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Oh. This sinful man.
Turning onto my side, so we’re face-to-face, I brush my fingertips down the center of his pecs, across the bumps of his abs to the edge of his pants, where I tease a finger there just above the waistband. He groans a heady, please-don’t-do-this-to-me kinda sound. I love it.
“No,” comes out as more of a croak.
I bite back a pleased smile. “Why?”
“Because I’m gonna wanna fuck you. And when that part of me comes alive, he can’t be trusted.”
“What part?”
“The deviant.”
“You’re not a deviant,” I argue on his behalf.
Head shaking as if I know nothing, Gunz cackles dark and dangerous, without humor. “Wrong. ’Cause if you knew what I really wanted to do to you, you’d run away screaming.”
My stomach swoops. “Tell me,” I whisper in anticipation.
More of that firm-head shaky shit. “There’s no fucking way that’ll ever happen.”
Fine.
I sigh far more dramatically than I should. Sure, I don’t want sex. Truthfully, I don’t even know what I want. But this right here works for me. He works for me. All the yucky stuff doesn’t exist when we’re in our bubble, just the two of us.
Respecting his wishes as he does mine, I relent, not because I don’t wanna help him complete, but because I respect him. My fingers draw upward, my palm flattening to his sternum, right above his heart and the old-school tattoos inked there. Gunz rests a hand of his own upon mine, holding us in place. His skin’s hot. His pulse a reckless thud against my fingertips.
Eyes boring into mine, he mutters, “That’s better.”
“It is,” I agree, enjoying this closeness far too much. “Now, please tell me more about this deviant of yours.”
Again, with the head shakes. “Lord have fuckin’ mercy, woman. No.” The smallest of smirks awaken as if he’s amused by me but doesn’t want it to show.
What can I say? I’m inquisitive by nature. Have been my entire life. Once I find something I like, I need to know all about it. Humans, hobbies, your mama’s award-winning spinach dip… makes no difference. Fascination is fascination, and this creature is the most fascinating person I’ve come across.
“Please.” I’m polite, not pushy.
Throwing his head back into the cushions, Gunz bites out a frustrated, “Christ.”
“How are we gonna get to know each other if you don’t talk to me?” The same goes in reverse. I don’t expect this to be one-sided.
“I talk to you,” is his simple reply.
Tugging on the tip of his beard so he’ll look at me, I offer an olive branch whenever he’s ready. “I’ll make you a deal. Whenever you wanna talk about this deviant, I’ll tell you about what happened to me.” All the parts. Even the worst of them… the ones I compartmentalize, and those are the scariest of them all.
Eyes on mine, Gunz huffs the cutest, frustrated laugh. “Love.” He ends with a you’re-driving-a-hard-bargain groan.
I smirk. “Yes?”
“That’s not fair.”
Sure it is.
“How’s it not? Trading personal information for more personal information.”
“Do you wanna talk about what happened?” he tests, as if he’s hoping I say no and that’ll be the end of this discussion. It’s not. I’m all in. If he wants to share, I’m gonna share. That’s that. Pain happens. Talking about said pain is part of life. You wade through it like mud in a swamp, where alligators lurk, and mosquitoes the size of small dogs suck blood from your soul. It might be scary, with a healthy dash of agony. But… eventually, the sun comes out, and there you stand, with its warm rays beating down on your dirty, insect-bitten face, smiling because you’re still alive.
In response to his question, I’m as honest as I always am. “With you. I would…Ifyou want to know.”
