Raul heaves a weary sigh. "I suppose this is the point where we have a lengthy back and forth argument, where I say, 'Absolutely not,' and you say, 'Fuck you, I do what I want,' ad nauseum until you try to punch me, sprain your wrist, and I have to distract you with a kiss." I look up at him, mustering a half-hearted glare. "We can skip to the 'fuck you' part right now." There's a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he reaches down to stroke his fingertips along the edge of my jaw. "Or we could skip really far ahead, right to the fucking part."
