Page 59 of Touch Her and Die
“What does happiness feel like, Parks?” I said against his lips.
His tongue darted out and tasted me before he answered.
“This. Being with you. Being complete. Knowing that no matter where this fucked up life takes us, you’re always there.”
The feel of his muscular arms under my hands under the tux jacket stirred things inside me.
“Okay. Well, my happiness is being squished by this fucking tux. Take it off.”
He chuckled.
“Make me,” he teased.
He might have been joking, but I was fucking serious. Five seconds of happiness and then the memory of how it all could have been torn away. I wanted to cut this thing to shreds. I could macrame the fucking strips later and gift it to the jilted bitch.
I grabbed at the jacket and pushed it off his shoulders.
“You take this fucking thing off. I am erasing the memory of that almost wedding from your mind.”
He didn’t say anything, just sat there as I pushed one arm from the coat and the next. I wiggled on his lap, my own ruined white dress riding higher as I shifted and something else beneath his pants seemed to grow and rise to a new occasion.
I reached for a small blade strapped to my thigh and no longer hidden.
“I hate this shirt.” I said and sliced it. “And what the fuck? A cumber bun? That is so, like, 1990.” I cut into the fabric and ripped the fabric away. His shirt fell apart like paper and I yanked the tails of the thing free of his pants. I had him stripped from the torso up and only now did I stop and admire my work.
“No one but me is allowed to touch you. Ever.”
He grabbed the knife from my hand, and I was fairly certain he didn’t cut himself, but we were still pretty caked in blood.
“Fine. As long as no one ever touches you ever again, except me.”
He slit my dress in one long tear.
“Let’s shower. New clothing will be sent up shortly.”
The clank of the knife falling to the floor filled the quiet of the room as he grabbed my thighs and lifted me. The dress practically fell of its own accord, it was useless as a dress. Now the floor looked like a graveyard of fabric.
“Fuck, princess. The things you do to me. Seeing you today? Well, thank you. Also, Emilee isn’t the only one handy with an ax. I think I have a new fantasy.”
He closed the distance between us and kissed me. His lips were demanding, but his pace wasn’t like all the other times. All the times I’d pissed him off, and all the times I’d challenged him.
“I didn’t follow the rules today. You aren’t mad?”
He smiled and kissed me once again, breaking to continue our conversation.
“I should be fucking pissed off, but I can’t be. You fixed the problem. Not conventionally, but it’s mostly fixed, with just one more issue to take care of.”
One more thing. The idea bounced around my head. One more and then?
“Do we get a happily ever after?”
He held me and leaned into the shower. I waited to feel the cold splash of any reality. Was I really getting a happily ever anything?
The water pelted against the wall of the shower to fill the quiet before he spoke.
“I don’t know what happy ever after looks like, really. But I think we get something. We get whatever we want,” Parks said.
He kissed down my neck and the familiar desire and need coursed through me. The familiar electricity of my body pulsing alive at the simple touch of him.
