Page 60 of Overkill

“If you want that, then tell me to kiss you.”

It was a dare. A challenge. A request. All of those things at once.

I was scared of kissing him, but also scared of not kissing him.

“Why? If you don’t want to, then don’t. I shouldn’t have to ask.” I was an absolute fucking menace. I didn’t want to ask for it, but I also wanted him to ask for consent. Then he asked for consent, and I was mad that he asked. Mad that he had the sanity to do so?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Is that the game we’re playing?” His lips ghosted over mine, and I nearly fainted. My knees almost buckled from beneath me. I wanted to yowl like a cat in heat.

I had no game. No suave, no cool. And here was a man who was all the things—tall, handsome, brilliant, kind, and with a drawl like molasses and a scent that made me feel drunk in the best possible way.

I didn’t stand a chance.

“Pick a safe word, then.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“You don’t want to ask. You want me to take.” He kissed my cheekbone, and that tiny touch made my core tingle with need. “I need to know when you don’t want it. I need you to be able to stop me.”

His tongue darted out, and I groaned as he licked a line to my ear then kissed the corner of my eye.

“Pick a safe word. Now.” His growl sent a shiver down my spine. I whimpered, because what were words? I had no idea what a word was anymore. My brain was mush.

“Pick a word,” he repeated. His lips on my ear were a breath from taking my earlobe into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck…”

“That’s a terrible safe word, honey. Pick a different one.”

I almost laughed. He was funny. Sexy and funny. Not a combo I thought would have turned me on, but here we were!

“I don’t…know what to do.”

“It’s really simple, baby.” His voice was rough and gravelly, like he held himself back so much that it ached. “Pick a word. Any fucking word. Do it quickly, because you are really, really pushing me to the edge.”

Did clits throb? I was sure mine was throbbing.

“I…uhm…tea?” Because that was what I’d been drinking, and I couldn’t think of anything else.

Words, right? What were words, anyway?

Never heard of ’em.

“Good enough.” He threw me over his shoulder, slapped me on the ass, and groaned. “Where’s your bedroom?”

Chapter 19

Gentle

Vedder

Her room was cute. Powder-pink wallpaper with stenciled rose buds and white furniture. Teddy bears and unicorn stuffies collected dust beside her academic certificates, trophies for spelling bee, robot summer camp, and debate club. Well-worn paperbacks of medieval romances stacked horizontally on floating shelves along the wall.

Her quilt was pink and gray, thick and heavy.

Posters of last decade’s biggest pop stars were on the walls, all peeling from at least one corner, and she had a laptop on her desk with a big monitor. It was the only thing that seemed to have been purchased this decade.