Until April (Until Her/Him #10)(60)

“I’m not saying that.” He takes my wrist and pulls so that I’m lying flush against him. “I will tell her that you and I are going to be making the decisions going forward, because it’s going to be our house.”

“Oh my God, you want your mom to hate me,” I breathe, and he grins like he thinks I’m being funny, but I’m not. Over the last few weeks, I’ve learned that Myla really likes decorating and that when she has a certain vision in mind, there is no swaying her. And don’t get me wrong, she has great taste, but where she likes things more modern with sharp angles and bold design pieces, I like a more rustic contemporary feel that is warm and cozy.

And with the two of us having different tastes, and me not wanting to upset her for obvious reasons—the main one being she is his mother—I’ve pretty much let her take over the whole thing and pretended like I love it all. And yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have done that, but she’s sounded so excited every time she’s called after sending me a photo of something or a link to a website, so I didn’t want to say “You know, I don’t really like what you’ve picked out.”

“My mom could never hate you.”

“I don’t think you know your mom. She takes decorating very seriously,” I tell him, then gasp when he rolls me to my back and drags my hands up over my head. “What are you doing?”

“What are you wearing?” His eyes drop to my chest, and I look down, trying to remember what I put on for bed and see the forest-green silk nightie with black lace detail that I purchased a few days ago for half off at one of my favorite boutiques.

“Don’t try to distract me when we’re having a conversation,” I snap, then attempt to get him to let my wrist go, but it’s almost impossible, because he is so much stronger than me.

“We’re still having a conversation.” He ducks his head, and my hips come up off the bed when he covers the silk with his warm mouth right over my nipple.

“This isn’t fair.” I squirm against him, and he lifts his head just enough for me to catch his smile.

“Do you like the leather couch?” He moves his mouth to my other breast, and I squeeze my eyes closed while my nails dig into my palms. “Do you?”

“Wh-what?” I pant while he adjusts his hold so that he has one hand free, then that hand slides up the top of my thigh just under the edge of my nightie.

“The leather couch you chose that Mom asked about tonight, do you like it?”

“Yes,” I hiss, trying in vain to get my hands free while one of his fingers slides up, then down the center of my panties.

“I like your bed. Do you like your bed?”

“My bed?” I shake my head from side to side when his fingers skim over me once more, making it impossible to focus on anything but what he’s doing.

“We’ll move your bedroom furniture to the new house; that way we don’t have to wait for something to be ordered or delay moving in after they finish painting. We’ll keep the leather couch and anything else you like, and the rest we’ll sort out.”

“But I need my bed here.” I gasp when his finger skims again.

“Why when you’re going to be with me every night?” That’s a good question, one I don’t have an answer to. “You’re moving in with me.” He moves his hand from between my legs, then rests it on my chest between my breasts.

“You know you could ask me to move in with you like a normal person,” I snap and he grins.

“I could.” His eyes lock with mine then his expression softens. “I won’t lie, baby. I don’t give a fuck what you fill the house with—stuff is just stuff. All I need in that house is you. And all I want is for you to be happy being there with me. So I’ll tell my mom to back off… in a way that won’t upset her. We’ll go shopping, even though I have no desire whatsoever to do that, and we’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I swallow over the lump that has suddenly formed in my throat and try to get my hands free, but he doesn’t loosen his hold. Clearing my throat, I beg the tears I feel building not to fall, but of course they don’t listen. And I know this when I feel one slide down my temple, and his eyes watch it disappear into my hair. “The furniture doesn’t really matter. I’ll talk to your mom, and she and I can figure it out together.”

“That’s very sweet of you to say, babe, but you’re full of shit.”

“What?”

“And to be honest, my mom’s taste is not mine either,” he continues, completely ignoring me. “I like the way it feels every time I walk into this place.” He spreads his fingers wide, then slides his hand up my throat, and I wonder if he can feel my pulse as it beats out of control. “This place feels like home. You… feel like home.”

“I love you,” I blurt, and his fingers flex around my neck on the word love while the look in his eyes warms.

“I know.” He lifts one shoulder ever so slightly, and my eyes narrow on his.

“You’re not supposed to say that. You’re supposed to act surprised.”

“Sorry, should we try that again?” He smiles, and I shake my head and let out a long, aggravated sigh.

“No, you already ruined it.” I wiggle my fingers. “Can you let me go now so I can touch you?”