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Because has any man ever looked at me like this before? With hungry eyes the color of liquid gold, roving up and down my body like he wants to swallow me whole? Like I’m someone to be wanted and not feared?
It was barely anything, a whisper of a kiss, but my skin tingles and heat roars through my veins. I sway on the spot, mind fuzzy, pressing harder against him, and Flynn’s mouth quirks like he’s amused. “Look at you, rubbing against me. You’re practically purring, Anietta. You’re a little murder kitten, aren’t you?”
Step one: Make a personal connection. Step two: Say pretty things. Step three: Give the first gentle touches I’ve had in years. And bonus tip: smell really, really good. Like fresh air rolling in from the coast.
Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere. She likes flowers? I like flowers. It’s a match made in heaven,
I could take him. We both know it. But part of me wants that fight, wants to scrap with this much bigger man. I want to see how it would feel if he unleashed all his strength on me; if he put those muscles to good use. I want to wrestle and grunt and sink my teeth into his shoulder, and then I want to surrender to him and put all my trust in another person for the first time.
Sweetheart. I like when he calls me that. It’s almost as good as kitten. It’s like he really wants me here. Like he really cares.
“I will never change my mind,” I vow, with no hint of humor for once in my life. “I’m going to keep you and treasure you and love you until you’re sick of me.”
Sure, I’ll confess all my deepest longings to cheer her up. I’ll throw myself under that train. What else am I good for?
“Good girl,” a voice rumbles from near my belly. Oh, wow. I am very much not a good girl, I am a blood-soaked criminal with stalker tendencies, but when he says it like that… it’s all I want to be. Flynn O’Malley’s good girl. His kitten.
Flynn’s not needy. Or if it’s needy to want love and compliments and nice, warm things, then I guess we’re both basic bitches, because every time he calls me beautiful, happy little sparks explode in my chest.
But I’m not an idiot. Anietta is my stray kitten. And I’ll never lock those balcony doors.
