“First one: you don’t lubricate bureaucracy with your family heirlooms again. You bring it to me.”
She lifts her chin while narrowing her eyes, which gives her a look of superiority. And suddenly I realize it’s true because she’s holding all the power here. All of it.
“Second,” she says, ignoring that I haven’t gotten buy-in on the first. “No gifts. No cars, no jackets, no stipends masquerading as policy. If you try to buy my silence or my comfort, I’ll return it with interest. Are we clear on that?”
“Noted.” I agree easily, even though I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself from buying her Maeve’s blazer; it was created for my Bea. The quiet power, the perfect execution, and the unmatched beauty.
“Third,” she says, softer. “If you go back to the fights, we’re done. Not just this—everything. Job too. I won’t sit there scheduling your meetings and wondering if you are going to end up in a hospital with a broken neck and damaged brain.”
“I won’t end up?—”
“No negotiations.” She lifts her hand in the air, stopping me.
“I haven’t lost a fight since I was a teenager.” I have to explain it to her because the only time she’s seen me in the ring, I was smashed to the ground. My pride has been wounded, and I’m trying to remedy that.
“No. Fights.”
Her lips turn into a thin, pale line as she stares me down.
I sigh in defeat. “Okay.”
She watches me for a few moments before letting her taut shoulders drop. “What is it with you and fights? Why do you like feeling your face smashed?”
“Haven’t lost a fight, remember?” I remind her with a raised finger, making her swat it away like an annoying fly.
“Don’t you dare, Noah King.”
She points her own index finger right into my face, and I can’t resist and bite it. Her eyes widen and she pulls it away, but I tighten my hold. Not hard, but my teeth hold her flesh. I slowlyswirl my tongue around her finger, tasting Beatrice Wrong for the second time. And fuck she tastes so good.
I make another lazy swirl, keeping my eyes on her face. Her mouth is slightly ajar, and her own tongue peeks out to lick her lower lip. Her eyes are completely focused on the place where my lips connect to her body.
I gently suck her finger in, and her neck moves with a delicate swallow. Fuck me, but if it’s not a sign, I don’t know what is. Her finger twitches against my tongue like she can’t decide whether to yank away or push in. I take one more slow pull, then release her with a softpopI absolutely do on purpose.
Her breath stutters. “You can’t—” She swallows. “You can’t do that.”
I grab her finger again to suck on it. After another lazy swirl, I let go of her finger.
“I just did.” My voice is rough. “And I’m going to think about it for the rest of my life.”
“I wonder what else I can do to replace that memory.” Her eyes flare and drop to my lap, and for a heartbeat I swear the only thing holding my bones together is stubbornness.
“Breathe,” she whispers, like I forgot to do so. Her breath fans over my lips, and my self-control does a full, panicked scramble for the exits.
I tip my head forward the smallest fraction, enough to feel the heat of her, but not enough to make contact. “If you’re going to torture me, at least take responsibility for the casualties.”
Her fingertips flex against my chest. “I’m already responsible for too much.”
I close my eyes, count to three, fail at four. “One kiss,” I say, quiet and wrecked. “A goodnight. A truce. Then I take you back, and we act like two of the most grownup, put-together people in the city tomorrow at work. Then we can be dirty animals at night.”
She doesn’t move. I feel the conflict roll through her, tangible as the humid air outside the car.
“One kiss.” She sounds like she’s testing the word on her tongue. “Singular. And no naughty stuff until your ribs are healed.”
“No naughty stuff,” I confirm, even though my internal counsel is shouting sustained objection. I lean in that last, fatal inch and fit my mouth to hers.
It’s not the fever dream from last night. It’s careful and slow, like laying a hand on a sleeping animal to prove you’re not a threat. Her lips are soft and warm, and the second she sighs into me I forget every argument I’ve made against this and all the ones I will need tomorrow.
Her hand trembles slightly as it rests against my chest, a faint but undeniable acknowledgment of this fragile moment between us when we balance the blade, deciding where our relationship will go after.
