Page 59 of The Sharpest Edges

“You’ll thank me when we ain’t gotta call up an exorcist after moving in.”

He pauses, only realizing what he said after he said it. She’s certain she might be holding her breath, but it’s too soon to think about any of that. Living together is something people do after they’ve been in a relationship longer than a hot minute and she and Dean are still brand new. His subconscious has clearly thought about it though, betraying him and letting it slip out at an opportune moment.

She can’t deny that she didn’t look at every one of those houses through a warped lens, picturing the two of them there together, living out their lives in the same space, happy and settled. Of course she did.

She saw the claw-foot tub in the farmhouse, big enough for two, and pictured them on a lazy Friday night soaking up the heat of the water and each other.

She imagined the get-togethers they might have on the massive deck in the craftsman. How they’d grill burgers and string up lights and drink beer while the sun goes down.

Thought of the dogs they might adopt to live with them at the farmhouse, and of all the space they could fill with a little garden to grow vegetables and catnip for Panda.

Yes, she’d spent quite a few moments entertaining those fantasies, but logic won out in the end, telling her not yet. Maybe someday, maybe soon, but she’s steps ahead of wherethey actually are. Then he goes and blurts out something like this and makes her rethink dismissing the idea. She doesn’t call him on it though, lets it slide past them until the moment to talk about it expires and other topics seem more appropriate.

She brushes a few soft strands of hair off his face. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you something that’s not haunted, doesn’t have a drunk landlord, and isn’t an animal graveyard. The right place is out there.”

He leans into her touch, rolling his head along the cushion to face her. “Hope so. Gonna steal some of your positive vibes.”

“I don’t mind sharing,” she says, leaning closer with every syllable.

When she kisses him it feels like the first time all over again. Her breath hitches and lips part, feeling his tongue tentatively slip inside with a sweeping caress. It’s only been a few days since they’d been together, but it feels like forever right now and all she wants is him. She has been wet all through a series of pointless house showings, aroused at the expectation of what they might do when they got back here.

He’s as ready as she is, one hand sliding up the back of her shirt and another reaching for the hem of her jeans, going for both options instead of making a choice.

Ava helps him out, lifting her shirt over her head in one smooth move and the instant her skin is bare he’s lowering his head to suckle at it, soft lips mouthing kisses down the side of her neck and into the dip of her collarbone, his tongue lashing out to lick the hollow he seems so fond of.

He nudges her backward, one strong arm curling around her waist to keep her decent slow until her back rests against the cushions. Her legs part automatically, encouraging him to rest between them.

Dean is hot to the touch, overexcited and worked up, a slight tremble in his fingers as he pulls down the cup of her bra, letting her breast spill over the edges. They’re both far too eager to bother unhooking it from behind just yet.

Her soothing hand runs down the back of his neck, while she arches herself up into his mouth that wraps warm around her nipple, his tongue swirling in slow circles. When she glances down, she finds him looking up at her, heat blazing in his eyes, lips firmly in their place. That naked desire clear across his face, so earnest and awed, is the hottest thing she’s ever seen.

She can’t hold his gaze for too long without feeling the burn of it, so she closes her eyes and kicks off her shoes before she can put any thought into the action. Her only goal is to get her pants off her legs before she combusts from raw need. He gets the hint when she shifts, reaching down to unbutton her jeans and push them down her hips, looking up from his spot between the valley of her breasts to give her a wicked smile.

There’s a thud somewhere in the corner of the room soon after, when he tosses her pants haphazardly. They lock eyes while the clink of his belt buckle echoes their intentions off the walls.

Ava’s on her back with her legs bent but closed, watching him with a sly smile as he sheds his cumbersome pants. A rush of arousal floods her at the sight of him, clad only in a sleeveless shirt and a pair of boxers that tent impressively.

There are so many clothes. Too many, and Dean abandons his task of getting naked in favor of leaning down to cover her again, pressing her into the sofa cushions, and capturing her lips in a searing kiss. He thrusts weakly between her legs, seeking her out when there are still too many barriers preventing what they both need.

She briefly considers pulling her panties to the side and tugging him out of his boxers, letting him push into her like that, with half their clothes still on rather than wait another minute.

The heels of her feet push his underwear down over his ass and then he does what she imagined only a second ago; pulls the fabric covering her an inch to the left, allowing the thick length of him to find her heat, one firm hand hiking her leg higher on his waist while he enters her.

Suddenly she freezes, her muscles tense and coil in a way that makes her flail, sucking in short gasps of air and shoving her hands flat against his chest.

A minute ago she was fine, more than fine, but now all she can see is another man above her. All she can feel is him pushing himself down on her, suffocating her with his weight, and clawing hard at her thighs until his raking nails make her bleed.

The remote control presses into her spine like it did that day, hard and bruising, triggering a memory that she thought she left behind.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop,” she begs, her voice small and far away like a wounded animal.

Dean springs back so quickly that the roughness of him pulling out of her stings and she curls in on herself, expecting the strike of a palm across her face that never comes.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” His fingers twitch on his thighs like he wants to reach for her or reach for his cock that bobs obscenely in the cool air, afraid to commit to either action.

“I’m sorry.” Those two words are an ingrained habit and it turns out that flicking them off isn’t as easy as she hoped.

Guilt weighs heavy on her for pushing him away andfrustration at herself forms right next to it. She’s angry, so damn angry that this is happening even after they’d already been together. She’d assumed each time going forward would only get easier, that she was past the most challenging parts.

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