Page 84 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

“So, it looks like I have the house to myself tonight,” she says once we reach her door, her tone casual, though the implication behind it is obvious. “Do you…want to come in?”

Yes! every part of me screams as she unlocks the door, but I stop myself from crossing the threshold.

“Only if you want me to.” Her brow furrows, and she opens her mouth to say something, but I hold up my free hand to stop her. “And just so it’s clear, if you do want me to come in, I’m not expecting anything. I’m here for you for whatever you need, bag of M I know she does. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be so terrified of me leaving, a fear I plan to quash for good.

“Clearly not,” she breathes, her voice tremulous as she jerks her head. “Not to me.”

Another step closer. I lean in toward her a little, cocking my head with a smirk. “Are you being deliberately obtuse right now, or do you really not know?”

My question has the intended effect. Banter has always come easy to us. It’s familiar territory. Comfortable. And most importantly, it puts her at ease—I can tell by the softening of her shoulders, which were previously tense and raised.

Blondie rolls her eyes and snorts. “Obtuse? Is that another word from your word-of-the-day calendar?”

“You know it,” I say with a laugh, taking another step closer. “This month is math words. Are you going to answer my question?”

She hesitates, giving me a skeptical look. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Then let me spell it out for you.” Lifting my free hand, I pinch the end of one of her curls between my fingers, tugging it gently and then letting it go, watching with a tiny, fond smile as it springs back into place. God, I love her hair. “I like you,” I murmur.

Blondie slow-blinks at me once…twice…like a computer processing a command input.

“You like me,” she repeats. “Like someone likes a really good taco?”

I snort out a laugh. “I love your taco, actually. But…I was thinking more like Twilight -level feelings.”

Her lips purse into the cutest little pout. “So, you have a huge boner for me?” she asks in a surprisingly sultry voice that immediately has Damian Jr. taking notice of this conversation.

I nod. “In my pants and in my heart.” Her eyes go wide as I raise a hand to my chest and lay it flat over my left pectoral.

“Right here. The biggest of boners.” She stares at that hand for a moment, saying nothing, and I frown at the lingering uncertainty I find in her gaze.

Maybe I’m being too gentle with this admission.

I want to heed Ronnie’s advice, do this right for Blondie’s sake—give her time to process by spelling out every word and emotion so she doesn’t doubt it—but then, I’ve never held back with her before.

Maybe blunt honesty is what she needs from me now.

“I’m sensing there’s still some confusion here, so allow me to be perfectly clear. I have feelings for you, Dornan.”

“Like…homicidal feelings?” she hedges, echoing what she said to me before kissing me in the library last month.

I scoff. I swear, she’s doing this on purpose now.

“Romantic feelings, you smart-ass.” I lean in so close her warm breaths puff against my face. “I like you, Blondie. Like like.”

It’s when I say those last two words that I see it: the cautious understanding on her face that tells me she knew (or at least suspected) how I feel about her but was too scared to believe it.

“You like me,” she breathes, looking up at me through sooty black lashes, “like someone would like their girlfriend?” A grin explodes across my face, and I’m about to respond when her wary voice cuts through the silence like a knife. “But you said you don’t want a girlfriend.”

It isn’t a question. It’s a condemnation. And as the smile slips from my face, I have never hated my past decisions more than I do at this moment.

“I know what I said. But that was Past Damian, and I think we can both acknowledge that Past Damian was a bit of a bastard.”

Her lips quirk at the corners, but whether she remembers our conversation at the bar last night remains to be seen. It doesn’t matter if she does so long as she believes me. “And Present Damian?”

I drop the plastic bag in my hand to the floor and curl my arms around her waist, gently pulling her toward me. “Present Damian would like to retract all previous statements regarding his lack of interest in a girlfriend…because he’s crazy about you, Dornan. I’m crazy about you.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Well, then we have that in common. Because you make me crazy.”

I arch a wry brow. “Is that your way of saying you have feelings for me?”

“Homicidal ones, definitely,” she quips.

“And…non-homicidal ones?” I ask, our mouths only an inch apart now as I dip my head.

“I have a huge boner for you, too, if that’s what you mean,” she deadpans.

My eyes drift to the nonexistent space between us—to where those perfect breasts are flush to my chest.

“In your pants or in your heart?” I rasp.

“Both,” she whispers, and my own heart fucking implodes when she says, “I like you, too, Damian. And I don’t want this to be fake anymore.”

I raise one hand and press it flat to the side of her neck, and she trembles when my thumb grazes the skin of her jaw. “Then it won’t be,” I promise.

I don’t plan to kiss her, even though it’s killing me not to. I meant it when I said I’m not here with any expectations. But when she rises onto her toes, closing the last of the distance between us, and her plump lips mold to mine, any self-control I had slips away.

Thankfully, our heads seem to be in the same place because, before I know it, both our jackets and shirts are discarded in a heap on the ground, leaving us standing topless in the hallway, pawing mindlessly at each other.

I roam over every inch of soft skin I can reach—her stomach, the curve of her back, the delicate line of her neck, those perfect breasts—my lips following the path my hands take.

I kiss her like she’s something I can’t get enough of. Something I need to consume. Devour.

Her responses are just as eager, and I swallow her moan when I back her against the nearest wall, my hand skimming the underside of her thigh as I hoist it upward and step between her legs.

Her nipples are as hard as my cock as I push closer—so close nothing could get between us, not even air—and I fucking relish the debauched whine she exhales when I grind my length against her.

This isn’t what she needs right now, I try to remind myself, but it’s like shouting into the void. I can barely hear that voice of reason in the back of my head, too drunk on her touch, her lips, her hot center, and the remaining layers of clothing I’m dying to rip off.

It’s only when Blondie claws at my back and yanks me closer that I realize I must’ve said that out loud. “You’re wrong. I do need this. I need you ,” she pants against my cheek.

My heart races as her hands move to my jeans, and I barely have time to process the sound of my zipper before I feel her palm on my cock.

“Fuck, Blondie,” I hiss, thrusting into her touch.

Our movements are clumsy as we help each other out of our pants, and then I’m kissing her again, crowding her against the wall, my dick (which is so erect I could hang a damn coat on it) grazing the wet heat of her entrance.

My hands find the underside of her thighs again, and understanding my intention, she wraps her legs around my waist when I lift her as if she weighs nothing.

It’s easy to slide into her at this angle, but while fucking her this way is the single hottest thing I’ve ever done—a fantasy come to life, hotter even than our library sex—there’s also an intimacy to it that I’ve never known before with sex.

Maybe it’s the fact that we’ve been honest with each other after months of dancing around the lies and the tension.

Maybe it’s that I’ve finally opened myself up to feeling something again. Something real.