“Baby, I know I can do it. As long as you’re prepared to be flipped onto your knees and fucked into next week at the end of it.”
I lick my lips. “I’m sure I can handle it.” I lean back on my hands. “You’re forgetting something really important, though.”
“What’s that?”
“In three hours’ time, we’ll be on a plane, in rather tight quarters, with a bed accessible and not a lot to do.”
His eyes darken. With heat or anger, I don’t know. Maybe it’s restrained temptation. But it’s the kind of darkness that’s thrilling and terrifying at the same time.
“Then you better find yourself something to do for sixteen hours that won’t make you wet or me hard.”
“Day packed me some porn on a page, so I’ll manage.” I grin sassily. “How about you?”
He puts his hands in his pockets. “Well, I was planning on uploading the images from yesterday and editing. Of course, I was also planning to induct us into the mile high club right after. Since I no longer have that option, I’ll probably just wander around with my cock raging hard and see if you can be around me and still keep to your challenge.”
“Hey, I challenged you to not give me an orgasm. I didn’t challenge it the other way around.”
He smirks and walks to me, pulling his hands from his pockets. He rests them over mine on the bed, his fingers falling between mine, and leans forward. “Liv, the challenge goes for both of us. I can only think of one reason why you’d challenge me to this, whether or not you’ll admit it.”
I meet his gaze steadily despite the thump of my heart. “And what reason would that be, smartass?”
“It would be the one where you’re still trying to convince yourself to give me a chance, and you want to see if we can be together in a way that isn’t physical.”
“Wrong.” I swallow my lie.
“You’re a lying bitch,” he whispers into my ear, his lips brushing my lobe. “You’re racking up quite the adjectives to go with that nickname.”
“Bitch is my official nickname? Oh, wow. I feel so cherished.” I roll my eyes.
“No, ‘bitch’ isn’t your nickname.” He grins then darts forward, kissing me, dragging my bottom lip between his teeth. “You’re my bitch, which makes your official nickname ‘Tyler’s Bitch.’”
“Does that make a huge difference?” I murmur as he runs his tongue along where his teeth just were.
“Yes. It makes the world of difference.”
“What, stick your name on an oddly affectionate but possibly insulting nickname and it makes it better?”
“It doesn’t have to make it better”—he runs his thumb along the curve of my jaw—“because it makes you mine. And it makes sure everyone else knows it, too.”
“But I’m not yours. Not really.”
“You are mine, Liv, whether you admit it to yourself or not. You’re mine when you’re wrapping your hand around my cock. You’re mine when your hands are bound and you’re at my mercy. You’re mine when your eyes are covered and you’re following my instructions. And you’re sure as fucking hell mine when you’re screaming my name at the end of it all.”
I shiver as his strong, certain words wash over me. He’s right, of course. I am his—physically, mentally, and a little bit emotionally. And that’s exactly what scares me.
Being as owned by him as he is by my addiction is terrifying.
“Now think about that,” he murmurs huskily, his thumb ghosting my bottom lip. “Think about that in twenty-four hours when your challenge is up and you’re bent in front of me, legs open, waiting for me to sink inside you. Think about that while you wait for it.”
“You’re a twat,” I whisper, using his word.
“I’m your twat. See? It makes a difference.” He kisses me again, curling his fingers around the back of my neck. “And I’m not ashamed to admit I’m yours. When you’re smiling at me, when you’re lying there in underwear you have no idea is sexy, when you’re fucking me and clinging to my hair like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment…I’m yours.”
I say nothing, letting this moment linger. Letting his words hover between us, embracing them, holding on to them…getting addicted to them. To the underlying current of power in every syllable. To the smooth way he strung them all together and the way he never stopped to take a breath. To the inflection in the word ‘yours.’
Addicted to the way he didn’t have to think for a second about saying them.