Page 43 of Iron and Ivory

She points at me. "While that would've been very photogenic in a provincial way, you and I both know Eleanor Ashby has never once in her life embraced the provincial."

"Huh. So you've never had a movie night either."

She shakes her head.

"Perfect," I declare. "That means I can't lose. Because you can't tell a good one from a bad one."

She turns to me, grabbing the collar of my cut with her fingers, pulling me towards her a little as she looks up into my eyes. My god, hers are blue. "Demon," she coos, using my club name like it's a real thing. "There isn't even a chance in hell that you will ever lose with me."

And then we're kissin'. Tearin' at each other's clothes. And the food can wait, and the movie can wait, and the popcorn can go fuck itself. Because we are dyin' for each other. Dyin'.

Savannah Ashby's mouth kisses me the same way she fucks—like she's been starving and she's not gonna apologize for it. Fingers digging into the back of my neck, pulling hard enough that it hurts.

I get her jacket off—peelin' it off her shoulders without breaking the kiss and she shrugs it the rest of the way down her arms herself.

Then I get both hands in the front of that prairie top and rip. Buttons scatter across the floor like shrapnel.

"Legion!" she gasps into my mouth.

"I'll buy you a new one." I push the ruined shirt off her shoulders and unclasp her bra one-handed. She's bare from the waist up and I'm already on my knees working her boots off. One then the other. Each one hitting the floor hard as I toss them over my shoulder.

She's got her hands in my hair, tuggin' and pulling, as I pop the button on her jeans and drag them down over her hips.

She steps out of them and grabs my cut by the collar, shoving it off me as I shrug it down my arms. Then she's got the hem of my t-shirt in her fists yanking it up and I duck my head so she can pull it over. It gets tossed behind her, same way I did her boots.

Her hands go straight for my belt, fingers already working the buckle while I get my own boots off—one heel against the other—and she's got my jeans open by the time I straighten up.

Savannah reaches in… slow, smilin' at me. Her hand wraps around my cock as she takes it out. I shove my pants down, careful not to interfere with her hand job, and then we're standing there in the candlelight with nothing left between us.

Her blue-eyed gaze has been taking me apart since we were kids, and it works the same way now too.

I grab her face with both hands and kiss her again. Harder. Not gentle, not careful, not the kind of kiss you give someone you're still figurin' out. This is the kind that says I already know you and I'm still not done learnin'.

Her hand squeezes my cock, fingers tightenin' around the shaft as she starts pumpin'—slow at first, then finding a rhythm that's got me groanin' into her mouth like a man who's lost the ability to pretend he's in control. My hips push forward into her fist without my permission and she smiles against my lips, feelin' that, knowin' exactly what she's doin' to me.

"Fuck," I breathe against her teeth.

She twists her wrist on the upstroke and my vision whites out for half a second. I bite her bottom lip—not hard, just enough to make her gasp—and she pumps faster, thumb dragging over the head where I'm already leakin' for her.

I turn her. Walk her backwards with my hands on her hips until the back of her legs hit the couch and she drops into the cushions laughin'. Hair fanned out, tits bare, candlelight catchin' the angles of her collarbone, and she's laughin' like this is the easiest thing in the world. Like we're not two people who've been tearin' each other apart for eighteen years. Like there's nothin' outside this room at all.

That laugh. Jesus Christ, that laugh.

I sit down next to her, settle back against the cushion, and pat my lap. "Put yourself right here, baby."

She doesn't hesitate. Savannah swings one leg over and climbs into my lap, straddlin' me, her knees sinkin' into the cushion on either side of my hips. The weight of her settles right over my cock—not on it, just against it, the heat of her pussy pressin' down against my shaft where I'm hard and throbbin' between us.

I take both her breasts in my hands. Full palms, thumbs findin' her nipples already stiff and tight. I roll them between my fingers and she drops her head back, throat exposed, that long line of neck I could spend the rest of my goddamn life tracing with my tongue.

"Look at you," I tell her. "Sittin' in my lap with your tits in my hands like you were fuckin' made for this."

She rolls her hips, slow, grindin' her wet pussy along the length of my cock without lettin' me inside. The slick heat of her slides across me and I grit my teeth hard enough to hear it.

"You teasin' me, Savannah?"

"Maybe." She rocks again, deliberate, and the friction pulls a sound out of me that I'm not proud of. "What are you gonna do about it?"

I pinch both nipples—firm, not soft—and she gasps, hands flyin' to my shoulders, nails bitin' in. "I'm gonna sit right here and play with these perfect fuckin' tits until you're beggin' me to let you put my cock inside you."