Page 91 of Haunted Spurs

His voice drops in volume. It becomes sweeter, softer, and slips right through the cracks in my armor.

I flinch.

That's exactly it. I am terrified he is. I'm afraid that none of this is real, that it's all just one massive, cruel illusion. That Ron Willers is really just another dickhead with a nice smile, ready to destroy me the second I trust him.

"Because, spoiler alert... I'm not," he continues in a hot whisper against my ear, reading my mind. "I'm just a normal guy. A normal guy who is completely obsessed with you."

I feel his chest rise in a deep breath against me.

"And... I don't think you'll ever be able to change the fact that I like doing it in the dark, or with soft lighting, or that I fucking love holding you tight in missionary. That's just me. But..." He pauses, brushing his nose against my jawline. "I'm willing to give you anything, Selly. I'm willing to try any kink you want. But you will definitely never be able to change my feelings."

I swallow hard.

I try to find the strength to move. I have to pull away. I have to detach myself from him, turn on my heel, and run. I summon all my cynical independence.

But when my muscles try to respond, I realize, with paralyzing shock, that I am already clinging to him.

My hands are raised. My fingers are curled into fists.

How long have I been gripping the fabric of his shirt?

I slowly loosen my grip. My fingers open, releasing the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and I let them slide down, trying to regain some semblance of emotional detachment.

"Actually..." I start, clearing my throat and lifting my chin to look at him haughtily. "You aren't half-bad for inspiration."

Liar.

He's perfect. I've been writing non-stop.

The corner of his mouth quirks to the side. His eyes soften, going clear and hopeful. That damn loyal puppy-dog expression reappears on his face.

God.

"And anyway," I add hastily, trying to stem the effect that look has on my heart rate, "it's not bad having a pastime in here."

His smile widens. Instead of backing away, offended at being downgraded to a "pastime," he does the exact opposite. He steps even closer, looking pleased. He completely invades my personal space, dipping his face until his mouth brushes the corner of mine.

The contact is incredibly light. A ghost of a kiss that makes my knees tremble.

"What else, Selly?" he whispers against my skin. "Keep going. You're inflating my ego to dangerous levels."

I plant my hands on his chest and push him away lightly, rolling my eyes.

He is irritating. But that's fine. I need to focus on that. As long as he irritates me, there's no danger of him getting too far into my head. I can handle this.

"I might consider the idea of..." I pause, searching for the right words, the most clinical ones possible to mask the fire burning inside me. "Being some sort of... fuck buddies."

Ron's eyes go wide for a fraction of a second. Then, he throws his head back and bursts out laughing.

Yeah. It's pretty irritating. I can do this.

"We aren't in college anymore, Dusk."

"Why, did you have a fuck buddy in college?"

For some absurd, irrational, and pathetic reason, just picturing a young Ron Willers sneaking into a cheerleader's bed bothers me. My stomach knots up.

He stops laughing. The shadow of amusement gives way to a quiet seriousness.