“Cool.”
“Cool.”
I skim kisses down her jaw, to her throat, pausing at the pulse there like I can memorize her heartbeat through my mouth. Her fingers tug my shirt up. I pull it over my head without breaking eye contact.
Her gaze drops to my chest.
Then back up.
The heat in her expression is enough to make me lose coherence.
“Birdie,” I warn.
She smiles. “You told me you love honest weird,” she says.
“That is true.”
“Then here’s mine,” she says softly, tugging me closer by the back of my neck. “I feel safer when you want me.”
My breath catches.
That lands somewhere deep.
Somewhere tender.
Somewhere dangerous.
I press my forehead to hers. “You are not a coping mechanism,” I say.
“Neither are you,” she whispers. “You’re my choice.”
I kiss her again. We make out like we’re starving. Like the world could end in the next hour and we’d rather spend it tasting each other than giving fear the satisfaction of our silence.
My hands slide under her jacket, finding the warmth of her skin, the curve of her waist. Hers fumble my belt like she’s laughing at herself and also not laughing at all.
“God,” she murmurs, breathless. “You’re so different when you stop pretending you’re unbreakable.”
“I never pretended that with you.”
She pauses. The softness in her face almost ruins me. “Yes, you did,” she says quietly. “But you’re not very good at lying to me.”
I give a humorless huff. “Yeah,” I admit. “I’m not.”
We end up on the couch.
Somehow.
The logistics blur.
Her straddling me, my mouth at her neck, her laugh muffled against my shoulder when I mutter something that probably sounds more possessive than romantic.
Her hands slide under my jaw, anchoring me. “This will be over soon,” she whispers, like she’s trying to believe the words herself.
“I know,” I answer back, because I plan on ending this tonight. Now.
I want to catch the fuckers behind this. I also want to burn the entire bounty board to ash before sunrise. I don’t say either of those things. Instead I kiss her until the question melts into a sigh.
She glides her hips over my lap, and we both make quick work getting to each other. Clothing becomes a memory, and the next thing I know is I’m pushing deep inside her.
