Page 80 of Cold Mercy

She lowers the weapon, glancing back at me with a sharp, teasing glint in her eyes. “Funny,” she says, her voice dropping. “Usually I'm pretty good at both dominating and riding.”

My entire body goes rigid. She says it so casually, like she isn’t detonating a bomb right in my face. The image hits me instantly; her riding me, dominating me, taking control while I lose my fucking mind, and it’s so vivid I nearly groan out loud. She’s killing me. She is absolutely, methodically taking me apart, and she doesn't even know the half of it. I want to grab her hips, spin her around, and show her exactly what kind of riding I’m picturing, but I force myself to stay still, my hands curling into fists at my sides to keep from reaching for her. She is dangerous. Lethal. And I am completely obsessed.

“Is that right?” I drawl, stepping closer until my voice is a low rumble near her ear.

“Then maybe you just haven't met the right thing to ride yet,” I let the silence stretch, thick and charged, before adding, “Let's fix your grip first. May I?”

She hesitates for a split second, then nods. I step into her space, my chest pressing lightly against her back. I reach around her, my hands covering hers on the grip of the gun. Her skin is warm, her fingers small and delicate beneath my own, and the contrast makes my breath catch.

“Relax your shoulders,” I instruct, my voice rougher than I intended.

She takes a breath, leaning back into me just slightly, and we fire. The shot is perfect, dead center.

“That's my girl,” I murmur against her hair, the praise slipping out before I can check myself.

The words hang in the air between us, heavy and possessive. I should regret them. I should pull back and make a joke to diffuse the tension. But I don't. Because it felt… right. As if saying it was the only logical conclusion to the way I feel about her.

Fuck. She is my girl. Mine to teach, mine to protect, mine to hold. Mine.

She nudges me back with her shoulder, a teasing glint in her eye. “Easy there, pretty boy. I'm not 'your girl.'”

I lean in, my voice low and confident. “Not yet, but give it time.”

For a long moment, she just looks at me, her expression unreadable but intense, searching my face for something I’m not sure she’s ready to find. Then she blinks, shaking her head as if to clear it, and turns her focus back to the target, though I notice her grip on the gun is tighter than before.

We trade off for another twenty minutes, falling into an easy rhythm. She’s getting better with every shot, her confidence growing, and I can’t take my eyes off her.

She sets the gun down and turns to me, shaking her head.

“Okay, that's enough,” she declares. “I think I've hit my limit on watching you flex and show off for one day.”

I grin, reloading my magazine. “Show off? Princess, I haven't even started yet.”

She rolls her eyes, fighting a smile, and grabs her bag. “You're impossible.”

She heads for the exit, and I follow her out into the cool afternoon air. She stops on the sidewalk, turning to face me with a look that's almost shy.

“So...” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That was...a surprisingly nice, unexpected meeting.”

I cup a hand to my ear, leaning in with a smirk. “I'm sorry? Can you repeat that? I think the gunfire messed with my hearing.”

“Never mind,” she laughs, shaking her head. She shoves her hands into her pockets and looks down at her shoes. “See you around, Thomas.”

She turns and starts walking away, her steps light. I watch her go, and a sudden, desperate panic seizes my chest. I don't want to let her go. I want to share every minute of this day with her. I want to be the reason she smiles like that again.

“Sophia!” I call out, my voice louder than I intended.

She spins around instantly, her eyes bright and expectant. I jog to catch up to her, stopping just a foot away.

“Uh...” I rub the back of my neck, suddenly nervous. “Do you...maybe have a little more time today? For a walk with your favorite jerk?”

Jesus Christ. I sound like a teenager asking for a prom date. Where is the man who lies for a living? Gone. Evaporated. Replaced by this fumbling idiot who is terrified, genuinely terrified that she might say no. Because if she walks away now, I don't know how I'm going to get through the rest of the day without her.

She bites her lip, trying to suppress a grin. “Well...since you asked so nicely.”

Fuck yes.

The moment she agrees, I don't give her a chance to change her mind. I reach out, my hands firm on her shoulders, and gently guide her to the inside of the sidewalk, placing my body between her and the street. She just smiles up at me, a soft, private thing, and we fall into step.