"That's a fucked-up story to tell a girl, Saxon,” I say, my voice wryly amused. "Especially as a way of telling me you liked it."
"I struggled with letting you," he says. "You fuckin'…you turn me on like…like nothing I've ever felt, like no one I've ever met. But I've got a fucked-up relationship with sex."
"It was just a blowjob," I insist. "I have a fucked-up relationship with sex, too, Saxon, and I'm telling you, it was just a blowjob. I did it because I wanted to. I like you. You turn me on. All the shooting and shit, maybe it's scrambled my emotions or some shit, I dunno. The adrenaline, or whatever. But I…you went down on me, and holy fuck, you know what you're doing. And then you did it again, and…” I trail off.
Sigh. Start over. “We've got something between us, Saxon. I don't know what it is or what it means, or…I don't fucking know. It's intense and happened fuckin' fast." I shake my head, rolling it against his chest. "I wanted to make you feel as good you made me feel. I wanted…I guess I wanted to feel like…like I've got something on you. Something you want, something you'll remember. So yeah, I used every trick I know to make it as good as I fuckin' could, so if this whole fuckin' thing goes south, at least you'll have that."
He doesn't respond for a while. "When you say, if this thing goes south…" he pauses. "You mean you and me not working out, or one or both of us getting killed?"
I bark a laugh. "Both. I dunno."
"Fair enough." He traces a finger over my temple and behind my ear, a tender, affectionate touch that makes my heart twist and burn with unfamiliar heat. "Why wouldn't it work out between us?"
"Why would it? We're both supremely fucked up."
"Maybe that's why it will. Like recognizes like. Maybe we get each other in a way no one else can, and that's why it feels so intense so fast."
"You believe in love, Saxon?" I ask.
"Not till recently."
"What happened to change your mind?"
"Saw it happen to my brothers—not my actual biological brothers, my brothers in the Broken Arrows."
"Broken Arrows?" I query.
He stands up with me, going from sitting with me on his lap to standing up with me in his arms like a groom carrying his bride over a threshold.
Bad fuckin' analogy—weddings make me itchy as a general rule.
"Later. We gotta get back on the road."
Turns out we were sitting on the ground, facing a huge field dotted with clusters of cows; he was sitting with his back to the tire. He carries me to the front passenger door, which is still open. He bends and sets me on the seat, reaches across to buckle me in. Moves to withdraw from the opening, but I catch his jaw.
"Hey," I whisper. His green eyes scorch with heat, with intensity, with a whirlwind of feelings I cannot translate or parse. "Thank you."
His Adam's apple bobs. "Yeah. Course."
"No. Don't minimize it. No one's ever…" I swallow hard. "Just…thank you."
For a moment, he nuzzles his face into my palm, eyes fluttering closed. "I've…" his eyes stay closed, head dropping as if suddenly too heavy. "I get them. Sometimes. It's fuckin' hell on earth, fightin' through that shit alone."
"Yeah, it is." I cup the rugged, sharp line of his jaw and tilt his face to mine. "So, like I said, don't minimize what you did for me."
"Okay, Terra."
"I like how you say my name," I whisper.
"Terra." His breath is hot on my lips. Close. "So fuckin' beautiful."
Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.
I'm tumbling into a void, freefalling down an endless well, and he’s the walls all around me, the sky above me, the darkness beneath me.
Lips touch lips, breath tangles with breath. Our first kiss, way back earlier this evening, was a wrecking ball smashing through my fucking soul, smashing apart everything in its path—namely, all previous kisses.
This?
