Kyran
Morana has a shrine of me in her bedroom. Morana tastes like peaches. Morana is still wearing a shirt I haven’t sold for three years—and she is wearing little else. Morana has bruises in the shape of my fingers on her body. Morana is seated next to me, at the kitchen table, in a hard chair. Morana kissed me.
Dazed, probably for the rest of my life, I watch Morana fill out anEver or Neversheet, which asks about things that you’re supposed to guess whether or not your partner has done.
So far, she’s decided that I’m a hardened criminal who steals and gets kicked out of establishments.
Even though.
You know.
I almost broke the bare-minimum promise I made to her about how I’d not be using thisplayful disregard for boundariesscheme as a means to get in her pants, yet she’s not even kicked me out of her house.
Conclusion?
Obsessed.
Like,reallyobsessed.
Probablymet my matchobsessed.
Settling my chin in my hand, I stare at her neck and swallow hard. I broke a blood vessel. I must’ve bit her harder than I thought. I’m such a…moron.
A horrible, no good, rotten idiot, that’s me.
But—a cuss erupts between my brows—she looksso goodwith my handiwork on her.
Fighting through the endless haze, I catch my thoughts with weathered lassos, reeling them in beneath a torrential downpour of insanity.
She likes me.
A lot.
Shekissedme.
She wants me.
She wants me with a desperation that I can relate to.
And now?
Now we’re playingcouple’s gamestogether, in the middle of the night.
Before the end of this, we’re going to know things about each other that could make or break the emotional and practical side of a relationship. Very obviously, we’ve got chemistry. For days. Weeks. Months and years andlifetimes, even.
I wish I trusted myself enough to touch her right now. I wish I knew whether or not she would hate me for daring to. I so badly want to run my thumb across the mark on her neck and revel in how it got there.
Every time I blink, I relive her body on mine, her perfect weight cushioning me beneath her as her mouth does horrible wonderful things.
She finishes the worksheet, and I ready myself for the fun distraction, but something else lights in her expression, and she says, “Oh.”
“Oh?” I echo as she stands, heads to the other side of the kitchen, and opens a cabinet.
This woman who thinks it’s possible for me to grow bored of her returns with a bottle of vitamin C tablets. Cheeks alluringly pink, she shakes two tablets out and offers them to me. “In case either of us is coming down with something.”
Blinking, I take the orange tablets, hold them, and stare as she downs two of her own.
Is she…
