My heart pounds in my chest as I wait to see if she’ll open the door. I know she’s home. At least, I hope she’s home.

When the lock snicks and the door slowly opens revealing Peyton’s beautiful face, my breath freezes in my chest. All the worry and roiling emotions from the last twenty-four hours seeps out and relief takes their place.

For several long seconds, we just take each other in. She’s in a faded t-shirt that I recognize as one of Theo’s from high school and a baggy pair of pajama pants. Her hair is in a messy knot on top of her head, and her face is scrubbed free of any makeup. Even though her eyes are bloodshot and swollen from crying, she’s still the most stunning creature I’ve ever seen. The soft look in her eyes fades, and she straightens her spine. I can see her walls erecting around her, and I hate it.

Her pink lips part to say something, but before she can turn me away, I close the distance between us and take her in my arms. She’s stiff for just a moment before she sinks into my hold. I band one arm around her waist and bury my other hand in her hair, cradling her head against my chest. Holding her slight form as close as I can get her.

Peyton clings to me almost as tightly as I am to her. Breath hitching, she begins to cry openly. Until this weekend, I have never once seen Peyton cry. She’s tough as nails and to see her so upset wrecks me.

“Peyton,” I murmur brokenly into her hair, brushing my lips against her forehead in a tender kiss. I begin to pull away, wanting to give us the opportunity to talk, but her grip tightens, and instead of releasing her, I lift her into my arms bridal style.

The irony isn’t lost on me. The wave of regret that swarms me is the least that I deserve. Under different circumstances, this would’ve been exactly how we would’ve entered our home after our honeymoon. Instead, I’ve swept up my weeping bride because I fucked up.

Taking a seat on her couch, I hold her on my lap, running my palm up and down her back in soothing circles while whispering platitudes that I hope she understands aren’t empty.

Normally, this sort of thing would have me running for the hills, but with Peyton, I want to pull all of her heartache into my own body and spare her every single tear. Finally, she sits up, wiping her eyes and sniffling lightly. She runs her hand over my chest where my shirt is soaked through with her tears. That light touch is enough to have my focus distracted, and my body catches up to the fact that my beautiful, sweet Peyton is in my lap. The soft curve of her ass cradling my cock, and her round breast pressed against my stomach.

“Sorry about that,” she says in a small, shaky voice.

“Don’t you dare be sorry for any of this, Peyton.” I force her eyes to mine with a hand on her cheek. “I understand why you are freaking out. I get it. And I know I should be sorry. I was sober, and you were not, but I’m not sorry.”

I look at her willing her to see the sincerity in my eyes. Begging with her to hear the sincerity in my voice.

“Regardless of how we started, this isn’t a mistake. We went about things back-asswards, but this—right here—is where I have always wanted to end up. Well, with less clothing and zero tears,” I add, drawing a watery smile to her lips.

I run my thumb lightly over her bottom lip. A lip I desperately want to kiss, but don’t dare push her.

“Where do we go from here?” she asks quietly, her head subconsciously leaning into my palm.

“To dinner.”

She looks at me as if what I’ve suggested is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. I chuckle, and her eyebrows draw down in consternation.

“Dinner?” she asks skeptically.

“Yes, you know… a date.”

She snorts a laugh. “Seriously? Your answer is a date?”

I shrug, trying to play at a level of nonchalance I am not feeling in the slightest. “It’s a start.”

She hums a little sound of consideration that has my cock jumping to attention again.

“I guess if you were to ask me properly…” she trails off.

“Peyton, would you please accompany me to dinner?” I ask formally, making Peyton scrunch her nose and shake her head.

“I’ll have to check my calendar and get back to you.” I can tell she’s trying to keep a straight face, but she can’t hold back her teasing smirk. Her eyes are dancing with playfulness, showing a bit of the Peyton I know and love.

I lightly dig my fingers into her side, tickling her. She wriggles and tries to escape my hold, but I hold fast, loving her breathless laughter—especially after the heartbreaking tears from earlier.

One smile from Peyton has the ability to light up my entire world. One tear has the power to plunge everything into darkness. I promise myself here and now that I will make it my life’s mission to make Peyton smile every day, no matter the cost.

Peyton squeals and presses her fingers to my stomach, tickling me in return. By the time our little game is over, we are both breathlessly laughing, and I’ve got her pinned beneath me on the couch.

We both freeze in place as we come back to ourselves and realize our positions. Peyton’s eyes dilate and fill with desire. Her hands clutch at my shoulders. I shift slightly, making to release her, but her hands tighten their grip, and she makes a throaty protest.

“Sweetheart, if we don’t leave now, I’m going to kiss you.”

Lust flares in the space between us and I know that’s exactly what she wants—what we both want. She licks her lips, wetting them, preparing them for me. I groan. The sound a mixture of pleasure and torture.

“Peyton, please,” I beg for mercy. I want nothing more than to strip her down and plunge inside her willing heat, but that would be extremely shortsighted. I know she’s attracted to me. I know our bodies fit together perfectly. I need to convince her that everything else fits too. I can’t do that by fucking her.

I run the tip of my nose over hers, then across her cheek to her ear. I breathe in the sweet citrus scent of her hair and rest my weight down on her. Her grip slackens as I nuzzle her, her body becoming pliant and willing underneath me.

“I want you,” she murmurs, wrapping her leg around my hip, lining our bodies up in the most mind-blowing way. She arches into me—dragging her pussy against my hardness. We both moan at the tease.

My mind short-circuits, and I find my hips matching her movements. Grinding our bodies together on her couch like a couple of horny teenagers. Our mouths meet in a frantic dance, tongues dueling for control. We break apart, chests heaving for breath.

“Kingston,” she gasps my name as I roll my hips, bearing down on her, knowing she’s close.

“That’s right, love,” I say, my voice gruff. “Cum for me.”

She nods her head and softly chants ‘Yes’ to the rhythm of my movements. Then her muscles clench, her body stiffening on a scream as her orgasm overtakes her.

Her eyes flutter closed. Her cheeks flushed with a sheen of perspiration. I cup her face between my hands and press tender kisses to her face, paying special attention to her already kiss-swollen lips.

Once her breathing has evened out, I extract myself from her hold—needing to put some distance between us before I find myself buried inside her and completely wreck my resolve to prove to her that I want her for more than just her body.

“What about you?” she asks, confusion marring her lovely features.

“That was just for you,” I say, helping her from the couch. “Would you like to change?”

“Change?”

“Yes. Change… for our date.”

Her lips part in an O and she looks a little taken aback that I’d still be suggesting dinner. Which only strengthens my resolve to keep it in my pants until she understands that I’m in this for the long haul.

She looks down at herself and she cringes when she realizes what she’s wearing. I find it endearing that she obviously wants to look her best for me, but at the same time, I love seeing her just being herself without any pretenses.

“Uhm, yeah, I should go change.”

I laugh a little when she practically runs to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Ten minutes later she comes out wearing a pair of jeans that mold to her curves and a blue shirt that shows just a hint of cleavage. On her feet, a pair of sexy knee-high boots that have a wicked tall heel. I swear I’ve never noticed a woman’s feet as much as I’ve noticed Peyton’s and I’m starting to wonder if I’ve got a foot fetish.

“You look amazing.”

Her eyes light up at my compliment. “Thanks.”