Page 8 of Huck Frasier
“Don’t act innocent. You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Do I?”
The tension snapped like a live wire.
One second we were arguing about tea, and the next—
He was next to me.
Close. Too close.
“Marley,” he said, low and rough.
I looked up.
And his hand slid to the back of my neck.
Slow.
Certain.
Like he’d been waiting for this all the damn time.
“I shouldn’t,” he said, voice hoarse.
“I know.”
“I’m going to anyway.”
And then he kissed me.
It started slow—justlips and breath and the kind of softness that steals the air from your lungs.
Then it deepened. Fast. Wild.
His hands were everywhere—my back, my hips, my thighs. Mine were in his hair, fisted, desperate. I smashed my mouth against his. “I wanted him deep inside me.’ Did I say that out loud”
“Yeah, but that’s okay, I want the same thing.”
We didn’t make it to the bedroom.
Didn’t need to.
The couch was just fine.
So was the floor.
So washe.
He tasted like tea and heat and ten months of something unfinished finally being written in the dark.
I didn’t even care about the thunder anymore.
The only storm that mattered was him.
Frasier
She was wrapped in a blanket,hair a mess, one bare leg dangling off the couch like she belonged there.
