She freezes when her electric blue eyes meet mine.
Those damn blue eyes.
I don’t know if I want to poke them out or stare at them all day long.
Elsa freezes like this sometimes. It’s like she’s putting two and two together.
She’s trying to make sense of a situation that her politically correct mind isn’t able to accept.
Usually, she fails, and that makes her frustrated.
Like right now.
She glares up at me.
Will there be a day where she wakes up in my arms and doesn’t overthink everything?
In the beginning, I didn’t give a fuck. Now, it’s starting to piss me off like that unreachable itch.
Elsa shoves at my chest to sit up.
I let her go.
Picking battles is the surest way to win a war.
She’s still pissed off — no thanks to Jonathan and Queens — so I can’t p
ush her too far.
Yet.
“How long have I been out?” She reaches for the elastic band on the floor.
I snatch it from her fingers before she ties her hair.
Elsa huffs while standing up and gathers her hair in a bun and ties it with itself.
“Some time.” I plop on my elbow and tilt my head to the side to watch her.
She finds her bag on the chair and retrieves her phone.
Her simplest, most mundane gestures draw me in like nothing in this world ever did.
Like a distant memory from the past.
The way she bites her lower lip when concentrating. The way she sits with her legs tucked closely together like a good little girl.
“It’s late.” She groans. “I need to go back.”
“No.”
She lifts her head, chest-puffing. “What do you mean no?”
The spirit of this girl.
She’s always ready for a fight.
It makes my dick hard.