You're It

by Cleo White

She’s a tornado. I should be hunkering down in my basement, but instead I’m driving right into it yelling, Take me!

Was I a hostile dictator in a past life or something? Because the amount of bullshit raining down on me is starting to feel really personal.

This isn’t accidental, or instinctive, or a goddamn handshake. This is me, a man, putting my hands on her, a woman I want with everything I am.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like this. Only you. Last night, the thought of you with someone else”—my hold on her waist tightens—“wrecked me, baby. If you don’t feel the same, tell me to leave you alone. Tell me now, because the things I want to do to you aren’t decent, and once we start…” Once we start, I won’t be able to stop.

I might be playing the gentleman now, but if you let me between those thighs, I won’t tolerate teasing.”

Because I freaking know. I am going to marry that big, grumpy nerd and have his oversized, grumpy, nerdy babies (sorry vagina), and that’s that.

“No. No, Savvy. You are my safe space. You are my home—you are my fucking partner.”

“You’re the sweetest grump in the world, Darwin Wilder, and I love you.”