"Rome isn't going to bury you in concrete."
"You didn't see his face outside the firehouse that day."
She waves a hand, dismissing Rome and his face and whatever he'd said with a single gesture, and I realize I need to say something I should have said a long time ago.
"There is nothing wrong with you in all of this."
She has a lot to say, but I keep going because I need her to hear it before she makes it a joke.
"Lily. Listen to me. There isn't a single thing wrong with you. There never was." I hold her gaze, willing her to understand. "I'm the one who's wrong for you. It's not because you're twenty-two, it's because I'm twenty-nine. It's not because you're leaving, but because I'm staying. The problem is not you being his sister. It's me being his friend."
The teasing drops away from her and what's underneath is raw and young in a way she usually hides well. For a second I see the girl who grew up on dig sites with parents who forgot to call, the one who wanted a kitchen table more than a plane ticket.
Then the moment passes and Lily comes back. The composure slides into place, chin lifting, spark returning to her eyes.
“You done?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Because that was the most long-winded, self-pitying load of bullshit I've ever heard, and I've listened to Rome give speeches about grout."
"Trouble, you're not listening."
"Oh, I'm listening," she counters. "I'm just not agreeing. There's a difference, and you of all people should know it since you've been not agreeing with me for a year."
This impossible woman who won't let me martyr myself in peace, who gives herself to me so freely that I feel like taking it all and never letting it go. I need to take this back on safer ground, where feelings are far away, and I keep some sort of distance.
"Instead of running that mouth," I say as I move her underneath me, "you should be fucking grateful I can keep my hands to myself when I'm this close to your cunt."
I watch the flush start at her chest and climb up her throat. She stretches, her back arching off the mattress in a way that's absolutely sinful. I stop breathing as her legs fall open, all of it aimed at me.
"Who says you need to?"
I should have more self-control. I just had her a second time less than an hour ago. I should be spent, thinking responsibly about the morning.
Instead I'm hard again, and she knows it, and she's watching me with her legs open like she knows exactly what she's done and is waiting to see what I'll do about it.
I move over her slowly, one hand beside her head, the other on her ribs. I kiss her mouth first because I always want to kiss her mouth first and I'm done pretending otherwise.
I feel her pulse under my lips, fast and hard, and I stay there for a moment just feeling it.
Then I go lower. Her collarbone, where the mark is already darkening. I put my mouth on it again because I need the reminder to be darker.
She makes a sound, half gasp and half sigh, and I take my time with her breasts. Longer than needed, because she said they were too small and I have a point to make. I cup one, take her nipple into my mouth, and suck until she arches into me and her fingers tighten in my hair. When I pull back and blow cool air across the wet skin, she swears at me, and I smile against her.
I press my lips to the spot below her navel, and she knows where I'm going. Her fingers are in my hair, trying to push me lower, and I resist gently.
"Ask me."
My mouth is against her hip bone. I can smell her, warm and salt and sweet, and my cock is aching against the mattress, but I don't care because this is more important.
"You know what I want." Her voice is thinner than a minute ago. The brat is still there but losing her grip, the composure starting to slip.
"I do know." I kiss the inside of her thigh, watch her hips shift toward me. "I want to hear you say it anyway."
"Callahan."
"Ask me, Lily."
