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“Tonight, we are on the same side, huntress. I’m going to enjoy exploring every part of your body. I know we should sleep, but if these are to be my last hours, I can’t imagine a better way to spend my time.”
I suspect we’ve been on the same side more than just tonight, but I don’t say that.
“Fuck me, killer. Make me forget every man before you, and spoil me for any man after.”
When I say the word after, he growls possessively like he can’t stand the thought of anyone after him.
I grin—that’s up to him. Things won’t change as much as Langston might like. Sex doesn’t change much. We are still two broken people, hurt by the world, who, in return, have hurt each other to prevent ourselves from suffering further pain. We are still too controlling, too temperamental. If we tried to take a run at a real relationship, we’d spend the whole time fighting and bickering. Neither of us would survive, but we can survive one night of hot sex.
He stands with me in his arms.
“Langston!” I squeal. “Put me down; you don’t want to hurt your arm.”
He tilts his head, and then he buries his head against my neck. “I’d rather lose my arm than not fuck you properly. Don’t worry about my arm; all I feel is you.”
He starts walking, holding me as if he has the strength of an ox, not like a man who has had his shoulder dislocated, was drugged, and then swam miles in open water while having his arms handcuffed together.
“And I want to fuck you in a proper bed for the first time. Then I plan on having you on every surface in this house,” he growls.
He carries me effortlessly as his lips hungrily find mine. He doesn’t flick the lights on as we enter the bedroom, which disappoints me. I need to see all of him when he fucks me.
“You have to stop pouting like that, huntress.”
He winks at me as he lays me down on the bed. The room is pretty dark, so I can barely make out his shadow until a spark flickers. There’s another fireplace in the bedroom, and now that he’s started it, the room simmers with a romantic glow.
He moves around the room, lighting some candles on the nightstands to light the room enough where I can make Langston out clearly, but not so much that it ruins the effect. When he’s finished, he walks back over to the bed and stands at the foot of the bed.
“You’re going to have to trust me, huntress.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then, I’ll have to show you that you can.”
He starts on the buttons of his flannel shirt, unbuttoning them slowly.
“My sexy lumberjack,” I tease as I watch him strip at the foot of the bed.
He looks at me seriously, stone-faced. The tone shifts between us from playful to pensive.
He finishes the last button, removes his shirt and drops it on the floor. I’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times, we’ve lived together shirtless, but there’s something different about seeing him this way and knowing what’s going to come next.
I assume he’s going to stop there and then work on undressing me, but he doesn’t stop. He unbuttons his khaki pants and pushes them down his body, until he’s standing naked in front of me.
My eyes immediately memorize everything about him. Every hard line, sharp edge, and roughness about his body. Every scar, mark, and bruise. My favorite part is the V that starts at his hip bones and guides my eyes to his long, thick, and veiny cock.
As soon as I see him standing naked before me while I’m still fully clothed, all my doubts vanish. My mouth waters, my eyes dilate, and my body tingles with anticipation.
He smiles softly at my reaction, knowing that such a small action gained a tiny bit of my trust. He didn’t give me control, but he made himself vulnerable, which is a good start.
I tingle with anticipation and start unbuttoning my own shirt. He looks at me uncomfortably, holding back, but he lets me unbutton my own shirt. I need some control now in order to give up a little later, so he lets me have this moment.
The shirt falls open, and my bare breasts stare up at him. The bruise around my ribs has turned yellow and green and is barely visible beneath the glow of the fireplace, thank god.
His eyes grow, and his body tenses as he stares down at me. His hands are twitching to touch me, but he’s letting me control this moment. I don’t know how this is going to work between us—both battling to drive the sexual experience in the way we want.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my sweatpants and begin to move them down over my hips as I lay in front of Langston.
He bites his lips and fists his hands, rooting his feet into the ground to let me finish. But as I struggle to get the pants off my feet, he steps in.
