"Everything is important." I lean forward slightly, drawn to her like gravity. "Every experience shapes who we become. So, what were you doing before?"
She doesn't answer directly. Instead, she turns to face me again, and this time she lets her fingers trail across my shoulder. The contact is light, barely there, but it sends electricity straight through me. I swear to god my cock throbs in my pants, close to orgasm already, desperate for more.
I want her so badly it hurts.
"I think you were doing something that was preparing you for this," I say, and there's a growl in my voice now. We both know I’m not talking about stripping.
Her movements stutter. Just for a second, but I catch it. I catch everything.
"Am I right?"
"I don't know what you mean," she says, but her voice is less steady now. I'm getting to her.
Good.
She moves closer again, and this time when she shifts, she brings one knee up to rest on the couch beside me. Her body angles toward mine. The movement is practiced, but there's something real underneath it now. Something that's hers, not the performance.
"There's a particular kind of person who makes it into this world and succeeds," I say quietly, intimately, like we're the only two people who exist. "They have something they want so badly that they're willing to sacrifice everything for it." I search her eyes, looking for confirmation. "That hunger. I've seen it before, in the desert."
She goes completely rigid. Stops moving, just stays there, straddling me, her breath caught.
Got you.
"In the desert," I repeat, testing the words and watching her face. "That's where hungry people go to either die or be reborn, and you were reborn weren’t you?"
She doesn't say anything. Can't say anything. The words are trapped behind that wall she's built, the one that's kept her alive for ten years.
I reach out and run my hand up and down her thigh. The lightest touch, testing, asking permission even though I could just take it. Her eyes follow the movement, and I get the strange sense she's giving me something precious. Something she doesn't give to anyone else.
"You know," I say softly, "if I wanted to know who you really are, I could find out. I have resources, people who specialize in finding information that people don't want to share. I could dig through your background and find every inconsistency, every gap in your story." I pull her down slightly, thrusting my hips up to meet hers. The hard length of me presses against her,and I hear her sharp intake of breath. Feel the heat of her even through our clothes. "I could make you tell me," I hiss.
Her hands move to rest on the back of the couch, either side of my head. Her face is close to mine now. Close enough that I can see every fleck of color in her dark eyes. We're sharing breath, sharing space, sharing something that feels like truth.
"But I'm not going to do that." Despite the heat of her body, goosebumps cover her skin. I want to trace every single one with my tongue. "Do you want to know why?"
She shakes her head. Barely moves.
"Because I think I already know," I say. "And because I think whatever you're doing, you have your reasons. And those reasons are probably good enough that I'd do the same thing if I were you." My heart has stopped beating. Or maybe it's beating so fast I can't distinguish individual beats anymore, just a constant hum of adrenaline and something else. Something that might be hope or fear or both.
"The question is," I continue, bringing my hand up to cup the side of her face, "whether you're actually capable of doing what needs to be done, or whether you're just a girl playing at revenge."
"I can do it," she says, and her voice is quiet but certain. Deadly. "I know what I'm capable of."
"I believe you," I say. And I do, because I'm going to help her do it. Then I close the distance between us, pulling her head down and crushing her mouth to mine.
The kiss is intense, demanding, like I'm trying to consume her. Like I'm trying to claim something that was always meant to be mine. My hand at the side of her face pulls her closer, and she responds. Her fingers grip the back of the couch. Her entire body responds to me in a way that bypasses thought, that's purely instinctual. I lick the seam of her lips and she opens for me. Shetastes like everything I've been missing without knowing it. Like hope and danger and home all mixed together.
My other hand finds her waist, sliding up slowly to cup her breast, keeping her body aligned with mine the entire time. The position is intimate in a way that goes beyond the physical. She's exposed, vulnerable, giving me something she doesn't give to anyone else.
And fuck, she feels perfect. Fits against me like she was made for this. Made for me.
She starts moving against me, thrusting, grinding, and it takes everything I have not to rip her clothes off and fuck her right here. Instead, I break the kiss, breathing hard, trying to regain some control. My cock is so hard it's painful as she throbs against me, hot and wet.
"Yes," I growl, raising my other hand so I'm palming both her breasts. Perfect handfuls. Her nipples are as hard as diamonds, and I pink them between my thumb and forefingers.
She cries out, and I feel her body clench, feel her legs shaking as she comes. Just grinding against me with our clothes still on. So responsive.
I groan with her, my cock pulsing, nearly coming in my fucking pants like a teenager. Barely managing to hold back. Slowly, I press my lips to hers one last time. Soft. Gentle. Then pull away before I do something stupid like tell her I'm in love with her. That I've been obsessed since the moment I saw her. That I'd burn down the world for her.
