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“You don’t need to ask me for anything, Luscious,” he rumbles, gaze cutting into me like goddamn razors. “I’ll give it to you, regardless.”
I don’t want him to know some twisted part of me enjoyed some part of what just happened. I don’t know which part… It started out as the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but my body rarely reacts the same way my mind does.
Maybe we’re two mangled, jagged pieces who could click together, despite all the fires burning around us.
I want Dascha Reznikov to be my broken toy, in all ways. And I have a habit of getting what I want, especially when it’s the thing that could be my untimely demise.
When I pick it up, I can’t help the elation blooming in my chest. It’s a three-pack of boxer briefs. Fucking Calvin Klein. The expensive ones…
“I’ve been through things that… really fucked me up. Like, a lot. So it’s hard to just rewire my brain. But I want to, Dash. I want to… fucking kiss you. Now.” His eyes come back to mine and they’re so damn blue, like a lack of oxygen that captures my breath. “I want to kiss you so hard that everyone on this goddamn beach knows you’re mine, and only mine.”
But the more I think about it, the more I realize it doesn’t need to be. Maybe some things in life are meant to forever fluctuate. Like chaos. A perfect imbalance.
