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New resolution—always be in a position to feel her pulse, because that beautiful fucker never lies.
Unlike her.
“Is that why you’re giving me time out? Because I’m different?”
“I told you, I can be nice.”
She snorts. “You should really stop calling your down version nice when it’s merely a calm phase.”
“Downversion?”
“You have those moments where you’re slightly amicable, but they’re often drowned out by your devil side.”
“Because you provoke it.”
“So it’s my fault that your nature is devilish.”
“No. But you can bring out my nice side if you choose to. It’d take effort since it doesn’t come naturally to me, but it can be done.”
“And how do I do that?”
“You don’t have to try sometimes. Like right now. Just having you this docile in my arms is enough.”
Her lips part, which is either an indication of surprise or being touched, or both. Hopefully, it’s both.
I like getting under her skin. It’s as close as I can get to seeing inside her without having her blood decorate my carpet.
She clears her throat. “Can I ask you something?”
“You already did.”
She rolls her eyes. “Can I ask another question?”
“You don’t have to ask for permission to ask me anything.”
Her throat works up and down with a swallow and I can barely resist the need to wrap my fingers around her neck.
This is bad.
I don’t usually like strangling outside of sex. But maybe the nudity status of our bodies is what’s triggering this.
Or I choose to believe that.
“Earlier, if I’d said no and asked you to stop, would you have stopped?”
“Why are you asking a hypothetical question when everything is said and done?”
“Because.”
“Bullshit. You feel guilty that you wanted me and you’re trying to convince yourself that you couldn’t have stopped this even if you’d tried.”
“Could I have stopped it?” she whispers.
“Maybe or maybe not.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’ll get.”
