Page 267 of Immune

I keep her there through it, softer now, easing her down with my voice. “There you go. Breathe. Good girl. I’ve got you.”

When she finally opens her eyes, they’re dazed and furious. “You look so smug right now.”

“I am very smug,” I confirm.

“I hate you.”

“Nah, you don’t.”

“No,” she says, her voice turning rough. “I don’t.”

And that truth lands between us, warm and dangerous.

I crawl back up her body, kissing her stomach, her breasts, her throat, her mouth. She tastes herself on me and makes a sound low in her chest. My trousers are gone after that. I don’t even know how we manage it.

Maybe teamwork.

Possibly violence.

When I finally get her under me, she pushes at my chest immediately. “Not like this.”

I stop. “Tell me.”

Her cheeks flush, but her voice stays steady when she says, “I want to move. I want to see you. I want to be able to get up if my brain gets all stupid.”

I’m rolling onto my back so fast I get dizzy with it. Dakota only stares, so I spread my hands and declare, “Your throne, Tiny Terror.”

Her laugh comes out shocked and breathless. “You’re calling yourself furniture now?”

“For you?” I say. “Absolutely. High-quality furniture built from the Valleys. A little damaged, but made with excellent support.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she pants, a sparkle in those pale eyes.

“Yet, you’re climbing on anyway.”

She does.

She takes me into her hand again and strokes me once, twice, watching my face the whole time like she’s memorizing every crack in my control.

I catch her wrist gently before breathlessly saying, “Protection.”

Her eyes come up to mine and, for one horrible second, I think I might have snapped the thread between us. But then she nods and mutters, “Yeah. Protection.”

I reach for the packet on the bedside with mostly steady hands, and Dakota watches the whole time.

“Very smooth,” she says.

“I’m actually doing my very best under hostile conditions,” I inform her.

“I’m hostile conditions?”

“Tiny Terror,” I start, heart hammering and knot pulsing. “You’re several hostile conditions dressed in tactical gear.”

That gets me a tiny, breathless smile.

Once I’m covered, she takes me in her hand again and guides me to her entrance. Then she pauses, her eyes meeting mine, before she demands, “Say something stupid.”

I swallow a laugh and something that is embarrassingly close to a sob. “Your hair is in my mouth.”