Page 39 of Bones and Ashes

And she does.

She rides.

Slow like I told her to. Rolls her hips down, comes back up, sinks again, and it's the kinda slow that's got nothin' to do with teasin' and everythin' to do with feelin'. Every inch. Every drag. She ain't chasin' nothin' right now. She's just livin' inside this with me.

Her hands stay flat on my chest. Mine come up to her hips but I don't push, don't pull, don't set the pace. Let her have it. Her hair's a mess and her mouth's still swollen from my mouth and she's lookin' down at me like I'm the only thing in the room she can see.

And I'm lookin' right back.

I ain't lookin' away. I want her to see me. Want her to see every ugly broken thing swimmin' behind my eyes and stay anyway, because she does, she always fuckin' does, and tonight of all nights — after the gas station, after Mike, after Laz walkin' across the bar with my own face — I need her to.

"You're beautiful."

I say it rough. My voice don't work right. She keeps ridin' me, slow, slow, but her eyes go wet and her bottom lip catches between her teeth.

"I love you."

Her hips stutter a second. Recover. She bends down closer, bracin' her forearms on either side of my head, her hair fallin' around both of us like a curtain, and she keeps movin' on me while she breathes me in.

"Say it again."

"I love you, Savannah Rose."

"Again."

"Love you. I fuckin' love you. It's you 'n me, baby. It's us against the whole goddamn world, you hear me?"

She nods. Tears comin' now. She don't stop ridin'. Just rolls her hips down in that slow lovin' grind, tight and deep, and the little hitch in her breath when I bottom out is near enough to undo me.

"Us against all of it," she whispers. "Me 'n you."

"Me 'n you."

She kisses me. Slow. Tastes like salt. I hold the back of her head with one hand and kiss her like I'm tryin' to climb inside her chest, and she rides me like she's got all night to do it, like there ain't nothin' else waitin' outside this room, like the world ends at the four walls around us.

And I let it. For a second. I let her have it slow. Let her have the lovin' kind. Let her look at me and believe in whatever she believes in when she's lookin' at me like that.

But.

But it ain't all of me. It ain't ever all of me. There's always the other thing in there, the thing that tore through a church full of rats and buried thirty-six bodies under Montana clay, the thing that don't know how to be touched soft for long without wantin' to wreck somethin' to prove it's still there.

And the second she says my name again, breathless, that thing wakes up.

I grip her hip and her shoulder both and I flip her.

Fast. Hard. One motion. She yelps, half a laugh, and lands on her back sideways across the bed, hair flyin', and before she can catch her breath I'm over her. Hand flat between her tits, pushin' her back down. Other hand grabbin' her knee, shovin' it wide. Then the other knee. Spread her open.

"Legion—"

I push into her hard. All the way. One stroke.

She cries out and her hands fly up over her head and grab the first thing they find, which is the headboard, and I drop down on my elbows over her and start fuckin' her.

Serious this time.

The kinda fuckin' that means somethin'. Deep. Hard. No rhythm for her comfort. My hips slam into hers and her whole body jolts up the bed with every thrust, and I chase it, keep after her, don't let her slide away from me. Her head knocks against the headboard. Once. Twice. Third time it don't just knock — the whole headboard thuds against the wall behind it.

Thud. Thud. Thud.