Page 55 of Pining for Pierce
He shakes his head, like he can’t believe I said that. “You couldn’t be any more different. I promise. But I don’t want you to worry about what’s gone before. It’s like I said, I was wasting my time, looking for perfection, when it was here, right in front of me, all the time.”
“I’m not perfect.”
“Yes, you are. At the risk of repeating myself, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted… and that makes you perfect.”
“If you insist. But I’m not worried about your past. Not really.”
“Good. Because you’re my future. And I love you so fucking much. Sorry about my language, but I really, really love you, and I don’t know how else to say it.”
“I don’t care how you say it, as long as it’s true.”
“Oh, it’s true, babe. Believe me.”
“I do.”
I gaze into his eyes, closing them slowly as he leans down to kiss me, feeling his lips brush over mine, gently dusting back and forth, although my eyes spring open at the sound of the timer, buzzing to let us know our pizza is ready.
Pierce pulls back, licking his lips and letting out a sigh that sounds like regret.
“Stay here,” he says. “I won’t be long.”
I nod my head, sitting back into the couch as he wanders to the kitchen, and I take a moment to pull the robe closed again, before turning and watching Pierce slice the pizza.
He piles it up onto one large plate, bringing it back with him, and sitting down, parting his legs, so I can nestle between them. Then we curl up together, me balancing the plate on my lap, while he holds me with one arm, eating with the other.
“Shall we watch a movie?” he says, and I nod my head, feeling the need for some kind of distraction… not just from wanting more than his kisses, but from the memories of everything that happened earlier. I’d rather just watch something mindless and enjoy being with him.
“That sounds good.”
“Any preferences?” he asks, reaching for the remote.
“No. As long as it’s not too loud.”
He smiles at me, glancing back at the TV and scrolling a little before he stops, and says, “Actually, I’ve been re-watching the first season ofReacher. We could carry on with that, if you like?”
“Sure.”
“Have you seen it?” he asks. “Because I don’t mind going back to the start, if you want.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ve seen all the episodes.” I twist slightly, looking up at him.
“So, you’re a fan?” he says.
“Yeah… who wouldn’t be?”
He smiles. “Can I assume it’s Alan Ritchson you admire, rather than the sparkling dialogue, or swift-moving plot line?”
“Maybe,” I say, and he chuckles, making my body jiggle up and down.
“Should I be jealous?” he asks, still smiling.
I put the plate on the table, and turn over, running my hand up his arm, then across his chest, letting it linger there for a second or two before I say, “No. You have far more exciting… attributes.”
“Do I?” he says, clamping his arms tight around me.
“Yes. Except…”
“Except what?”
