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5.3k words. As in two chapters. 400 comments and I'll update immediately lol?
━━━━━━━━━♚━━━━━━━━━
Katrina Diaz
Since it was a Saturday, Hayden took me out to show me around the city. We visited a few art galleries, one of which featured sculptors. On spotting a sculptor of a man, I stood beside him and urged Hayden to take photos. The gallerist placed a thick book in his hand so that his hand, which was a foot away from his chest, as if showing the sculptor, was indeed holding a book. Overly excited, I plucked the book out, placed it on the ground and slid into the gap in a way that my back was to his chest and his arm was around me.
"Take the picture. Quick!" I prompted Hayden.
"With the hand on your chest?" He arched a dark brow.
Confused, I gazed down at the palm which rested exactly over my left boob. I shrugged. "It's really not inconvenient."
"It will be when I break that sculptor." Sheer possessiveness underlined his words, sending a jolt of joy through my blood. The fact that Hayden Evans burned with jealousy just as much as I did for him spoke volumes.
And I wondered what I had done to deserve Hayden.
Followed by that threat, Hayden dragged me out of the gallery, reasoning, "You're dodgy enough to stand beside some sculptor and shove your nostril down its held-up pinkie finger."
"Is that your attempt at jokes, Arsewipe? You should take notes from Nick." I gave him a look. "If possible, take notes on how to please a woman, too"
"I didn't hear you complaining last night in bed," he retorted, the reminders of his words sending a thrill down my spine.
Swallowing, I walked ahead of him. "That's what we women do; we never complain."
"I'm giving you ten seconds to rectify those words, Spitfire." Velvet and chaos followed me to the car in the parking.
"If not?" I challenged him.
Warm breath caressed the nape of my neck as he whispered, "Then I'll take things in my hands."
"But I'm in charge for today," I argued, reminding him of our deal that I would be the one doing all the work in the bedroom today. Pressing on the car lock, I grinned, "So no touching me. Get in the car."
As if to make a statement, he opened the door, and I opened my mouth to verbally fight with him for the driver's seat. My words morphed into a shriek as he picked me up and discarded me into the seat. Leaning over me, bringing in the familiar scent of Cedar Wood and White Pepper, he strapped my seat belt, which, by the way, had become a ritual of his. When I had asked why he was doing it, his answer was he was careful like that and I was a chaotic driver. He never bothered with putting on his own seat belt though, as if he didn't care what could happen to him if we met with an accident.