Talk dirty to me

Here’s mine:

“Sadist.”

I rubbed a soothing circle over the small red spot that was starting to appear. “Don’t make me slap you with my wooden ruler.”

“Are you a naughty professor now?”

“Nope. A crotchety schoolmarm.”

“You took off your top and promised to slap me,” he reminded in monotone.

“Threatened. And what’s your point?”

“Definitely a naughty professor.” His mouth twitched in the tiniest hint of a smirk. “Plus, you mentioned something about wood and crotch. I can’t recall exactly what but I’m sure it was important.”

I laughed. How could I not? “You’re such a dork.”

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Hot and bothered

Here’s mine:

“Do you want me to beg, Cale? Because I will.”

A convincing scowl overtook his handsome features as he finally pushed away from the bar and slowly made his way toward me. “No.”

It was pretty darn fortunate I wasn’t wearing any panties. Because the scorching heat of his intense gaze would’ve melted them in a split second.

“Don’t beg. Don’t talk. Don’t make any sudden movements.” He looped an arm around my knees, taking my legs out from under me, which sent me crashing into his lap. “Understand?”

I nodded wordlessly and reached up to trace the scar along his collarbone.

“And don’t touch,” he growled, seizing my wrist. “For God’s sake, Mickey, don’t touch anything.”

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Tipping the scales

Here’s mine:

“What part of ‘No’ don’t you understand, mister?”

“Stop being such a tease,” I growled, my demand hoarse with annoyance. And desperation. So much desperation. Hell, I was hemorrhaging desperation at an alarming rate.

She rocked her hips once, grinding against my abs, trying to fucking kill me, and calmly countered, “After you stop being such a liar.”

This damn girl.

We both knew she had me by the balls. We both also knew I couldn’t care less what she did with them. She could slice them clean off if she wanted to and I wouldn’t put up much of a fight. In fact, I’d remove the traitorous things myself and hand them over willingly. Any time. Every time.

Including now.

Accepting the inevitable, I went ahead and shredded my man card into a pile of confetti at her feet.

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Tell me how you feel

Here’s mine:

“Just answer the question, Mickey,” he prompted calmly.

The irrational urge to scream had returned. In full force. “Yes, I kissed him.”

Cale’s body jerked ever-so-slightly at the admission. “And?”

And?” She threw her hands up in exasperation. The only other option was ripping all of her hair out. “And then he told me that he still loves me, okay?”

Fuck.”

“Oh, trust me, there was none of that,” she spat viciously, her composure quickly dissolving into complete and utter chaos. “Because I don’t love him. Because he’s…he’s not…”

Where am I going with this?

“He’s not you, damn it! Because I love you, okay?”

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Spoil alert

Here’s mine:

“It’s okay, Cale.”

“What is?”

“That you love her.”

I sighed in exasperation, “Dad…”

“You do love her, don’t you?”

“Like you wouldn’t fucking believe.”

“And you’re scared.”

“Shitless.”

With a knowing grin, my father opened up the liquor cabinet and asked, “Care for a nightcap with your old man?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Laughing heartily, he reached for the bottle of Chivas. “You’re in trouble, son.”

“Yeah, I know,” I groaned miserably. “Trust me, Dad. I fucking know.”

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Ouch.

Here’s mine:

The second we were alone, I completely unraveled at every seam. There was no chance of stopping it…

I struck him once more.

Before tossing the divorce papers in his face and switching to my bare fists.

Hitting him over and over and over again.

As for the love of my life?

He took the abuse.

Didn’t stop me even though he easily could’ve. Didn’t defend himself even when I drew a dangerous amount of blood. Didn’t move. Didn’t budge. Didn’t so much as twitch.

While I beat the living shit out of him.

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Call me

Here’s mine:

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hellooooo?”

More silence.

“Is this a prank call?”

More freakin’ silence.

“Because you caught me at a really, really bad time, jerkoff,” she growled into the mouthpiece. “I’m naked and I can’t walk properly and…”

“Ruth’s Chris, downstairs.”

Oh. My. God.

“C-Cale?”

Click.

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