Page 158 of Shamed
My chest floods with love and affection for him. “I love you.”
“Mmm.” He hums, looking content to stay put. “And I love hearing that.”
I can’t resist the pull to feel his lips again, just a small peck, before I half-heartedly push on his chest. If I don’t get himmoving, he’ll end up staying right where he is, buried deep inside me.
One time, we fell asleep like that, and I can’t say I didn’t like it. In fact, I liked ita lot.
I hum. “Fifty-five minutes now.”
Reluctantly, and with a sigh, he pulls out, dipping a kiss to the middle of my chest before maneuvering back and lightly slapping my thigh. “Come on, we need to leave right away. You better hurry up and get dressed.”
With an incredulous scoff, I watch as he scoots off the bed, then walks to the doorway, giving me a view of his delectable ass.
Forty minutes later, I’m pushing a cart full of items toward the checkout.
And while there is a smile on my face, there’s an ever-present feeling ofincompletedeep within my soul. A nagging that never ceases.
I am happy with Mase. I love him so very much, and I love running the center with him.
But it’s in these quiet, mundane moments that the feeling surfaces, and I don’t think it will ever go away.
I know it’s just the guilt over what happened. Ever-present.
Despite what happened with Jacob afterward, I did him wrong, and I can’t shake it.
I join the checkout line, looking over my goodies and wondering if I’m forgetting anything. Mase is down the street picking up a few dozen fresh donuts. So we really should have enough of everything.
Leaning against the handle, I wait for the slow-moving line to shuffle ahead, listening as someone’s phone starts ringing behind me.
“Hey, Sunflower. You miss me already?”
I smile to myself at the clear adoration in the man’s voice when he answers the call.
“Yeah, I just made a quick pitstop to grab some snacks. I should be there early enough to talk to Campbell before the race starts.”
I briefly wonder what type of race he’s talking about, then shake my head because it really doesn’t matter to me.
It’s not like I’mtryingto listen in; he’s just right behind me in line.
“I’m sure he’ll have to hang back for a bit, but there’s still plenty of time for us to get to the airport before the flight.”
I glance at the magazines on the display rack, absently tapping my fingers while looking over the front pages.
“I doubt Jacob will pick us up from the airport.”
My muscles make an involuntary twitch, my attention unwillingly zeroing in on the man’s conversation. It happensevery time someone says that name, like it’s a trigger that draws my awareness.
He said Campbell, and now Jacob. There are over eight billion people in the world, and this person had to saythosenames.
Maybe it’s the universe’s way of reminding me of my sins because I’ve become too happy.
Like I’d ever forget.
“I don’t think anyone will even recognize him, but he’s still paranoid,” the man continues.
My brows dip. I wonder why this particular Jacob is concerned about being seen.
Are all Jacobs cursed to live their lives away from the public?
