“I don’t like ye living here,” I tell her.
She doesn’t answer.
I want to pack her shit. I want her to come home with me and stay there. And I’ve never wanted that with anyone.
If only it were that easy with Scarlett.
I never claimed patience to be one of my virtues, but I thought I at least possessed some of it. This woman has bled it dry already.
She unlocks all six locks on her door and then looks at me because she knows I’ve got something to say about that too.
“I installed them after the butcher,” she justifies. “I don’t really need them.”
“The fuck you don’t,” I snipe.
She changes the subject.
“You were good out there tonight.”
She says this while she counts the knobs on the stove.
“You should teach me how to fight like that,” she adds.
It’s cute, how she’s so serious about it. Like it’s just that easy.
I agree anyway because I want her to start taking this seriously.
“Okay,” she says. “Want a shower?”
“Aye. Will you be joining me?”
She smiles and nods and it’s too agreeable. But again, I go with the flow… because I’m tired as fuck, and all I really want to do is bury myself between her thighs again and fuck her until my cock gives out.
Her bathroom is small, but tidy, and it smells of her perfume.
She undresses for me like a centerfold and steps beneath the hot spray.
Scarlett knows that she’s hot. But she doesn’t use it for attention. She uses it as a weapon. She’s made up of curves and softness and sex. And right now, when she’s luring me in with her eyes and her dripping wet body, I don’t even care.
I follow her to my certain doom and join her in the enclosed space. I want to pull her against me and not fuck her. I want to hold her. But she turns in my arms instead and reaches for a bottle of soap. It’s girly shit, but it doesn’t matter because she’s washing me now.
Her hands are small on my body, scrubbing me in lazy circles. She’s taking her time, and it doesn’t feel like a trick anymore, because she likes her hands on my body as much as I do. She’s possessive of me. And she tells me so in many ways.
She’s massaging my cock in her hand now. Looking up at me. There’s mascara running down her face and her lipstick is smeared from kissing me. She’s never looked as owned as she does right now.
“Do you know what I would do to you if you fucked me over?” she asks. “Do you know what happens when you break a deal with the devil?”
She squeezes my cock, and what she means is if I fucked someone else.
I tell her I won’t, and I mean it.
Words are empty and Scarlett doesn’t believe them. So I kiss her and fuck her up against the shower wall until neither of us can move and the water is cold.
We stumble to her bed in a mess of towels and tangled limbs, launching ourselves beneath the blankets in a heap.
Her room is quiet and black. The building is a hole, but this is a sanctuary. It smells like her and her blankets are soft and her skin is against mine, warm. Our feet are wrapped together and her face finds my chest beneath the blanket, burrowing against me. Her arms hang at her sides awkwardly while her teeth clack together, so I do what she can’t. I wrap her arm around me and I hold her.
The darkness is pervasive and I can’t see her face. But her heart is hammering against me, anxious. She’s the first to break the silence.
