ever mistreat me. I’ve dealt with that all my life. For once, I want to be treated like a queen.”

“You got it, Baby girl.”

Then there was a knock on the door, “Sorry to bother you and Birdie, Boss. But the bar’s getting backed up.”

To that, Abel growled, “Fucking bastards for vetoing shit.”

I giggled, and only then did he lean forward, pressed a kiss on my lips, and then he tagged my hand.