Page 177 of Tied to You

I swallow, hearing the slither of bitterness, struggling not to cry. “Where youwouldn’t,” I correct him.

Another scowl and his hand is sliding into the back of my hair before his warm lips are pressing against mine.

I jolt, a moan passing my lips as he presses harder like a man on a mission. His anger towards Henry being there for his son, contradicts how he’s trying to say sorry. He knows he did wrong. I know I did too. That’s why I allow both of us to overcome our conflict by standing on my toes and pressing myself into him, stealing his breath as my hands travel up the length of his arms.

He groans, and I ache all over as his hands pull me into him, heat radiating from his body. Beating stronger with every roll of our tongues, my heart collapses when his strong arm loops around my waist and tugs me into him like he needs me closer. His kiss. The touch of his fingers as they curl into the back of my hair again, all of it makes me dissolve.

He is mine. I am his.

As if thinking the same as me, his hand slides down my spine, settling at the waistband of my jeans.

“I didn’t come back because he died.” My timing might be poor, but he needs to hear it.

“Then why did you?”

“Because Henry told me to.”

“Henry?” He looks so confused.

I tell my body to step back, but Travis only holds me tighter. My eyes dance with his, mine brimming with tears. “When he found out he was sick, he suggested we move back here.” Travis regards me, his face turning softer. “He knew,” I sob. “He knew he wouldn’t have long.” I blink and a tear falls. I try to compose myself as best I can, knowing that I owe Henry so much more than I ever could have given him. I don’t hear him speak, and I’m grateful, but I know he’s telling me to get on with it. “He knew if he moved us back here, I could find my way back to you,” I look up, “and you could find your son.”

My lip wobbles, and he slides his thumb over it. “Please, Mollie, don’t cry.” Then he’s kissing me again, and this time he’s slow. So slow. Patient. Loving. “I need you to put your faith back in me.” His words make me sob around our kiss, the streaks hitting my lips and my chin. “Can you do that, baby?”

I nod as my head tilts, and Travis dips, hitching my legs around his waist. He turns, walking me out of the kitchen, keeping his kisses slow, the motion delicate and tender. “I don’t know where I’m going,” he says, making me smile.

“I don’t know where you’re taking me.” I teasingly roll my tongue over his lips, pressing my body into his.

He groans. “I’d like to love you in your bedroom.” As soon as he says it he freezes. “Shit. Unless that’s wildly inappropriate.”

I dot a kiss on his lips, one hand cupping his cheek as I look down at him. “I swapped all the rooms around after Henry… after he died,” I manage to say. It was never about this potential moment, just the loss that I felt for me and for Riley. I couldn’t sleep alone in there anymore.

Travis slowly pulls my mouth onto his. “Are you sure?”

My tongue glides past his lips. “Yes,” I breathe. “It’s the last room on the left.”

We pass Riley’s room, which, I know he doesn’t know is there, but I made sure to close the door before Travis arrived.

Nudging it with his foot, my bedroom door swings open, and he walks me back to the bed. He lays me down, crawling his large frame over me, settling himself between my legs.

His breath hits mine, and everything I need is staring back at me. “Hi,” I say smiling, realising how nervous I sound. I reach up, taking his face in my hands.

He smiles this time. “Do you still like what you see?”

I laugh. “It’s been hard not to do this every time I’ve seen you.” I pull his face to mine, delving us into another deep, steady, meaningful kiss.

I groan when he pulls back, his eyes roving over my face. “How did you resist?”

I smile, relishing the feel of him between my legs. “It was easy when you wanted to kill me.”

His face falls a fraction, the reminder that the past four months haven’t been easy for us. “I’m sorry, for all of it.” He shakes his head mildly.

“Me too.” I draw a line down the bridge of his nose, slowly trailing it over each of his lips. My eyes fall to them, and he gives them a delicate lick, watching my delight at just looking at him. Marvelling at him.

“You look how I remember you, baby,” he muses. “Like my own personal slice of heaven.”

“You look the same too.” Handsome. Tough. Fierce. “Minus the hair,” I add, earning me a nudge. I hook my fingers under his chin, pulling his beard toward me. “Biker boy.”

His arms encase my head, one hand stroking my cheek as our heads roll at a perfect rhythm. We go on, mouths twisting, lips crashing, our need for more escalating with every second that passes us by.