He lifts his head. There’s that wicked smile of his. He returns with, “Bad girl.”
My heart flips in my chest. When he says it—it’s not a punishment. It’s praise. I’mhisbad girl. It’s what he loves most about me.
Bad is good. Top is bottom. Up is down and when his mouth meets mine, I can’t help but whimper into his kiss.
“Can we do that again?” I ask. “And again and again?”
A laugh against my mouth. “You have to give me at least thirty seconds.”
I trace my fingers over his chest and hum. “Twenty-nine…” I flick my finger over his hard nipple. “Twenty-eight…”
He growls. He takes my hand and wetly kisses my palm, nipping at the mound between my thumb and my wrist. It’snot astop, but he’s right. We need to slow down before we combust.
“We have to stop fucking in my bookstore,” he adds.
“Afraid of me leaving marks on your desk?”
“I’m afraid of you leaving marks on every aspect of my life.”
The lust-haze is clearing. His eyes are blue and clear now when they meet mine. I move my hand to his chest. “Your heart is pounding.”
I can feel him go tense to my touch.
He can handle my hand around his throat. Around his cock. But I put it against his chest, against hisheart,and he still gets shy.
“Do you believe in kismet?” I ask him.
“Kismet?”
“Like…fate. Like maybe some people don’t cross paths until they’re meant to?”
A crooked smile from him. “Do you think we met in another life?”
“Sort of. I just…I had this dream. Well, more like a memory. I think we met last year. At the Seekers Club?—”
“The night of Ophelia’s party. Yes. I remember.”
I blink. “You do?”
“Vaguely. I thought I was going crazy, until you said it.”
“No. Not crazy. Not about this, anyway.” His heart beat is slowing. We’re in that dangerously vulnerable space after an amazing fuck-fest. Both of us, spilling secrets. Spilling truths. I ask him: “Do you wish you made a different choice that night?”
He lapses into a thoughtful silence. When he speaks, it’s with confidence. “I don’t know if I believe in fate. But I believe in you. And if I had to crawl through hell to get to this moment, right here…I’d do it a thousand times over. In a heartbeat.” He strokes his thumb over my cheek, cradling my face. I feel so soft. So secure. “Whatever force brought me to you…fate, whatever you want to call it…I would like the opportunity to get to my knees and properly thank it one day.”
A smile creeps up my lips. “That’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said.”
He nestles against me. The warmth of his breath hits my cheek. “You’re turning me into gruyere.”
I tilt my forehead against his. In this small, quiet space, I find myself making a confession, “Maybe you’re gruyere. But I’m…curd.”
“Curd?”
“Yeah. Immature cheese. Cheese that hasn’t even begun the process of ripening.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“I’m…immature. Still figuring out who I am. What I want. I don’t want you to fix me. I don’t want to fix you. I don’t want us to heal each other or make each other better people. I’m fucked up. You’re fucked up. Let’s just…be fucked up people together. We can hurt when we want to, and feel good when we want to, and?—”
