Page 73 of Endo
Before she can say anything else, I hand her the coffee I picked up on the way. “Figured you’d need this. And knowing you, you probably didn’t have time to grab one.”
Her eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face as she takes the cup. “Caramel macchiato?”
“With extra caramel,” I say, smirking. “You’re welcome.”
She shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips as she takes a sip. “Extra caramel. Youdoknow me.”
“Of course I do,” I reply with a smirk. “You’d riot if I got it wrong.”
She arches an eyebrow over the rim of the cup. “Riot? Please. You’d be the one apologizing and offering to get me another one.”
“Not a chance,” I shoot back, crossing my arms. “I’d just drink it myself and make you suffer.”
Her laugh is soft but genuine, and she takes another sip, tilting her head as she looks at me. “You think you’re cute, don’t you?”
“I don’t think,” I say, my smirk widening. “I know.”
She rolls her eyes, but the smile on her face doesn’t falter. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” I say, leaning a little closer, “here you are, drinking the coffee I brought you, while wearing my hoodie.”
She shakes her head, muttering, “You’re impossible,” but her grin gives her away.
Seeing her in my hoodie does something to me—something raw, something I can’t shake even if I wanted to. It’s not just that she looks fucking good—though, hell, she does. It’s the fact that she’s wrapped up in something of mine, my scent clinging to her, the fabric brushing against her skin like I should be. It stirs something dark and possessive in me, something that makes my blood run hot.
I want to take her right here, no questions, no holding back. Press her up against the wall, the rain pounding outside while I claim every inch of her as mine. I want to hear her lose herself, feel her come undone under me, her body wrapped up in my hoodie like it’s a second layer of protection from the cold. But it’s not just about the cold. It’s about her. About me. About the fact that right now, she smells like me, and I can’t fucking think straight because of it.
She glances up at me, that goddamn hood slipping over her eyes, and I can’t tell if she knows what she’s doing to me. The way she pulls the sleeves down over her hands, looking all soft and innocent while I’m standing here barely keeping it together—it’s fucking maddening. Then she smirks, just a little, and yeah, she fucking knows.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, taking another sip of her drink like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
I clear my throat, my voice coming out rough, darker than I mean it to. “You’re welcome,celona mou.”
Her lips twitch at the nickname, but I’m too far gone to focus on that. My head’s full of every way I want to wreck her right now, how I want to feel her nails dig into my back, hear her breath hitch in my ear. My fingers twitch at my sides, fighting the urge to pull her in and give in to all the shit swirling inside me.
I look away, forcing myself to focus on literally anything else. The sound of the rain, the smell of the ocean—anything but the way she’s looking at me, the way her lips curve like she’s got all the power here. Because right now, I need to stay in control.
But fuck, she makes it impossible.
“Looks good on you,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.
She glances up at me, her cheeks faintly pink. “It’s warm,” she says simply.
I reach out, brushing a strand of wet hair from her face, and press a quick kiss to her forehead. “Let’s get inside, I’m sure you’re already late for your shift.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, leading the way through the doors.
The airinside the rehabilitation center is warm and a little humid, a big change from the cold rain we just came out of. It smells like saltwater and fish, with a faint hum of filters and the occasional splash breaking the quiet. It’s not bad, though. Kind of calming in a way I didn’t expect.
She turns her head to glance at me. “You coming, or are you planning to loiter all day?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I push off the wall, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Lead the way, boss.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t stop, her boots squeaking slightly on the damp floor as we head into a big room with massive tanks. The place looks like a behind-the-scenes tour of an aquarium—glass walls filled with glowing blue water and all kinds of creatures moving inside. Manta rays glide like they’vegot nowhere to be, and a few sleek sharks cut through the water like they’re on a mission.
“This is where the magic happens,” she says, dropping her bag on a counter and turning to me.
“Magic, huh?” I raise an eyebrow. “What’re you doing back here, teaching the sharks to play fetch?”
