“I don’t understand why—”

“I know ye don’t. But can it not just be enough, for now, to allow me to make dese decisions?” My words were exactly what I should have said that morning… but my wandering hands were completely contradicting anything I was trying to get across.

“I don’t want anyone but you,” she said quietly as I bit down gently on her neck.

“I know.”

My arms were still wrapped solidly around her waist, but I couldn’t resist the lure of the bottom curve of her breasts. They were heavy against my forearms as she bent over the sink, and without thinking, my thumbs had begun sliding back and forth against the sides. She was so full there, thick and round and perfect.

My hips were snug against her arse, and I knew the exact moment that she realized my cock had become hard as stone. She froze, barely breathing as I kissed her neck, running my tongue against the pulse there. She tasted so good, a bit salty with a hint of something sweet. I couldn’t help but imagine my mouth on other parts of her body, places where I knew the taste would be magnified.

The longer she remained frozen, the more I wanted to thaw her out. My thoughts were consumed with the idea of making her warm and willing against me, and for a few moments I forgot the frustration I’d experienced that morning over Amy pushing me for more. I couldn’t think of anything except the fact that she wasn’t responding to me like she usually did, and I wanted—no I needed her to, especially after her words that morning. Why wasn’t she arching her hips like she usually did, or tilting her neck to give me better access?

“Patrick? We need to stop,” she whispered, pulling her hips away from me timidly.

The words were like a bucket of ice water thrown over my head,

What the hell was I doing? My hands were completely covering her breasts, my fingers clenching against the resilient flesh, and I let go so quickly I could see them bounce a little as I glanced over her shoulder. After all I’d said, all the decisions I’d made for the both of us concerning sex and the fight we’d had that morning that had upset her so much that she’d broken out in hives…

I was the one who was supposed to stop things from going too far. I was the one who was supposed to protect her.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, tripping backwards as I ran my hands over my face.

“It’s okay. I just…”

“Ye’ve got whiplash from me givin’ ye mixed signals? Fuck me.” I shook my head in disgust.

“I just wasn’t sure what to do.”

“I know, lass. De fault was mine.”

I sat down heavily in a kitchen chair and braced my elbows on my knees. Christ. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could live like this. I wanted her. Badly. And I knew I couldn’t live with myself if I took her.

I was living with the woman I wanted above all others, yet I couldn’t allow myself to touch her the way I wanted to. I could barely touch her at all without becoming so turned on that I had a hard time remembering why I held myself back. It was a hell of a position to be in.

“It’s time I go back.”

“What?” She spun toward me in surprise, water splashing across the floor around her. “No! We’ll just be more careful. I can—”

“Love, it’s not anyt’in’ yer doin’ or not doin’. I’ve got to get back to school and work. Can’t be stayin’ here forever and livin’ off me mum.”

She stood there in the kitchen, wringing her red hands and her eyes filling with tears, while little tendrils of hair curled around her face from the steam.

She was as beautiful as the Madonna statue they kept in the church. Her beauty went so much deeper than her face or body; it was a manifestation of her innocence, the sweetness she showed everyone, the steadfast loyalty that she gave to others even though it had never been given to her.

And for some reason, she loved me. She hadn’t said the words, but I knew it. She showed it in every action, in every secret smile and small brush of her hand against me when she thought no one was looking.

She was everything—messy and emotional and pragmatic and snarky and possessive and beautiful—and I couldn’t go another day without making her mine.

I knew with sudden clarity that I wasn’t going anywhere before I quieted the doubts I knew were running through her head.

I stood from the table slowly, my eyes never leaving hers and she sniffled even as she raised her chin proudly. She wouldn’t beg me to stay or try to change my mind—that wasn’t her way. She’d made her argument, or attempted to before I cut her off.

She didn’t beg for scraps. It was beneath her to do so.

She expected everything, as she should. Lucky for her, I’d give her anything.

I stepped closer and raised my hands, resting them at the sides of her throat, my thumbs tracing her delicate jawline.

“Marry me.” It wasn’t a question.

The wind-up clock in the kitchen ticked at least fifteen times as she stared at me with wide eyes. I’d surprised her.

“Marry you? Are you insane?” she said finally.

“No. Marry me.”

“I’m eighteen. I haven’t even finished secondary! I can’t just—”

“Marry me.”

“Stop saying that!”

She gripped my forearms tightly in her slender hands, her nails digging in, and I couldn’t help but smile happily. Finally, finally, something in my life felt right. This felt right. I’d anchor to her to me so securely, she’d never again think of a life without me.