Page 96 of Danger

She traces the word backwards lightly.

My jaw tightens, I'm doing my best trying to keep contained. “He always told us that when you say it, mean it. Not easy, not soft… but forever. Even if the world doesn’t understand it.”

I can tell by her expression she knows how hard it was for me to say any of that. To open that door at all.

“I honestly love that. What other tattoos do you have?” She asks, her voice quieter now, softer but curious.

“You don’t wanna know,” I whisper, eyes dropping to her mouth.

“What does that mean?” She teases. “Do you have one you regret on your butt or something?”

I grin, running my tongue across my teeth. “No. Not my ass.”

“Oh,” she says, but I can tell she’s calculating all the places that could be. “And you’re sure you’re still all the bad things they say? Because those all seem like really sweet sentimental tattoos.”

“Probably. One isn’t though.”

She shakes her head. “You’ll have to show me because I think you might secretly be really sweet and caring.”

“Oh, yeah? Is that what you think?”

She traces her fingertip along my abs, then over the button on my jeans. “I think you’re sweet. And strong. And protective. You do nice things when no one’s looking.”

“Prove it,” I whisper in her ear.

She looks up, all blue and wide. “I don’t have to. I believe it.”

I take her jaw in my hand, gentle but firm. “You want to know what I think?”

She nods, not speaking.

I lean in so close our lips almost touch. “I think you’re beautiful. Smart. Good with my son.”

She’s smiling now, but her breath’s gone shaky. “Keep going.”

“No.”

She opens her legs, just a little more, and pulls me in by the belt loop. Her knees on either side of my hips, heat bleeding through the denim.

She pouts. “Why not?”

“I’m done talking.”

I don't hesitate. I kiss her slow enough to make her feel it, deep enough to make sure she remembers it. She tastes like sugar and salt and chocolate. Her hands fist in my shirt, nails biting, and when she moans it’s the only sound I ever want to hear again.

We don’t stop. Not even when the wind howls and the radio cuts out for static. Not until there’s nothing left to say, and even less to hide. Just her and me, in the heat and the dark, sugar sticking to our mouths, the whole house smelling like home.

Her skirt is pushed up just enough to make me weak—clinging to her curves like they were made by the devil himself. My hands grip her thighs, spreading them wider, my thumbs digging into the soft, trembling flesh of her ass as I crush my mouth against hers.

Her fingers fumble with my belt, nails scraping my stomach as she works open the button of my jeans. I catch her wrist before she can go any farther.

For a second, I just hold it. My thumb brushes over the inside of her pulse, feeling how fast it's racing—wondering if mine is any steadier. Then I lift her hand to my mouth and press a kiss against her wrist.

Not because I'm stopping it this time.

Because I need one damn second to remember what this means.

To remember it's her.