Page 40 of Buckle Up, Buttercup

“I want that too.” Her tone is so quiet, I probably wouldn’t hear her if I didn’t have such excellent hearing. She lifts her chin and smiles. “I’ve wanted it for a while, and I tried to tell myself I didn’t because of…things. But I have and I do.”

Joy fills me, and a huge smile overtakes my face. I slide my hands into my pockets, knowing it flexes my chest muscles, and she’ll look.

“What about Jasper, though?” She frowns up at me. “He’s made his opinion clear about a million times.”

“He’s gonna freak; you’re right about that.” I think about that book he got me, and I know my being home is a big deal to him. “My friendship with your brother doesn’t have to change because of you and me.”

“It will, though,” she says. “It’ll definitely change.”

“Not all change is bad,” I counter.

Goosebumps trail across her forearm, and she starts quivering.

Gods, this is going to be so fun. I’m not flirtatious with anyone. But with Bluebell? Teasing and playfulness are as easy as breathing.

“We can take it a day at a time,” I say. That’s not natural for me at all. It wouldn’t be natural for any gargoyle. But for her I can try.

“Okay, Hadrian.” She smiles up at me. “Hey, your clothing arrived this morning,” she says. “Wanna try everything on? That could be fun…”

I chuckle. Oh yes, I think this will be a lot of fun.

“You know where the changing room is,” she says with a wink.

Grinning, I turn and walk to it, just thankful it's built with bigger monsters in mind so I don’t have to crunch my wings up to fit. Bluebell joins me with a stack of clothing.

“Here’s the nicer clothing first, then we can work our way to the casual stuff. I’m super pleased with the quality. I hope you are too.”

Around us, the Bodice creaks and squeaks.

“I think she’s also pleased,” Bluebell whispers.

Another series of squeaks affirms the building’s feelings.

I take the clothing and set it on a ledge. Bluebell pulls the curtain closed. I’ll allow that for now because I’m going to tease the hells out of her in a moment. But when I change into the next outfit? I’m leaving that curtain wide open.

When I’ve got the jeans and collared shirt on, I hike the curtain back. Bluebell’s standing outside, leaning against the opposite wall with one foot propped up on it. Her arms are crossed, highlighting her small, pert breasts. Reaching down, I begin rolling up one sleeve to reveal my forearm. Like I expected, her eyes trail the movement, and her breathing picks up pace, heartbeat matching it.

“How does it feel?” She walks to me and starts nitpicking at the fabric, pulling it over my muscles this way and that.

“This set’s perfect.” I turn to the mirror, watching as she joins me, looking around my big body. “I want you to take it off so I can try on the next shirt.”

Navy lashes flutter against her cheekbones as she looks way up at me.

“Do it now, Bluebell.” I focus on those eyes and the way she’s staring, the way her scent explodes and strengthens when I play with her. I’m working on pure instinct but willing to bet that’s just fine for her. In fact, I’d bet every dollar in my bank account that anything I try will be a fit for her.

She reaches up and undoes the top button, trailing her finger down my pecs to the next one. Her skin is warm, her touch light enough to send shivers down my abs as they crunch and flex in response to her. Never looking away, she pulls each button slowly open, then undoes the tiny zippers along my shoulder blades, separating the front piece from the back. It falls off around my wings, and she grabs the shirt, laying it over her forearm as she quirks a brow upward.

“What would you like to try on next, Mister Alkazar?”

I slide my thumbs into the belt loops of the jeans, pulling them low enough to reveal the vee of my abs. It doesn’t take a genius to see she loves that by the way she nips her lower lip. Her heart’s galloping along, and I’m having fun.

“Do you think these fit me, Bluebell? Wanna come measure again? I think I’ve gotten a little bigger since we did this…” I run a thumb along the waistband, tugging it low enough to reveal the faintest hint of pubic hair.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “You’re killing me, Alk.”

“Good,” I say. “Because I’m having a shitload of fun teasing you.”

“How long are you going to torture me for,” she quips, slapping my bare stomach. “Don’t you have a game this afternoon?”