Chapter 16
Ramsey
Her mouth tastes like fucking heaven and sin explicitly entwined together.
For a split second, I freeze—my brain unable to process that Reese—MY north fucking star, has her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me down to her level, her lips pressed against mine. But that hesitation lasts only a heartbeat before something animalistic inside me snaps.
Mine. Mine. MINE.
I’m so fucking gone.
I grab her hair, twisting it around my fist and yanking her head back. Mine. She's finally fucking mine. The word pounds through my blood like a drum as I devour her mouth, tasting mint from the spa shit and something sweeter that's just her.
She makes this little whimpering sound against my lips, and I nearly lose my goddamn mind. I lift her up like she weighs nothing, setting her ass on the counter and stepping between her legs. My cock is already rock hard, straining against my sweats as I press against her core.
"Fuck," I growl against her mouth, not breaking the kiss for even a second. I can't. If I stop, this might not be real. She might change her mind.
I kiss her like I'm dying and she's the last breath of air on this fucked-up planet.
Like I'll never get this chance again. Because I might not.
Four years of wanting her, watching her, protecting her, and now she's in my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer.
This is nothing like the first kiss I ever gave her, that was chaste compared to this.
I need to memorize every detail of her taste, her touch, the little sounds she makes when I suck her bottom lip between my teeth. She tastes like chocolate and that Japanese soda, sweet and tangy and so fucking perfect I could die right here.
I break away, breathing hard, my cock throbbing painfully against the thin fabric of my pants. I press my forehead against hers, our breath mingling in the small space between us. Her pupils are blown wide, those hazel eyes almost black with desire. Fuck, I want to devour her whole.
Instead, I press my lips to her hairline, right where her skin meets those silky black strands. The softest fucking kiss I've ever given anyone.
"Where the hell did that come from?" My voice is wrecked, barely recognizable.
Reese's lips curve into a smile that's equal parts shy and wicked. "I wanted to cross off my very first thing on my list."
I pull back slightly, my hands still gripping her hips. "What fucking list?"
"The bucket list I just wrote ten minutes ago while you were brooding on the couch." She looks almost smug, her legs still wrapped around my waist like she belongs there. Like she's always belonged there.
"You put me on your fucking bucket list?" Something dark and possessive unfurls in my chest. I can't decide if I'm flattered or pissed that I'm just another item to check off.
"Kissing you again was number one." Her fingers trace the line of my jaw, thumb brushing over my bottom lip.
I need to see what else is on that fucking list. Now.
Grabbing her wrists, I pull her off the countertop in one swift motion. My hand wraps around hers as I drag her back to the living room, my mind racing with possibilities. What else does she want to do?
I stop in front of the couch, turning to face her. "Show me the list."
Her eyes widen, cheeks flushing pink. "Serious?"
"Yes, show me the list." My voice drops an octave, leaving no room for argument. "I'm not asking. If you have a bucket list, I need to make sure none of it is an immediate no."
She huffs, the blush spreading down her neck as she stands there fidgeting. I can practically see the war happening behind those hazel eyes—embarrassment fighting against desire, her need to maintain control battling with the urge to surrender.
I wait, arms crossed over my chest, watching every microexpression flicker across her face. I'll wait all fucking night if that's what it takes.
Finally, she throws up her hands. "Ugh, fine! Have it your way." She snatches the notebook off the coffee table and tosses it at me.
I catch it one-handed, my eyes never leaving hers as I flip it open. The page is filled with her handwriting, some items crossed out, others circled, a few with stars next to them.
1. Kiss Ramsey and not a freaking peck
2. Swim at midnight under the stars
3. Have sex
4. Dance in the rain with someone with no lights
5. Find out where Ramsey disappears to every couple of months with Copeland
6. Be chased
7. Get a tattoo
8. Ride a motorcycle myself
9. Find something worth breaking the rules for
There’s a few more, some sexy, some just adrenaline chasing.
"Jesus Christ, baby girl," I mutter, looking up from the notebook to find her watching me nervously, teeth worrying her bottom lip. "Where the fuck did all this come from?"
She shrugs, trying for nonchalance but not quite pulling it off. "Just stuff I've thought about. Things I want to try."
I tap the notebook with my finger, scanning the list again. Number five jumps out at me—"Find out where Ramsey disappears to every couple of months with Copeland." Fuck. Of course she wants to know that.
"Is this what you really want to do?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral even though my heart's hammering so hard I can feel it in my fucking teeth. "All of these things?"
She crosses her arms over her chest, defiant despite the blush still staining her cheeks. "Yes, I really do."
I nod slowly, processing what this means. Reese is stubborn as hell—always has been. If these are things she really wants, she's going to do them with or without me. And I'll be damned if she does them without me. The thought of her chasing these thrills with someone else makes my blood boil.
I look her straight in the eyes, decision made. "You don't know the can you're opening, but we're gonna do your list."
Her mouth drops open. "Wait, what? We are going to do the list?"
"Yes, WE," I emphasize, tossing the notebook onto the coffee table.
"I don't trust anyone else with you, but I want you to have everything you want.
So WE will be checking things off your list." I smirk, gesturing toward the bathroom.
"Go ahead and cross off number one since you manhandled me in the bathroom. "
She blinks at me for a moment, then a slow, infectious smile spreads across her face. "Are you serious?"
"Do I look like I'm fucking joking?" I step closer, towering over her. "I'm dead serious. But I have conditions."
"Of course you do." She rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling.
"One, I'm in charge of when and how these happen. Two, if at any point you want to stop, we stop—no questions asked." I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her skin. "And three, you have fucking fun. You deserve all the good things you want, Reese."
She lunges at me, wrapping her arms around my waist, her face pressed against my chest. I can feel her heart hammering against mine, our bodies perfectly aligned.
"You're literally the best fucking friend ever," she mumbles into my shirt. "I don't deserve you."
Best fucking friend. She didn’t kiss me like a best friend but I’ll let her have this. I am her best friend and only her best friend…for now.
My arms circle around her, swallowing her smaller frame in my embrace. I rest my chin on top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, trying to commit this moment to memory. The way she fits against me like she was made for it.
"Nah, I definitely don't deserve you," I say, my voice rough with emotion I'm trying desperately to hide.
She pulls back just enough to look up at me, those hazel eyes shining with something I can't quite name. For a second, I think she might kiss me again, and my entire body tenses with anticipation.
Instead, she steps out of my arms, grinning like nothing monumental just happened between us. Like we didn't just rewrite four years of friendship with one kiss and a fucking list.
"Come on, time to watch a scary movie," she announces, bouncing on her toes with sudden energy.
I groan, running a hand through my hair. "Fine, but not Scream again." The whiplash from almost-kissing to movie night is giving me emotional vertigo, but I'll take whatever I can get with her.
Her face scrunches up in mock offense. "Uh, yes Scream again. Hello, the first husbands of horror, I need thy on my screen again."
"You've seen it like fifty fucking times," I complain, but I'm already settling onto the couch, making room for her beside me.
"And I'll watch it fifty more," she declares, grabbing the remote and pulling up the movie on our streaming service. She plops down next to me, close enough that our thighs touch. "Besides, you secretly love it."
Jokes on her because I’m better than both of those fucking guys. Better looking, better at killing, just fucking better.
"I secretly tolerate it because you like it," I correct her, but we both know it's bullshit. I'd watch paint dry if it made her happy.