Page 18 of Fuse

Even if it means she’ll be this obstinate and pouty about something else. Hell, even if she’s continuing on about this.

Damn, I almost hope for it.

Because fuck, she’s adorable when she’s obstinate and pouty.

Yeah, even when she’s pushing upright and then demanding through her teeth, “So what’s your point?” And then surging off the bed, only to try a huff—ineffectual at best—at the arm I clamp around her middle. “Reece, we have guests.”

“Not guests.” I already have the comeback prepared. “Family and friends—who also understand that when you’ve got your logic scrambled, it’s up to me to unscramble you.”

She doesn’t fight my hold. She does twist in it, lifting a searching stare up at me. At last, starting to get that I’m serious about making her see my side of this. About exactly how I intend to do that.

“Going to ‘spell it all out,’ are you?” While there’s still plenty—too much—defiance in her challenge, there’s a new element too. A roughened edge. And now, lusty glitter strewn through her gaze…seeking out the lightning in mine… “So what letter are we at now?”

For a moment, without even our heartbeats marring the energy between us, I let her wait…and wonder…

Before I finally, softly answer.

“F.”

No sight has ever stolen my breath more than her instant blush. No sound has ever captivated me more than her halting inhalation. No action has ever galvanized me more than the sigh that follows right after…

Making me reach for her.

Making me claim her mouth beneath mine.

Making me lunge my tongue inside, rolling through her perfect wetness, tasting her incredible essence. I savor the wine she’s been sipping, the cheese she’s been nibbling, and yes, the spice of the sass she’s still doling. I’m even a greedy bastard about sucking down the smoke of her anger, battling deliciously with the sugar of her arousal.

But most of all, I drink in every precious, pulsing drop of her heady, perfect arousal.

And in that feasting, am completely connected to her again.

Together, we banish the world once more. We exist only for each other. Only through each other…

At once, I’m fire and fury and pressure and pain, balancing on a ledge between intellect and insanity, though I hardly know which extreme belongs where. Maybe the world beyond this room, beyond the sweet soft arms around my neck, is the illusion. This has to be the reality instead. The only place where my life, including all my power, really makes the most sense.

“So what does the F stand for?”

Especially when this creature whispers questions like that.

With my lips half a breath above hers, I reply, “You’ll find out once you’ve gotten naked for me. And after I’ve watched you get that way.”

My blood throbs as she moves back from me. She doesn’t go far but affords enough distance to work her elegant fingers at the buttoned bodice of her cotton dress. My stare descends as her hands do. She opens the navy fabric to reveal the matching lace cups of her bra. My breath might as well be fire as she slips free of the dress, letting it puddle at her feet before shimmying her matching lace boy shorts to the middle of her creamy thighs.

“Fuck.” I help her with things by scooping a finger into the center of that delectable underwear and pushing them farther south. On my way back up, I keep that digit curled—and slide the tip between the slick lips beneath her trimmed curls.

She gasps.

I growl. “Gorgeous.”

And there go F and G, though I’m not worried. With the way I want to take her now, humping is going to be a damn fine stand-in for fucking. And yeah, there’s also hard. And hot. And horny as a goddamned horse ready to rut.

“Oh, hell yeah.” Another H, tumbling from me in a ruthless whisper as she unclasps her bra, freeing her breathtaking breasts for my ravenous view. Yeah, to the point that I lick my damn lips because of it. To the point that I yank her over with one hand while grazing one of her nipples with the flat of my thumb, hissing when that succulent tip gets even tighter for me.

“Damn,” I utter. “Goddamn.” And then smash her mouth beneath mine again, matching her harsh whimper with my primal moan, making her tongue take my stabbing, passionate force as I slide my hand to her other breast—and twist that sweet berry between my hot, seeking fingers. Her mewl hikes with arousal just as she twines her hands into my hair and yanks with hard, lusty strength. I accept the scalding punishment and celebrate the burn across my scalp as we kiss deeper and harder, warring with groans that blaze each other’s bloodstream with raw, raging, aching need. My lungs burn to get in a full breath, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to give in. If this is what it takes to show the stubborn woman what she means to me—what she alone will always mean to me—then I’ll readily pass out a thousand times from the potency of my own lust.

And Jesus God, what lust.

I’m floored from the might of it. The crashing, awestriking glory of it. The way I can’t ever get enough of her pure need, her bold strength, her honest courage, and her unabashed love. Every time we’re together, this is what she brings me. Every time I kiss her, she’s this responsive and open and hot for me. Every time I touch her, she shivers as if I’ve just cut her open with a diamond and poured all the shine right into her wound.