Page 96 of Long Way Down

He said it automatically, in a way that meant it must be true, and Melissa found herself floored. She swallowed with difficulty, and her mouth was dry, and her pulse fluttered high and quick at the base of her throat.

“Why do you hate it so much?” he countered.

“I don’thateit.” She didn’t, and especially not now, after hearing his reasoning. “I don’t like being reminded of where I come from.”

His thumb swept over her pulse point, gave it something to throb against. “Everybody’s from somewhere. What’s so bad about your hometown?”

They harbored a monster. They gave a killer every excuse, she thought but didn’t say. Shook her head instead. Because if she voiced it, if she brought him into her secret, the way he’d dragged her into his, she knew there was no going back. She’d be tied to him forever, even if only loosely. There would always be the freckled boy out there who knew about the scent of petrichor on the air, and the scent of a sweaty hand across her mouth, silencing her.

“Really, it’s ‘cause of your name,” he said. “Dixon, yeah? And you’re Southern. I think the accent’s cute, for what it’s worth.” He shrugged, uncertain now, though he continued to stroke her neck and tease up into her hairline with clever fingertips. “But I’ll stop if it bothers you that much. I kinda thought…” He shrugged again, gaze flicking to the side, cheeks pinking. “I dunno. I thought you were giving me a hard time. I didn’t know you–”

“No,” she blurted, laying a hand on his chest. His pulse was elevated, she felt, just as hers was. “I’m – I am giving you a hard time. I’m…shit, I’m difficult. It isn’t…” She let out a deep, unsteady breath and stared at his chin, the five o’clock shadow coming up on it, because she wasn’t brave enough now to meet his gaze. “I have trouble,” she admitted, face heating, “with personal stuff. With being – close to people.”

He chuckled, not unkindly, and the sound drew her gaze upward, where his eyes had crinkled at the edges, a smiling look. “Yeah, sweetheart, I noticed.”

She frowned at him.

“I always figured you had your reasons.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, thumbing at her cheek, after. “I think it’s kinda hot, actually.”

“You think it’s hot that I’m a bitch to you?” she asked, brows lifting.

“Nah, not a bitch. Forceful. I like it when a woman doesn’t put up with any bullshit.”

A laugh built in her throat, unlikely, but welcome. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thanks! My ma says I’m special, but I don’t think she means that in a good way,” he said, with a put-on squint of puzzlement.

Her laugh tumbled free, and she was surprised by the lightness of it. In that moment, she soundedhappy. Might have evenbeenhappy, as unlikely as that seemed.

Pongo smiled at her, not with mischief or intent – but an open, honest smile, bright as sunshine. It was more than a little bit devastating.

“I take it back,” she said, unable to simply stand and receive that smile, grabbing at her lifelong best defense: insult. “Scratch ‘unbelievable.’ You’re an idiot.”

“Thanks!” he repeated, undeterred.

So Melissa slipped her arms around his neck, and stood up on her toes to kiss him.

They were both smiling, and it altered the usual fit of their lips.

Lurching sensation in her chest, and then a weightlessness. She felt as if she might fall, if she let go, so she tightened her arms and pressed in closer, chest to chest.

Pongo sucked in a fast, audible breath through his nostrils, and the shape of his lips changed; he angled his head and kissed her properly, tongue pressing for entry.

She could hold him off in a conversation, throw out an insult or throw up a wall. But she had trouble holding on to defensiveness when he talked to her like this; didn’t want to, in fact. In moments like this, it was the easiest thing in the world to let go, and let him in. His tongue slid over hers, flexed against the roof of her mouth, and she whimpered.

One fast spike of shame pierced the steadily increasing fog of want. Whimpering was a show of vulnerability. It said,I need you. If he’d ever, since this thing between them started, mocked her for it, or gloated over his power to turn her insides melty, she would have shoved him away.

But now, as always, he gathered her in closer, a hand pressed firm to the small of her back, and kissed her more deeply.

She stood up on her tiptoes, fingers tangled in his curls, and kissed him back, desperate and swaying.

Twenty-One

There was an alarm. Somewhere, someone’s. Blaring again and again, in insistent trill that dragged him unwilling out of sleep. Pongo rolled over and his face landed against something delightfully warm, smooth, and squishy. He snuggled in and earned a human grunt in response. Dixie’s tits, then. What a wonderful alternative to a pillow…

A sharp pinch stung the top of his ear.

“Ow!” His eyes flew open and he blinked hard a few moments, unseeing, wondering if the lights were out or if he’d gone blind. He’d been more than a little bit braindead when they both finally crashed.

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