First: A beginning of a story which obnoxiously cuts off just before the description,
Previous: In Which The Kissing Continues.
He didn’t carry her to the bed, but not for lack of offering, trying, and offering again.
“I’m not a blushing bride,” she complained, “and, besides, I like my feet firmly on the ground.”
Amrit might’ve been – not exactly offended, but put out at how brusque she could be, considering where they’d been and what they’d been doing, but she kissed both his cheeks and then his lips, the affection clear in the gesture and her expression, and he gave in.
She liked him. Amrit didn’t know what to do with that. Sure, girls had liked him before, but not like – “You’ve really got no illusions about me, do you?”
“You like to work and like to keep busy but hate authority?” Something in her smile was challenging. It wasn’t made any less so by the casual touch of her hand on his chest. “You’re overprotective of people you care about but aren’t that familiar with the concept. You have a foul mouth and no tolerance for rules.”
“…I’m not a sweetheart.” He didn’t know what motivated him to say that. Some half-forgotten long-ago girl, perhaps?
Whatever his reasons, it made her smile. “I know. Are we going to bed or do I have to carry you?”
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