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I’ve just never been good with choices. Don’t appreciate them. Don’t care for them. Would rather not be presented with one.
“Bossy. I like it. But you know what I like more? Your posh little accent. Question. Does it sound the same when you say crude things?”
“Anyone ever tell you how fucking hot you feel when struggling for control? I could swallow you alive and leave no crumbs.”
“Stay fucking still unless you’re in the mood to take care of the boner you’re giving me.”
“Oh cool, you remember! Nice to officially meet you, Brandon. Or, hold on! I actually found you a perfect nickname. Lotus flower. You know, because you managed to bloom so beautifully while surrounded by the muddy swamp that is Landon. Isn’t that so fucking poetic?”
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” he mutters, his throat working beneath my fingers. “Your nightmare.” “I hate you.” “I don’t.” “You’re fucking crazy.” “About you,” I whisper against his lips and claim them with a guttural moan.
This was supposed to be a little game, but I don’t think I’m playing anymore. The worst part is that I feel like I’m already losing.
“Don’t run away from me again. If you do, I’ll flip the world upside down to find you. You’re mine now, baby.”
“Tell me something in Russian.” I cup his chin and stare deep into those eyes that have become my undoing as I say the words Grandpa said Russians take seriously and literally. “Ya nee ma goo bees tee byah zhit.”
“Absolutely, and, baby?” He kisses the top of my head and his next words nearly give me a heart attack. “Even if you hate yourself, I’ll love you for the both of us.”
