“I smile, and I hate trying to be normal when it would be so easy just to kill her instead.” — Britney King, Dead In The Water
I don’t know how it’s January already… but clearly, it is. Speaking of which, Dead In The Water releases two weeks from today.
TWO WEEKS. 🙂
So, from now until the end of the month, I’ll be sharing a short (ish) excerpt along with one of the images from the book done by my better half.
Heads up, the excerpt below is likely going to be the least PG of them all… so, if you’re underage OR you are related to me in any way—whether by blood or marriage— stop reading here.
The rest of you, carry on. 😉
Happy New Year and happy reading.
It takes you a while over there, and it kills me to have walked out of that room. You know I’ve always liked the staging part. Which is why it takes everything in me not to go back and finish this fight, but I won’t give you the satisfaction. I have staying power, and so instead I pour myself a drink and I pace. I will wait you out. That much I can do.
Finally, when I hear you making your way through the door, I stop pacing. You stand there, removing your gloves, wiping the sweat from your brow, and it’s a dig at me, the kind you offer best without words. You watch me as I down the last of my drink and then you pour yourself one I doubt you’ll really drink.
“Cheers,” I offer, but it sounds like ‘fuck you,’ which it is, and I hate that we haven’t touched glasses. It’s bad luck, and certainly we don’t need any of that. You don’t seem concerned with luck though, because in two short strides you are standing in front of me, and your eyes are dark. You swallow hard, and this intensity, it kills me. You don’t say anything, and I hate the silence between us. Maybe you’re trying to send a message. Maybe you’re into telepathy; I’m not sure. But I’m not afraid of this side of you, Jude. It’s always been the best part. And so when you push me against the wall, I go willingly. At least at first. Because I know you, and you’ve always enjoyed a bit of a fight.
I want to be mad, but it’s hard when you look at me like that. This is why I hold my breath as you run your hands up the length of my sides and back down again. I won’t give in; I won’t give you the satisfaction. Until I start to feel dizzy, and then I sigh and let it out. You want submissive, fine. I’ll give it to you. I’m tipsy and I’m angry and I don’t want to waste this. I look you directly in the eyes, and for the first time it feels like you’re actually seeing me. I guess the allure of sex does that to a person.
“Ouch,” you say, touching my swollen face, taking me by the chin, pulling me toward the light. “We need to get some ice on that.”
I don’t give you the dignity of a response. Instead, I motion toward the bed. You glance over at my suggestion, but you don’t budge, or at least not much, and so I nudge you in the direction I want you to go. Taking you by the shirt, I lead you over to the bed. You like what I’m thinking, and so you make it easy to get you where I want you. You smile as I push you down, and then you stare expectantly as I straddle you and unfasten your belt. You like control— but you like blow jobs better—and you need to be punished for setting me up next door the way you did.
Only now isn’t the time for punishment— there will be other opportunities, and you should keep that in mind. I’m a woman, Jude, and with women, nothing goes unnoticed. I won’t soon forget that I didn’t get my kill tonight because you have some sick need to show me what a man you are, and even if I secretly kind of love it, I can’t let you off the hook. Give an inch, they take a mile. My father said that. You’re studying my face, and I can see that you want to know what I’m thinking but I won’t let you in. Not that way.
By the time I step back and slide my dress over my hips, you’re already hard.
“Come here,” you say, and at first I don’t, but then I do.