Pax is clearly dominant, his hands unforgiving, forging a path that can't be swayed. I wouldn't consider myself a weak person, but this feels so damn good. I don't want to be in charge of anything right now, not after all that's happened to me today, happened to me this year, happened to me ever. “On the bed,” Pax whispers against my mouth, his accent delicious and so different from the slow Arizona drawl I've been hearing from the locals. “And hurry, Lilith Goode; I don't like waiting.”
