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But I know how to make her come.
I'm going to make her come.
I nod and I watch her slip into the house.
Five minutes. That's too much time to think. I close my eyes. Try to step into the scene.
Luna as a bossy cop who isn't afraid to use her handcuffs—
That's pretty fucking hot.
It fits. Too well. There is shit I need to tell her. Shit I'm hiding.
I can make that work.
Or throw her on the couch and fuck her senseless. One of the two.
I step out of the car. Lock the door. Check our surroundings.
Our place is a lot like her parents'. The opposite side of the same neighborhood. A row of bungalows and renovations on a quiet street. Parked cars. No traffic.
An oasis in the middle of the crowded beach and the traffic hell that is Lincoln.
I step inside. Move to the couch. Try to find some kind of peace. Calm. Anticipation.
Whatever is going on with my head needs to stop. Or at least ease. I need to feel her.
I'm enjoying this.
Period. End of sentence.
A door upstairs open. Heavy footsteps move down the hall. Her boots. The ones she was wearing when I fucked her.
My balls tighten.
My thoughts drift to dirty places.
She steps into view. In that tight, impossibly thin blue dress, cap askew, boots to her knees, smile wicked.
"Ah. I see you've been waiting." She cracks her knuckles as she moves down the stairs. "This is interrogation room one." She steps onto the main floor. "I wasn't expecting so little resistance."
"Is that right?" I raise a brow.
She nods. "You seem like a difficult suspect."
"What have I done, Officer?" The list is too fucking long.
"We'll discuss your charges after a thorough strip search." She smiles, reveling in her power. "Stand up."
"Here?" I play dumb.
"Right there." She moves to the front of the couch. The spot in front of the TV. "I need to see if you're hiding anything."
"What would I hide?"
"A weapon. Or some other tool you could use against me." She draws a circle in the air. Points to my t-shirt. "Take that off."
"This?"
She nods. "To start."
I stand. Pull my t-shirt over my head. Drop it on the floor.
She makes a loud hmm noise. "This…" She crosses the distance between us. Presses her hand to my forearm. Traces the lines of my tattoo. The Latin quote.
ex favilla nos resurgemus
Her fingers curl over my arm. "It might be some kind of gang sign."
"A gang with Latin quotes?"
"Are you questioning me, sir?"
"It sounds unlikely," I say.
"Then I'd like to hear your explanation." Her voice softens. Almost breaking character. "What's the meaning of this?"
Haven't I told her? I still remember the day I got it. When I saw her next. She couldn't stop staring.
Daisy was mortified—why did I have to cause fights with Dad—but Luna was transfixed.
"Ex favilla nos resurgemus. Could mean anything," she says.
"From the ashes we rise," I say.
"You're an arsonist."
A laugh escapes my lips.
"There's nothing funny about crime, sir."
"You think I'd advertise?"
"You need clients, don't you?" She traces the lines back up my arm. "What's the meaning, then? If it's not about your love of setting fire?"
"That's kind of personal."
She raises a brow.
"I'm not sure it's any of your business, Officer."
"No?"
"No." I slide my arm around her waist. "But it can't hurt to explain the story."
Her hand covers mine. She looks up at me, considering whether to stay in character or break. Nods go on.
I'm not sure what that means for the role play, but this is something I want to tell her. Something I can tell her. "It sounded badass when I was a teenager. Like the kind of beautiful self-destruction that sounds good in a song. I thought about burning my life to ashes. Becoming something better. And I thought about watching something ugly set fire to everything that mattered and coming out better for it."
"Something specific?"
"My parents. Myself. My friends. I didn't like myself then. I didn't hate myself yet, but—"
"You hate yourself?"
"Not exactly."
Her fingers curl into my arm. "Something close?"
I swallow hard. "Maybe. I'm trying to get past it. To figure it out. It's complicated."
"From the ashes we rise." She traces the lines again. "It's about burning down what you don't want? Coming out better?"
I nod. "And about surviving."
"Hopeful."
"Or self-destructive."
"Or both." Her eyes meet mine. "Ollie—"
"Angel, we're supposed to—"
"Next time." She slips her arm around my neck. "Right now, I want me and you. Right there." She motions to the couch.
"You don't get to issue orders in this—"
"Take off your pants." She presses her lips to mine. Kisses me hard and fast. "Now."
Fuck, I like her bossy. Roleplay or not. And I want to feel her body against mine.
To make love to her.
Be one with her.
All that cheesy shit.
"You have a condom?" I ask.
She nods. Pulls something from the TV stand. "No pockets."
Fuck, she's a genius.
