Page 196 of Scatter the Bones

I like the way that sounds too much to bother correcting her.

MARGOT

I can’t believe we’re actually in a hotel.

Just to... have sex? In the afternoon?

It feels so illicit. Wild. Maybe a little impractical.

I’m mortified checking in with no luggage, just my purse swinging from my shoulder like a neon announcement—justhere to fuck!

The elevator doors whisper shut, and Jigsaw crowds me against the wall, cupping my cheeks and sealing his mouth over mine. His lips are hot, insistent, impatient. I melt into him without hesitation.

Someone clears their throat.

Jigsaw growls low in his chest but peels himself away, straightening without even glancing back at our unwanted audience. He curls his hand around mine, protective and reassuring.

The elevator dings.

My pulse skips as he tugs me into the hallway, his grip firm around my hand.

A rush of excitement floods through me.

Outside the room, he pins me to the door with his entire body, heat radiating off him like a furnace. I try to slide the card into the reader, but there’s no space between us. I’m plastered to the door—flushed, breathless, burning.

Finally the lock beeps and we stumble into the room.

I barely manage to step out of my shoes before he grabs me under the thighs and lifts me, setting me on something solid—maybe the dresser, maybe a table, I don’t care. His mouth never leaves mine. His hands are everywhere, shoving up my dress, fingers ripping my tights.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty,” he murmurs, kissing my jaw, my cheekbone, the hollow under my ear. “But these—” he hooks a finger in the ruined nylon, and yanks hard, “—these are in my way.”

The rough tug rips them even more.

His hips thrust against me, hard and frantic, not close to being inside me, but desperate. He groans against my throat, the sound low, needy, and close to a whimper.

“Awww,” I trace my fingers over his cheek, “you’re like a puppy who hasn’t been taken for a walk all week.”

“Puppy. No.” He growls, forehead pressed to my temple, hips grinding in a frantic rhythm. “I’m a man who hasn’t been inside his woman in a week.” He brushes his lips over my cheek. “Why aren’t you helping me get these fucking panties off?” His fingers close around the elastic and he yanks hard.

Using his shoulders for leverage, I lift my hips, giving him room to drag my underwear and what’s left of my tights down my legs. The tension in his muscles, the heat rolling off him, the impatient way he shoves the fabric down my legs leaves me desperate.

He breathes a satisfied sigh. “Finally.”

“If I’d known they were going to cause you so much trouble, I wouldn’t have worn them.”

I grab his belt buckle and work it loose, fingers fumbling against the metal.

His eyes flare, mouth curling into a slow, wicked smile. “You want me just as much.”

“Of course I do.” I press kisses to his chest, flick my tongue against one nipple.

He groans—loud, guttural, grateful.

“Come here.” He hauls me off the dresser and spins me around where I’m facing a mirror, already smudged from me leaning up against it. I stare at my wild hair, reddened lips, and flushed face. I barely recognize myself.

Behind me, Jigsaw kicks off his boots and shoves his jeans down.

“Fuck.”

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