Spicy Little Curses

by J.T. Geissinger

Unfortunately, I’m a sucker for the tall, dark, and devilish type.

The second she touched my skin, everything stopped. Time. The pull of gravity. The whistle of the wind outside. The hum of the city beyond the walls faded until nothing remained but the sound of my thundering heart.

She tasted like sweet dreams and bad decisions.

Because the second my mouth claimed hers, it seemed inevitable, as if it had been written in the stars long before we met. It felt like fate . . . and fuck, did that feel good.

The only thing worse than a smart-ass woman was a smart-ass woman who was right.