Page 89 of Haunted Spurs

"W-what?" I stammer, turning halfway around.

Ron is a breath away from me. He rests one hand lazily on the piano lid, trapping me in his space.

"It's my question of the day," he whispers.

I cross my arms over my chest, feeling a shiver run down my spine. "Yeah, but... why are you asking me that?"

He tilts his head just a fraction. His gaze burns right through me, sliding down my dress before tracking back up. "Because I need a simple question to distract me, Selene. To keep me from thinking about how much I want to bend you over this piano and take you right here, right now."

Please do it.

My muscles tremble.

"Blue," I whisper, my voice so low I have to force it out. "Yours?"

Ron slowly licks his lower lip. The gesture lights a fire straight in my stomach. I want to close the distance. I want to abandon myself against that broad, solid chest and stop thinking, but all of this—his undivided attention, the sweetness mixed with this devouring lust—only keeps confusing me, dismantling every fucking certainty I have.

"I think I have a few," he answers. His gaze lingers on my dark dress, trailing down the curve of my hip. "I like black. It's so dark and powerful."

He lifts a hand, with torturous slowness, and his hot, rough fingers brush a strand of hair from my face, tucking it carefully behind my ear. His knuckle grazes my cheek. "I also like white. It's a perfect contrast."

Then, his eyes drop. They lock onto my mouth, like he wants to devour my lips right then and there.

"I like red," he murmurs, his breathing growing shallow. "So intense."

Slowly, his gaze drags back up, locking onto my eyes, holding me prisoner in a grip I have absolutely no intention of escaping. "And brown. Deep."

I swallow. And the sound seems deafening.

"Why are you doing this?" The question slips past my lips before my cynical brain can censor it.

Ron tilts his head just a fraction. His gaze doesn't waver. "Why are you avoiding me?"

"You already asked your question today. Now it's my turn."

He doesn't answer right away. The tip of his tongue darts out, slowly wetting his lower lip. I have no idea if it's an intentional move or just a conditioned reflex. I just know it's driving me insane. I just know it brings back the memory of... just how well he knows how to use that tongue.

A lopsided smirk curls his mouth. "So you're starting to like this game."

"Ron." It's a warning, but it sounds almost like a whine.

"My question can also be the answer, Selly," he murmurs, leaning a little closer over me.

"D-don't call me that," I snap, panicking.

My eyes dart around, scanning the room frantically, sweeping over the group near the couches. Like anyone hearing that pet name would instantly know. Like Ron just shouted that we had sex.

He notices. He smirks, the dimple carving into his cheek, and right now I really, really want to kick Ron Willers' ass.

"Why not?" he whispers, with a fake innocence that makes my blood boil. "I thought you liked it."

I want to kill him. But the devastating truth is that I also want to drown softly in him.

More. Tequila.

I am in desperate, urgent need of more tequila. My eyes dart past his arm, frantically searching for the bottle on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

But Ron doesn't let me. He lifts his hand and grabs my chin with two fingers. With a gentle push, he turns my face, forcing me to bring my eyes back to his clear blue depths.