Page 81 of Fury

“Cool. You still liking your job?”

“I love my job, and I’m loving my new name, too. There’s something clean about it—Ashley Wyeth.”

He let out a huff of air. “Hey, Ashley. You give amazing head and fuck like a demon.”

I squeezed his balls.

His hand slapped around my wrist. “Why don’t you do that a little nicer, while you tell me about your school?”

“Turn over. I want to see my name on you again.”

A smirk full of heat etched his face. He loved that I loved his surprise for me, a new tattoo on his skin. He turned over, and my fingers ran up the long gothic S, for Serena, now inked on his upper spine. The letter was hidden in the long plume of flames that rose from his lower back, fanned out across his shoulder blades and blew all the way up his neck. I kissed and nipped his spine then turned him over on the mattress, my hand slowly stroking his thick length. His body relaxed as I blathered on about the kinds of classes I’d be taking.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“You’re happy. You’re excited about something you really like, and I’m glad.” He planted a light kiss on my mouth, letting out a soft moan.

“I get excited by you.” I squeezed his firm dick.

“I know, but I mean, you’re excited about something new in your life, an objective, a passion you want to explore.”

“A passion, yeah, that’s what it is.”

“I’ll give you money to pay for it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” His index finger lazed down my middle and slid between my legs. “Let me share in your excitement.”

His finger wound and circled its way to my core. My breath hitched as he gently, gently stroked, and I lost myself in the sensations he knew so well how to conjure in me. I came quickly, crying out.

“This is all because of you, you know.” I kissed him. “I wouldn’t be here in Chicago pursuing dreams I didn’t know I had if it wasn’t for you.” My trembling body curled into his.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low, a hand around my neck. “Are you crying? Those are good tears, right?”

I only nodded, unable to find my voice.

His finger traced the vine up my side to my breast. “Your ink is wild, and keeps getting wilder. I feel like I’m missing out on something with you, and I hate that. It makes me realize how far apart we are every time I see you.”

I met his gaze. “Every piece is about me, me and you. Us. Like spring blooming. Our spring. We’re different than we were before the Smoking Guns. They damaged us, but it made us stronger. We have color. Great big splashes of bright color, great big bursts of it, all outside the lines, and I want to celebrate that.”

“Celebrate.” He uttered the word like it was a new flavor and he liked how it tasted.

“Yes, celebrate. So every time you discover a new tat on me, know it’s our celebration, a new song I’ve written calling out to you.” My face heated. “They may have used me for a few years there, but my body is mine and I want to make it beautiful again—”

“You are beautiful.”

“But on my own terms, my choice.”

He raised my chin in his hand and kissed me. A hungry kiss. A sweet kiss. I sat up and slid into his lap, straddling him. He held me close, the two of us breathing against each other’s skin.

I slid my forehead against his. “I bet most of your bros have old ladies now, right? I’m sure they’re expecting you to bring one home too.”

His hand went to a breast, his thumb stroking a nipple barbell. “I don’t give a shit what anyone expects.”

“You give a shit about your president, though. And you should.”

“I do.” He pressed his lips together.

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