Page 134 of Paint the Town, Dove
“I have a potential buyer for a twelve-point-two Manhattan condo, I’m pretty sure I have every right to –”
But their voices trickledoff into inaudible sounds behind me.
All I could see was Ryden kissing his guitar pick, lips pressing right into the emblem of a dove.
***
“Were you written by a woman?” I asked between breaths –ourbreaths – as he unhooked my bra from underneath my shirt.
“If that woman was you.”
My nipples hardened as his thumb grazed over my chest, slipping the lace material aside.
“I don’t –” I panted. “Wait –”
He stopped, green eyes like jade.
“You’re not…” I held his stare. “You’re not still drunk, are you?”
A laugh escaped his throat, hoarse and low. “Trust me, Dove,” he pushed off me, lowering his body, “I’ve never been more sober.”
His knees hit the bottom of the photobooth, fingers working the front button of my jeans. “This is your pace,” he whispered. “We’re not used to this side of each other.”
I bit my lip, tracking his motions like a fever dream.
“Tell me you don’t want me, tell me this was never how it was supposed to go. Tell me you want me to walk away,” he breathed. “Tell me this was all in my head, from the second I met you.”
“I…” I swallowed, “I can’t tell you that.”
He sighed, resigned for a moment. “Sometimes a person’s addiction is another person.”
I leaned forward, cupping his chin in my palm, and slipped my tongue back into his mouth.
Sometimes a person’s addiction is another person.
In this moment, we were just two people in the back of a club, getting high off each other’s intoxication.
And right now, my withdrawals weresickwith want.
I was fucking aching for him.
Slowly, he pulled off my jeans, spreading my legs apart – one stilettoed heel over his shoulder, the point digging into his muscular skin – the other propped up on his thigh.
He palmed my ankle, a wicked smile on his face as he pushed my heel down harder.
His throat bobbed as he saw the torn, red thong already discarded in anticipation.
“I’m going to be so honest with you right now, Scarlett,” he licked his lips, pleading eyes flicking to mine, “I’m never tasting another woman after you.”
***
“Woo-hoo, daydreamer,” Polly snapped her fingers, and suddenly we were at the airport.
What a fucking embarrassment I’ve become.
“Are you sick? You’re really red.” Zayla placed a mitted hand to my forehead.
“You’re not going to feel her temperature that way.” Polly took off her glove but I dodged her touch.
