Page 50 of Crazy In Love

Lazily, I lift just my head and peek down at the cherry blossom hidden amongst my plethora of floral reminders.

“Japan.” I flop back to my pillow and melt into the silky softness, running my fingers over the smooth finish while Chris runs his over my flesh. “I have chrysanthemums in there, too, to commemorate my trip.”

“And the lotus?”

I exhale a contented sigh and hum in the back of my throat. “India. I already said: I’ve been everywhere.”

He’s so handsome in the afternoon light, his dark hair just long enough to dangle over his forehead and catch in his eyelashes. His lips are thick, plumper now because I bit them a time or two. But his eyes, the beautifulhazel I’ve seen in no one who doesn’t possess the Watkins blood… those are my favorite.

“The iris?”

“France.” I reach across and stroke his strong jawbone with my thumb. And like a kitten, he leans into my touch. “I’ve traveled a lot for work,” I mumble. “Figured I’d get some ink to commemorate it.”

“There are a lot of flowers here.”

I breathe out a long, soft, satisfied exhale. “The world is a large place, and everywhere has something pretty to remember it by.”

“I wouldn’t know.” He turns his face and nips at the heel of my palm. “Before I was eighteen, I hadn’t gone further than the town I picked you up from the other day.”

“And now?”

He grunts. “Now, I fly out only when I have to, depending on where we’re fighting.”

“Vegas only?”

He shakes his head and trails his lips along my wrist. Biting, then kissing. Pain, and then pleasure. “Montreal year before last. Thailand, the year before that. I prefer to stay here, though.”

“You don’t like to travel?” I can’t relate, so I sink deeper into the mattress and enjoy the sensation of his teeth working along my hipbone. “It’s one of my favorite things to do.”

“I don’t like planes. They’re cramped and smelly and almost always come with nasty germs.” He brings his eyes up, darker than usual, and grins. “Even first class: same plane, same germs. Just larger seats.”

“Maybe you should buy a private jet,” I tease, goosebumps sprinting along my skin because of his feather-soft touch. “Tommy makes enough, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah. But we don’t waste.” He peppers his lips over my pubic bone and down to my thighs. “You done traveling yet? Since you got ‘em all.”

I tilt my head to the side and glance out the window at the far end of the room, the sun glaring right through now that afternoon winds toward evening. “I fly a couple of times a year for work, since GGH has offices in Paris, London, and Rome. It’s especially fun when I get to travel on someone else’s dime.” Smug, I bring my eyes back to his. “Those business class seats are lush.”

My stomach rumbles, loud enough to prompt him to turn and get up, but I grab his wrist and pull him back down again, drawing him closer until his lips naturally fall to mine.

“You’re hungry.”

“I’ll get it in a second.” Once we leave this bed and go back to the real world, I’m not sure either of us will know how to be who we are right now. Oddly, I’m shocked at how scared I am that we’ll return to the Fox and Chris from earlier.

And then, of course, there’s the part of me thatwantsus to return to that version of us.

It’s safer. It’s normal.

“I need to pee,” I murmur, “then I’ll grab a quick snack before we have to go back to the hospital.” I press one last kiss to his lips, then I twist from beneath his weight and set my feet on the shag rug someone cared enough to put under my bed, so the first thing I touch each morning won’t be buffed concrete floors.

Thoughtful.

Pushing up to stand, I wander toward the end of the bed, while behind me, Chris flops into my spot and turns to his back, his cock lying limp and thick against his hip.

“You pick those sheets out yourself?” I walk naked, since he’s not done looking, and I’m not especially excited with the idea of fabric touching my sensitive skin anyway. Heading to the fridge, I tug it open and find a pre-made salad in an air-wrapped container with a use-by date ending tomorrow. I grab it and a bottle of dressing from the door. “It’s not that I’m complaining about the sheets at Tommy’s house, but these…” I set my things on the counter, peel the plastic off the salad, and crack open the bottle of dressing to pour on top. “These sheets arefarsuperior.”

“Tommy doesn’t seem to mind what he’s sleeping on, so long as Alana’s in the bed with him. He wouldn’t care if their mattress was made of broken glass and an itchy bale of hay.”

“You, on the other hand?”