“Troy!” I gasp as he continues to murmur his devotion to my tits. “Dear God, would you stop! I’m going to pee my pants. Though I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t smell half as putrid as you do.”
“It is the smell of love,” he nuzzles my chest, and his lips drift up.
“Troy, it’s the middle of the day, why have you been drinking?”
He frowns, pulling away. “Oh, it’s been a horrible year for me, Cherie, but you knowww,” he drawls in suggestive French. “You could cheer me right up if you wanted to.”
“Troy, do you want chunky soup or stars?” Dante calls from the kitchen.
“Stars,” Troy answers without taking his gaze away. “So they match those in my eyes.”
“What?” Dante asks through a giggle.
“Stars, my good boy! All the stars!” He leans in again and smacks kisses down my chest. “Muah, muah, muah.”
Aside from the liquor seeping out of his pores, he smells fantastic, his rusty platinum hair tucked under a beanie as he suggestively gazes down at me with surreal blue and glossy eyes.
“Will you be my girlfriend, darling?”
“Absolutely not,” I snort.
“It’s a little too soon for marriage, but hey, if that’s what it takes. You set the date. I look fantastic in a tux.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy about you,” he says before placing another full-lipped kiss to my cheek. When he pulls back, his eyes soften. “I get so jealous,” he says softly. “I don’t want him kissing you. I don’t want him touching you. These lips,” he runs a finger over my mouth. “I want them for me.”
“Troy,” I shake my head, still trapped beneath him. “We’re a train wreck.”
“So what? Our story is messy, unconventional. We can be messy together, that makes us perfect.”
“You’ve got to get up, Dante will see.”
“Just tell me you forgive me.”
“Fine, I forgive you.”
He leans down and gently takes my mouth in a soft kiss. It’s all too much, his warm lips coated in whiskey, his body covering mine.
“If only you meant it,” he whispers when he pulls away.
“I do. It was a nasty fight. You were upset. I know you didn’t mean to hurt Theo or take it out on me.”
“That’s not the only thing I want forgiveness for.”
“I know. I’m trying.”
“I missed you this week.” He’s so sincere that I melt in his arms while staring at his lips, and he takes notice even in his state. “When are you going to stop fighting this?”
“It’s not about me.”
“I don’t disagree. It’s about us.”
“Troy, there is no us.”
He drops his head to my chest. “There’s no story if you give up.”
“What?”