Page 132 of Felonies are Forever

“So, fifty years from now, huh? Grandchildren?” I cock my brow on a squint, wiggling my foot, trying to keep calm and not hurl myself back onto his mouth, my clitoris leading the charge

“Sorry, baby. Your fate was sealed the moment my mouth tasted that sweet cunt-honey you have. Your flavor ran through me like a tsunami. Later tonight, like I said, I’m going to finish the job. Plant myself in your belly, I hope.”

Even though I’m sitting, I can feel my knees weaken instantly. I feel all churny and bubbly and hot. “Are you out of your mind, Dutch McCabe?” I run my hand down the tops of my legs, trying to ease the ache pulsing between them. “You don’t even really know me and I don’t even really know you. You’re on some sort of release-day delusional high.”

He crosses his arms, looking cocky. And borderline pissed. “Aren’t you fucking sassy?”

I push my lips together. “Yes, I am. Yet another thing you didn’t know about me.”

He inhales long and slow, tracing my curves with his eyes. “Well, what does it take to know someone? What’s the benchmark we’re using here? In a year of letters, I’ve probably told you more about me than anyone else in my life. You told me a helluva lot, too.”

God. I flash back to him jacking off with my letters around him. And I wonder how many times I’ve done the same. “I mean…we haven’t really talked.”

“Okay, then, my little detail-oriented doll. Let’s talk. Ask me anything.”

I give him a hard stare, but deep down I want to ask him so many things. I want to know him like I’ve never wanted to know anyone else before. But I know this isn’t the right time for Some Big Conversation. So I search my mind for somewhere to break the ice.

“Okay.” I sit up straight, shifting my rear end up on one side, slipping my hand under my butt, then do the same on the other side while I think of my first question. “What is your secret talent?”

He snorts on a chuckle. “Secret talent?” Dutch runs a hand down his face, gripping his beard as he thinks, then smiles. “Not sure I have one.”

“Oh, come on. You smiled. You’re thinking of something.”

“Okay, no laughing.”

I bring my hand up and swipe it in an X over my chest. “Cross my heart.”

He grunts and clears his throat. “I can recite any tongue twister without making a mistake.”

“Oh, come on,” I sneer. “That’s not possible.”

“Sure, it is. Give me one, I’ll do it.”

I furrow my brow while I think. “The only one I can think of is the Peter Piper Picked a Peck of Pickled Peppers.”

Dutch sniffs, then recites the entire tongue twister at breakneck speed not missing or slurring a word. “That’s an easy one.”

“Okay then, Mr. Smartypants, what’s a hard one?”

He sucks a breath through his teeth then reaches down, adjusting his balls with a smile.

“Really?” I smirk.

“Sorry,” he says in a not-sorry-at-all kind of way. “Just, you know, making some space.”

God. “Go on then. Wow me. Prove you’ve got the fastest tongue this side of the Mississippi.”

“The one that is considered the hardest in English is The six sick sheik’s sixth sheep’s sick.”

“Hold on. The six sheik’s sicks sitxx…” I try the first few words, but I start to laugh, knowing I’ve already screwed it up. “Okay then, go, let’s hear it again. Faster this time.”

I listen as he enunciates each word flawlessly, pulling my hand from under my butt and pressing the backs of my fingers over my lips to stifle my laughter. But honestly? It’s incredibly impressive.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” he says, raising his eyebrows. Scolding me almost.

“It’s just,” I trail off, lowering my eyes, then lifting them to meet his gaze again. “Well, it sort of explains things.”

“Oh, does it now?” He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, looking doubly cocky now. “Explains what exactly?” His mouth is slightly open, his full lips taunting me.

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