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While I bided my time.
But the smile she gave me then, that one particularly, one almost as gentle as it was condemning, Jesus, I knew in an instant that it meant something had changed.
And I was terrified.
"I'll answer that," she said in a voice so throaty and resonant it could choke your soul. "I will. But not yet. First, I have a question of my own."
I was shaking my head before she'd even finished.
No. No. No.
There was something too meaningful in her eyes as they raked over my face, like a switch had been flipped, one that should not, could not, be turned on.
But she knew me too well, knew how to weaken me, what strategy to use to gut me the fastest.
Her mouth was my undoing, her lips my own personal heaven and hell. They were a weapon she used seldom but unrepentantly, and they were all the more potent for it.
I was a slave to those lips, a willing lamb to slaughter, and when she pressed them to mine, I was already past the point of all resistance.
I forgot my question, forgot hers, forgot everything but the simple joy of reveling in her—my weakness and my strength, my purpose and my distraction, my redemption and my undoing.
I couldn't even believe I was here with her, that she hadn't had me kicked out the second she found my drunken ass in her trailer. Instead she was straddling me naked, leaning over me as she kissed and kissed me, unbuttoning my shirt, pushing it aside to rub her naked breasts against my bare chest how she knew I loved.
She completely ignored the chain around my neck and the small objects that hung from it.
I was only relieved by that. She usually took exception to it.
But I would never take it off.
I returned her kiss with fierce abandon, not even trying to hold back.
When she spoke, it took a while for me to register her words, even as sharp as they were.
"What have you done to us, Dante?" she breathed into my mouth. "What have you done?"
I froze.
No. No. No. This could not happen.
Could not.
I was tense, ready for the next blow, the next unanswerable question, but it didn't come.
As though she thought she'd said enough, she didn't ask it.
Instead she kissed me again, her hands as busy as her tongue. She kneaded at my abs, working her wicked hands lower, undoing my slacks, freeing me.
She kept moving, poising herself over me, rubbing her wet sex against my cock in a way that she knew made me lose half my brain cells.
At least half.
She gave my lip one last drugging bite and pulled back to glance down at our bodies.
My head fell back, and I couldn't keep in an involuntary shudder.
I was half convinced she was just teasing me, that she'd leave me like this, high and dry (she'd done it before), but that was not what she did.
With excruciating slowness and utmost care, she impaled herself on me.
