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I hear his sharp gasp and watch as his body recoils like I’ve hit him. “I’m not yours,” he whimpers, brokenly.

Not giving him a chance to escape, I turn him, backing him into my car, then cage him against it with my body. “Oh, Kitten, that’s where you’re wrong. You’re all mine.”

Shaking his head he denies my words.

“I’m sorry for being an idiot. I’m a lot to deal with, and I don’t want to hurt you. I’m possessive and obsessive and jealous. I’ll smother you, control you, consume you…own you, but the truth is, I’ve missed you so much these last few days. I thought I was giving you space, but it turns out I was testing myself, and I failed. I can’t walk away from you now, even if I wanted to, and I don’t.”

Henry’s pupils are blown wide as he stares up at me. “Anders?—”

Interrupting him before he can utter whatever bullshit argument he can come up with about why we won’t work, I cup his cheeks in my palms, lean in, and kiss him. Swallowing his shocked sounds, I plunder his mouth, finding his tongue with mine and demanding its compliance.

His body stays rigid for longer than I’m expecting, but then he softens, melting into me like it’s taken all of his strength to hold himself up, and now that I’m here, he’s happy to let me take over.

We kiss for a long moment before I pull away. “Let’s go home.”

“I can’t,” Henry whispers.

“You are. You’re coming with me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Boy,” I growl.

“I’m not a boy, I’m a fully grown man, and you’re right. You hurt me, and I’m not just going to get over it because you kissed me.”

“I know that, Kitten. But how can I fix things while you’re avoiding me?” I’m trying to stay calm and not just demand he be a good little Kitten and get in my fucking car, but it’s hard.

“I have to go or else I’ll miss my bus.”

“You’re not getting on that bus, Henry.” This time I can’t keep the stern authoritarian tone out of my voice, and once againhe reacts, jerking away and smacking his spine against the car behind him.

“You don’t have to be scared of me, Henry,” I say, lowering and softening my voice.

“I know,” he admits, and I exhale a relieved breath at the sound of his sincerity.

“Come home with me,” I say again.

“I can’t.”

“Then let me take you to dinner. I’ll drive you home after.”

“My home or yours?” he asks suspiciously.

Smiling, I chuckle. “Mine preferably, but yours if you insist.”

“Do you promise you’ll take me back tomyhouse once we’ve eaten?” he asks, putting emphasis on it beinghishouse.

Sighing, I lean in and kiss him softly, needing to taste him and lay claim before I agree to take him anywhere but back to my bed. “Yes. If you decide you don’t want to come home with me, I’ll take you to your place.”

“And you’ll let me pay for my own food.”

“Get in the car, brat.”

“I’m not a brat,” he gasps, scandalized.

Smacking a kiss against his lips, I back up, then take his hand and lead him around to the passenger side, opening his door for him and holding it while he climbs into the seat. Instead of closing his door, I lean in, then pause when we’re so close I can smell the scent of his shampoo. Reaching over him, I clip his seat belt into place, pretending I don’t hear the tiny whimper that falls from his parted lips.

Instead of taking him in the direction of Bozeman and his apartment, I drive him to a cute place on the outskirts of town that has a beautiful patio lit with candles in hurricane lamps and twinkle lights.