“Rip that dress clean off you. Have my way with you. Remind you who’s boss.”
“You could,” she says. “But I’m not in the mood. I got shot at today. While hungover.”
“The last part is your own fault,” I say, my fingers still tangled in her hair.
“I still blame you for it.”
This woman, I swear to fucking God.
I yank her against me, kissing her hard. Her body is rigid against mine—until it isn’t. Until it goes soft and pliant under my hands as always.
But as soon as that happens, I pull away.
“Wait,” she gasps. “Where are you going?”
“To bed.” I wait a moment and look back at her. “Unless you needed something.”
She turns away. “I don’t need it.”
I walk up behind her. I caress the hair away from her shoulder and slide the strap off as well. Then I kiss the base of her neck.
“But you want it,” I whisper into her skin, and feel the goosebumps against my lips.
Her head rolls back on my shoulder. I continue kissing her. Up her neck, behind her ear, at her pulse point. Meanwhile, myhands wander under her shirt, up to her breasts, so I can tease her nipples.
She arches against me and gasps.
“You need me,” I say into her neck as I play with her.
“I do,” she breathes.
“Say it,” I order as she dances in place, nearly coming just from the touch of my fingertips.
“I need you, Ransome.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Make me come,” she begs.
I smirk into her neck and nibble on her ear. “How do you want it?”
“Just… make me yours.”
This is what we are,I tell myself. Two warm bodies seeking each other, wanting to feel good off of each other. Fear, guilt, longing—they were never supposed to enter the mix. Those are feelings, and we don’t do feelings.
This is what we do.
And when we do it, the world catches on fire.
She attempts to go to the bed, but I grab her. Then I bend her over the dresser and flip her dress up.
“You want me?” I ask.
“Yes, Ransome. I want you.”
“You want me inside you?”
“Yes. I want you inside me. I need you. Please.”
