Braver that I could ever be.
The words I want to say back twist into a tight knot around my vocal chords.
Instead, I step forward, closing the gap between us.
She has to tilt her head up now to keep her eyes on mine.
“That’s not entirely true,” I tell her. I slide my hand gently across the side of her face. The warmth of her cheek touches my palm. I keep going, travelling through her hair. When I get to the back of her neck, I pull her into a tight grip and correct her: “I’m a self-loathing, brattyswitch.”
At the strength of my grip, her lips part, breath going light. Her eyelids flutter, and when those green eyes meet mine again…
There she is.
My Dove.
My good girl.
No—not girl.
Bad. Very bad.
Bad. And devious. And fucked up in all the ways I’m fucked up.
I’ve never wanted a person more in my entire life.
She launches herself at me. We clash clumsily, her lipsbruising mine in her haste, my glasses tilting on my nose. I cup her cheek, thumb wedging underneath her jaw to stabilize her. Her fingers climb to the top of my head and she fists a handful of hair, pulling at my roots. It nearly cuts my legs out like marionette strings and I hear myself groan into her mouth.
This is our tug-of-war, isn’t it?
Me, anchoring her.
Dove, unraveling me.
I don’t break our kiss, but I pant against her mouth: “My bedroom’s upstairs.”
“I can’t wait that long.” She drops her hands to my jeans and unbuttons me. “I need you inside of me.”
Yes. She does. And so do I.
I’m so hard, Michelangelo could use my dick to carve a sculpture of Dove out of marble. But even the Renaissance master couldn’t capture the best parts of her. The way strands of her hair stick to her lips. The flair of her nostrils on that adorable, button nose. That untamable hunger in her eyes.
Dove is wearing overalls.Overalls. A goddamn chastity belt on a human and yet I am feral for her. I unpin the straps over her shoulders and push it down her body so she’s in nothing but a shirt and panties. She yanks my shirt up over my head. Our mouths meet again and this time, I leave bruises on her lips with my need.
“Who’s on top?” she mumbles against my mouth.
“Fuck if I know,” I growl.
I take off her shirt and we sink to the floor. Which answers the question—currently, right now, I’m on top. My pants are undone, which relieves a little pressure, and with Dove on her back, I follow a trail down her body. I slide my hands down her sides. Her nipples are tight and hard and my mouth waters at the sight of them.
I want to take them in my mouth. I deny myself. I kiss between the curves of her breasts. I kiss her sweet stomach.
Her fingers lock into my hair and twist in a way that makes me twitch. When I look up at her, those green eyes are staring at me inquisitively. “Tell me what you want,” she says.
I answer honestly. “I need to taste you.”
She pushes her hips up towards me. Encouraging. “Fuck, I need that too.”
She nudges my head down. But I stall her. I grabs her wrists and pin them to the floor on either side of her, trapping her underneath me.
