“I’m sure he will plan something nice.” My mom’s gentle smile warms me.

“We’ll see.” I brush it off, not holding my breath. Nix can’t even touch me without me freaking out. Something I haven’t shared with my mom or Holly yet. I highly doubt he will organize anything romantic.

“So, do you need to go shopping?” I ask Holly, eager to change the subject.

“Yes.” She lights up at the idea of shopping. “Let’s go Tuesday, after playgroup.”

I nod, agreeing to a shopping spree. “You never know, you might need something for yourself.” She winks but I don’t respond. Like I said, I won’t hold my breath.

***

“Nix! How many times do I have to tell you to quit leaving your shit on the floor,” I yell out from our bedroom four nights later.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Nix walks in wearing a towel. His dark hair is slick with water from his shower.

“Don’t fucking baby me,” I snap, not giving a damn that I know I’m in a shitty mood and clearly looking for a fight. I don’t know what’s been wrong with me the last few days. My mood has not been a pleasant one. It could have something to do with the fact that since the night I decided I was ready to have sex with Nix, he rejected me, and since then, I’ve been horny. Not horny as in read a hot book and have a horny ache. I mean all out, hot sex dreams and need-my-man’s-cock-now horny. The past four days, the tension has been building and I’m ready to snap.

“Okay,” he says carefully as he drops his towel and steps into his boxers. Fuck me. Even just watching him dress has me getting all kinds of angry horny. Why can’t we just have sex and release this frustration? I still can’t believe he rejected me. Short of begging, I don’t know what he wants from me. Yeah, I might have flinched, but come on. Nerves about him seeing me again after everything we have been through were running rampant that night.

“Wanna tell me what’s really goin’ on here?”

“What?” I ask, not anticipating his question or the calmness in his voice. I quickly gather my thoughts. “Your pants and boots, I nearly fell over them. I’ve told you before to put your shit away.” I throw his pants at him knowing an orgasm would fix my feral mood.

“You feel better?” he asks, placing his pants on the bed.

“No, actually, I don’t,” I snap, hating that even when I try to start on him, he still manages to stay calm.

“Well, have at it. Get it off your chest.” He drops his ass to the bed and sits back waiting for it.

“Your fucking pants.” I throw my arms out, pissed he’s not listening to me.

“This is not about the fuckin’ pants, Kadence. You’ve been givin’ me attitude the past few days. You got somethin’ on your mind?” He folds his arms across his bare, chiseled chest, pissing me off even more, because he’s right. I do. But why does he have to fucking look so sexy when I’m giving him bitchy Kadence?

I stand there frozen, unsure how to bring up my needs—the reason why I’m so bitchy is because I just need him.

“What is it, baby?” He stands and takes a step closer when I don’t respond.

“Well,” I begin, my breath coming out choppy as he comes to settle in front of me. I can see the droplets of water still pooled on his chest.

“Yes?” He smirks like he knows what his presence is doing to me.

“I really don’t like it when you leave your clothes on the floor,” I grind out, holding my own. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? I have a moment to tell him what I need but I chicken out.

“What else do you need, Kadence?” He steps in closer, his body pressed against mine. The mix of his citrus shower gel stirs my nose.

“I—” I stop to breathe in the thick air. I can feel his arousal, and the tension between both of us is so palpable I have to take a second to breathe. “Nix—” I don’t get another word out before his mouth is on mine. My hands move to his head, my fingers gliding through his dark hair. I’m lost in his lips as his hands move up my body. The heat of his warm skin against mine sends tingles down my spine, pushing me further and further into his body. I take a few steps back, the backs of my legs hitting the side of our bed. My fingers work their way down his shoulders, pulling him into me as I fall back. We land in the middle of the bed—him covering my body.

“This okay?” He pulls back, eyes searching. I nod, giving him the okay. Immediately, he rips my top up over my head. My nerves buzz in anticipation, but the need to connect with him overpowers it.

“Are you sure?” he asks again before touching me.

“Stop asking me,” I snap, needing to feel, not think.

His movements stop and the air changes.

“Don’t,” I say, but my attitude ruins it. I know it. Covering myself up, I try to squash the feeling of disappointment down. I hate that this is what it has come to. What have I done to us?

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, bringing my hand up to touch his face. His weight shifts, leaving me feeling cold.

“It’s okay.” He stands, looking unsure.

“Come back,” I plead, needing his touch. I knew just by looking at him, my insecurities had passed onto him and I don’t know how to fix it. What I do know, is that I don’t just need my husband. I need the biker who pushed his way into my life. Somewhere along the way, I’ve lost him. I had pushed him away.