Page 163 of House of Cards

Until my hand slides to her throat. Until my fingers brush her jaw, the sensitive skin beneath her ear. My thumb, the opposite corner of her mouth.

It’s like I cut the rope she was hanging from.

She makes a last furtive, soft little sound that might have been a protest…and surrenders.

Wholly.

So fucking beautifully.

Instead of keeping her lips tightly closed, she parts them, inviting me inside.

My tongue fills her warm, sweet mouth, and the world dissolves into pure white.

White, but not harsh, like the blinding glare when I was caving in Dylan’s skull with my fists.

Soft, like sea foam and cotton-candy clouds.

Soft as her mouth, her lips, her skin.

What I’m feeling isn’t lust anymore. It’s an obsession, not to own her, but to keep her safe. To have herwantme keeping her safe.

And I need her to know she can trust me to provide that safety. That I can become the person she turns to when she needs someone.

For the first time in my life, I want to do better.

Be better.

Not for my sake.

But hers.

Her pulse thrums under one knuckle—fast, frantic.

She pushes into me. Her hand goes to my hair, delving deep before tightening. Tightening. There’s a dull ache, stinging pressure, and I groan into the sensation as my fingers grip harder over her throat.

Zoey gives my hair a sharp tug, and I hiss against her mouth, pulled out of the moment by the flash of pain. She leans back, eyes wide with impish delight.

For a foolish moment, I imagine she’s someone else. That I’m someone else. Just a man and a woman. Maybe I met her at a coffee shop or in the park. We attend dinner parties together instead of ransom drops.

I deserve her. And she wants me.

Therealme…cloven hooves and all.

A siren starts up somewhere nearby, making her flinch, snapping us both back to reality.

My face hardens, mouth thinning.

The fuck was I thinking? I’m not that man, and she’s most definitely not that woman.

But the ache in my chest tells me I wish we were. That I want something I can’t take by force, or buy with money. I want her to look at me the way she might have in that other life.

Without fear. Without hate.

With something I don’t deserve.

Love.

Her eyes dart to the dashboard, and mine follow.

---