Salt Kiss (Lyonesse #1)

thirteen

Absolutely nothing changes when we get home except for one thing—sometimes, at the corners of a conversation or as he passes me when I hold the door for him or as we say goodbye after another night in the hall, I catch him looking at my mouth.

I will degrade you. I will enjoy it .

I haven’t forgotten a single syllable of that conversation, and I don’t think he has either. But my pride makes a delayed appearance and insists on guarding itself from future rejection. He’ll just say no again if you try , it says, sulky and pouty in my thoughts. If he really wanted you, he’d fuck you anyway. So I don’t bring it up again, and neither does he, even though I sometimes can’t think of anything else but long, strong fingers, the dip of his Adam’s apple when he drinks his gin. The way his cock gleamed ruddy and thick under wet latex in his office.