His fingers pinch my chin before I can react, forcing my face upward. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”
Irritation, embarrassment, and something far more volatile flare in me. I jerk out of his grip with a scowl, the sting of his touch lingering. “Nothing that wasn’t the truth. Just that you’ve had sex with her. Nothing I didn’t already know because you sleep with everyone.”
The words leave a bitter tang on my tongue.
Tomcat leans back, utterly unbothered, folding those tattooed arms across his chest. “Not tied down to anyone, Goldie. I can fuck whoever I want.” His gaze locks onto mine, sharp, challenging. “You don’t like it, you know how to stop it.”
Something tightens, sharp and uneasy, in my chest. “Nobodyhas a claim on you?”
Shut up, Marigold.
Seriously. Shut up.
A spark lights in his eyes, dangerous and all too knowing, and my pulse trips over itself. His lips twitch as he holds my gaze, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about the shadow who trails after him.
“Is that what I said?”
My brows draw together.
He studies me, stripping away every layer, waiting for something I refuse to surrender.
I shake my head. “You make my head hurt,” I mutter, retreating before this conversation derails into something even more hazardous.
“Welcome to the club, Goldie. You fuck with my head constantly.”
My breath catches.
Unsure what to say, I keep my mouth shut and focus on my task.
The quiet that settles between us feels strange now—different from before. It’s never been uncomfortable, but this silence feels heavy, filled with everything we aren’t saying. Silence has always been ours. The place where we don’t have to pretend, don’t have to hide behind jokes or flirtation.
It’s the one place we can simply exist.
Together.
He waits at the door for me while I shut off the lights and lock up, his presence a heavy, magnetic force behind me. Outside, his hand settles at my back as he guides me toward his bike.
His touch radiates heat, claiming me in a way that leaves no room for doubt.
If he moved his hand just a little lower, he’d be gripping my ass.
Goddess, how I ache for his rough palm tight on my ass, claiming me as his.
Tomcat lifts the helmet he bought for me and settles it with careful hands. My pulse thrums as his fingertips trace slowly along my jaw, lingering with excruciating patience as he secures the strap. No words, no playful banter, just that searing, undivided attention that undoes me every time.
He swings onto the bike and extends a hand, steady and sure, to pull me up behind him. Only when my body molds to his back and my arms lock around his waist does he finally move.
Wind whips across my face as Tomcat rockets out of the parking lot, the rush stealing my breath. I tip my head back, eyes fluttering shut, letting the wild freedom of speed and open air wash over me.
No walls. No cages. No locked doors.
It’s another reason that I love walking everywhere.
Damon locked me away so often that the simple brush of wind on my skin became a rare luxury, something I had to earn. He feared I’d slip away if I breathed too much freedom.
The memory coils in my chest, squeezing until it aches.
After I believed I’d killed him, I spent countless nights beneath open skies, just me and the endless universe overhead. The quiet was a balm, a reminder that even after he stole everyone I loved, I remained.