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Now the arrogant, pompous, annoying dick weasel licks his juicy, bitable bottom lip, and my vajazzle explodes like fireworks on the freaking Fourth of July.
The man oozed BDE. But he’d met his match. Because we both had big dick energy. And I would not back down, even if he was the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on.
“You’re so fucking aggravating. So far under my skin, I can’t fucking see straight.”
“Yeah. You will be. If you so much as look at Dylan Thomas again, I will hunt your ass down and fucking end you. You won’t be the first one I’ve done it to, so don’t press your luck.”
“Come for me, Minx,” I whispered against her skin, and her body convulsed against me, and she cried out my name as she rode out every last bit of pleasure. Fuck me. If I never kissed another woman again, I’d die a happy man. That was the hottest fucking make-out session I’d ever experienced in my life.
This was not the norm. Not now. Not ever. I wasn’t a cuddler. I wasn’t an affectionate person. I wasn’t a talker. But something about this woman made it impossible not to touch her. Not to want to keep her close.
The least I could do was make sure she was okay. We were friends—temporary lovers. Coworkers, at the very least. This is what normal people did, right? They checked on one another.
The dirty talk. The banter. The arguing. The attraction. The sex. I’d never enjoyed hating someone so much.
“I told her I was in a relationship. Because whatever the fuck this is, it makes me happy. I don’t want anyone else. And I know that fucking scares you, and it scares me, too. And maybe it will end in a day or two. Who the fuck knows? But I told her I wasn’t interested because I was with someone else.”
“Mine.” The word had more meaning than I wanted to admit. Because she was mine. There was no way around it anymore.
The sex was out of this world, and I fucking loved her. That crazy, possessive, I-can’t-live-without-you kind of love I’d always thought was foolish.
Dylan Thomas was what had been missing from my life. This wasn’t temporary—this was forever.
“I fucking love you, Dylan Thomas,” I whispered and closed my eyes. I felt a weight lift off my shoulders once I said it. Words I never thought I’d say to a woman that wasn’t my mother or sister. Even though she hadn’t heard me say it, I had. And it felt good to say it out loud.
