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There was something about his energy that read . . . safe.
“I’ve never laid a hand on a woman in my fucking life and I never will.” Her chest sank all the way down and fired back up, her fingers twitching around her smoothie cup. She started to say something, but no words came out. That telling reaction caused Burgess to dig his fingertips into his thigh hard enough to cause pain, his pulse pumping loudly in his ears. Name the dead man who hurt you.
“Growing up in my house, we had a rule. You have to clear the air before a meal. If you still have anger in your throat when the meal starts, you could choke.”
“Could you kiss me? One time. I’ll never ask again—” He went into the kiss like a bear being handed a pot of honey after a winter in hibernation.
“If you’re implying I don’t know how to make a woman wet, I’d be happy to disprove your theory, gorgeous. I only need one hand to drive this car.”
“You want to bring me around Boston on your adventures, good. Let’s go.” His face came closer, close enough to feel his warm breath painting her mouth. “You let me know if you want my bed to be one of them.”
“Just want to mention that I’m happy to give, not just receive. In fact, I fucking love giving, Tallulah.”
“I want to get attached, Tallulah,” he said on top of her mouth. “Nah, I’m already more than a little obsessed with you, aren’t I? You start babbling my name while I spoon-feed you orgasms, I will get attached. Happily. Just like I’ll happily knock out anyone else who tries. Be. Sure.”
“Oh yeah? Then why did I want to stab him in the throat?” I’m going to marry this girl someday.
“When you’re ready to call me your man, I’m going to spit on this hot little cunt and call it mine before I fuck it. Go ahead. Lie and tell me you don’t want that.”
“Fine. I’ll go. I’ll go. Just spit on me—”
