Should be. [Her forearm aches where he's buckled against her, adrenaline finally starting to take the edge off and leaving her acutely aware of the texture of jeans against bare skin. Her thighs against his and the glossy, chilled surface of his desk with every inch he moves in to take. But Nisha's proud when she says it, chin tilted upwards to grant him access to the corded muscle of her throat-- her collarbone and the long, lean lines of her chest.
Permission passed out like a reward-- or maybe just a truce on middle ground.] Otherwise the Sheriff of Lynchwood might have to take you down.
[Voice low and tinged with amusement to emphasize her own morbid brand of humor.]
no subject
Permission passed out like a reward-- or maybe just a truce on middle ground.] Otherwise the Sheriff of Lynchwood might have to take you down.
[Voice low and tinged with amusement to emphasize her own morbid brand of humor.]