Page 37 of Dual Destruction

His head snapped up and his nostrils flared. “I think I hate when you use my name.”

“I hate when you use mine, too,” I told him.

He mouthedSandro Rosetti, lip twisting into a smirk and I wanted… I wanted to kiss the look off his face.

“Come here,” I demanded.

Golden gave me a curious look and walked around the counter, standing between my spread legs. I rested the edge of my finger beneath his chin, tipping his face up, loving the way he didn’t look away, didn’t back down. Golden had fought me every step of the way since the very first night we met and fuck him, fuck us both, nothing and no one had ever made me harder.

“What?” he asked when I didn’t speak.

“Why am I still alive, Golden?”

His pupils dilated, but he didn’t move away from me.

“Luck,” he whispered.

“Is that it?” The slightest hint of pressure against his chin and Golden came forward, his entire body leaning into mine. Our mouths almost touched and when I stopped pulling, he stopped moving. I could smell coffee and breakfast on his breath as he exhaled against my parched lips, eyes still fixated on mine.

“Yes,” he rasped. “Just luck.”

He was right about one thing.

I was a lucky son of a bitch.

I tapped the bottom of his chin and he closed the space between us, pressing our mouths together. It was gentle for a millisecond, and then his hands were on me, fingers scrabbling madly at the collar of my shirt. He hauled our bodies closer, taking control in a way I’d never seen before. In a way that had my cock jerking in my pants. I grabbed his wrists and untangled his fingers from my clothes, not breaking the kiss. Instead I found other ways to let him know his feelings were reciprocated.

I fucked my tongue into his mouth so hard he fell off balance, and then I caught him. I tightened my grip around his wrists, holding our hands low between our bodies, the only point of contact beyond our lips and our tongues.

Golden whimpered and I tasted him, answering him with groans that had him trembling under my fingers.

I wanted this man.

I wanted him in a tangible way and I wanted him for more than another night, more than another weekend. I’d been obsessed before, finding him and following him and wanting him, but this was beyond anything from then. The thought of walking out of this house, leaving him behind? It wasn’t an option.

I didn’t know when it had happened, when my feelings moved from pure desire to the need for ownership, but I’d told him before. I’d told him I owned him, and I didn’t know why I’d expected him to listen to the warning while not heeding it myself. Golden came apart for me, then and now, and I wanted to spend the rest of my probably very short life putting him back together.

Fuck.

“Foster,” I breathed his name against his lips.

“No.”

“Golden.”

His mouth twitched and he licked me. My grip on his wrists loosened and slipped, but instead of letting go, my fingers tangled with his. He grazed his thumb across my knuckles, still battered but scabbed and bruised now instead of raw. God, his hands felt like home.

“Who wants you dead?” he asked.

“Besides you?”

He answered me with silence.

“My father,” I finally answered.

He nodded and crashed our mouths back together. Against my palms, his hands moved and tightened, holding me in the way I’d allowed him, his tongue doing all the work required to outline his one, singular demand.

More.