Page 56 of You Owe Me

“I’m a free spirit.”

“You’re a menace.”

She lifts a hand like she’s taking an oath. “A sexy, misunderstood menace.”

I press the latest IOU to her forehead. “You owe me for making me use my last marker. That was my limited-edition matte black fine point.”

“Not my fault your handwriting gets unholy when you’re turned on.”

I narrow my eyes. “Keep talking, and I’ll double it.”

She stretches out like she’s daring me to.

Arms over her head, toes pointed, every inch of her a challenge I have no intention of refusing. The IOU slips from between her teeth and flutters to the table. She doesn’t even flinch.

Instead, she tilts her head, all smug confidence and exposed skin. “Double it, coward.”

I move slowly on purpose. Sliding my hand up her thigh, over the warm curve of her hip, fingers hooking just under the waistband of her underwear. I don’t pull—yet. I just rest there. Teasing. Threatening.

“Say that again,” I murmur, tracing lazy circles over her skin.

“Coward,” she whispers, smug as hell.

So I yank.

Hard enough to make her gasp, not hard enough to tear. Yet.

Her eyes flare wide, mouth open like she’s about to say something smart—and I shut her up with my mouth.

It’s not gentle. It never is with us. It’s heat, friction, and teeth. She tastes like sin and satisfaction. Like she knows she’s already won, even while I’ve got her pinned under my weight.

Her hands tangle in my shirt, yanking it over my head with zero grace.

She grabs one from the table and sticks it to my chest.

“Penalty,” she mutters, breathless. “For thinking you were in charge.”

“Oh, baby.” I catch both her wrists and pin them above her head with one hand, my body pressing her into the cushions. “You really want to test me tonight?”

“Depends,” she pants. “You gonna punish me or make me beg?”

I lean in until my lips brush hers, then lower—jaw, throat, the soft swell of her chest. “Both.”

I take my time.

I let her squirm.

My mouth drags over her skin like I’m branding her with every kiss, every bite. She arches, breath hitching when I nip just below her ribs, then I soothe the sting with my tongue.

“You’re stalling,” she breathes.

“No,” I murmur, lips against her navel. “I’m savoring.”

Her hands twist in the throw pillow behind her head. Her back lifts, legs shifting like she’s trying to find something to brace against.

“You’re relentless,” she breathes.

“And you love it.”

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