Page 61 of Haunted Spurs

"Hey..." he whispers.

With infinite gentleness, he takes my face in his hands, lifting it. His rough thumbs wipe away the tears that keep falling relentlessly.

He still has that half-smile on his face.

In the middle of all this shit, in the middle of the horror, the blood, and the death... he is stubbornly continuing to smile at me.

And I can't resist him anymore.

I can't lose him. I can't let him walk out that door, I can't let him go. My heart is already irreparably shattered into a thousand pieces... how much more damage could I possibly do to myself by giving in to him?

I lean forward. And, with nothing left to lose, I close the distance.

My lips crash into his, molding against his mouth in a desperate need for life, as I lift my hands and sink my fingers into his hair.

I have very few certainties right now, and all of them have to do with Ron Willers.

The first: yeah, I could never live another day without kissing him again.

The second: yeah, his hair really is as soft as it looks.

And the third, the most important: no, he is absolutely never leaving this room alone.

A guttural, surprised but scorching sound vibrates in his chest. Ron doesn't hesitate for a second. He returns the kiss with the exact same fervor and desperation as mine. His hands slide behind my back and pull me flush against him. He kisses me like he wants to devour me, like he's been waiting for nothing but this moment for weeks.

And, exactly like last time, all his sweetness slips into the background, instantly burned away to release only his raw, ravenous passion.

Ron Willers is a man who gives his all, holding nothing back. His lips are soft and hot. His hands are scorching brands on my body, touching me and holding me like his life depends on it. He is gentle, attentive, but at the same time, he is pure fire.

I part my lips with a sigh and he takes control. His tongue slips into my mouth with a delicious dominance, tasting me, while his teeth tease my lower lip, pulling a moan from my throat.

And I... I realize with bitter and total clarity that I don't think I've ever written a decent kiss in my entire career. Because what I'm feeling right now is simply indescribable. Words aren't enough.

"Don't do it," I whisper against his lips, my voice shaking, my hands still clinging to his shoulders.

Ron slides his thumbs over my cheeks, caressing me, wiping away the tears I can't stop. Damn new-cowboy. I want to scream in frustration, but instead only more silent sobs escape.

"Please," I whisper.

He stops for a second, stroking my jawline, and an imperceptible, brazen, gorgeous smirk pulls at his lips.

"You don't strike me as the praying type, Dusk."

"Don't joke around, Ron."

"I'm serious," he murmurs, resting his forehead against mine. His breath tickles my face. "I have zero desire to play the martyr tonight. I'll be the first one to make sure I make it back in one piece, I promise you. I absolutely want to continue..." He drops his gaze, and one of his fingers brushes my chest, pointing to the electric, burning space between us. "...our unfinished business."

I let out a low sound, halfway between a desperate whine and a grunt of protest.

I shake my head, wiping my face with the back of my hand, and take a step back, squaring my shoulders. The crying stops, replaced by an icy, burning determination.

"No way," I declare.

"Selene..." he tries to warn me, his tone suddenly going protective and authoritative.

"I am not your damsel in distress, new-cowboy," I cut him off, locking my eyes on his. I clench my fists at my sides. "Let's go kick this asshole's ass."

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