THE CRAZY GOOD SERIES - Rachel Robinson Page 0,90

can dominate better. She wraps her hands around my neck and pulls me closer once her shirt is wide open. Skimming her wet mouth down over my jaw, my chin, and down the front of my throat, she licks my neck tat and sighs a happy little moan. I close my eyes and take it all in.

She sucks my neck, just enough to make it feel good, but not enough to leave a mark. “I don’t want to leave you,” I admit, tilting my head back to give her better access. She bites my collarbone.

Against my skin she murmurs, “So don’t leave. I want you to stay with me, too. I don’t even know what to expect when you leave. I miss you so much when I’m at work and that’s only like nine hours. What does four thousand, three hundred, and twenty hours feel like? Torture.” She kisses me where she just bit me.

“Did you work that out in your head?” I ask to avoid the sickening truth.

“Numbers are my thing. I figured it out around the fourth time you called today.” Her full lips find mine again, but this time they don’t help me forget. They are like the signature on my death sentence— or a drug I won’t be able to have for a significant amount of time. She’s right. It will be torture. Windsor strips her shirt off and then her pink lace bra. Her tiny nipples pucker at the chill in the air. I kiss them. I lick one and then the other as she clutches my head to her chest.

“I have to go, Win. I don’t have a choice. You’ll be here when I get back?” My tongue slides up the center of her breasts as I lick a trail all the way up her throat to her mouth. I whisper at her lips, “Promise me.” Windsor darts her tongue out to trace my lips. She pulls my bottom lip in between her teeth.

“Like right here? In this exact same spot?” She says, her lips grazing mine as she speaks. I hate that she doesn’t get what I’m asking. My addictive personality is about to rear its head. Fuck. Fuck. “Or are you asking if I’ll still be yours when you get back?”

“Yes,” I say simply, inhaling the scent of her cherry lip gloss intermingling with her shampoo.

She pushes me back a touch, so she can look at me face on. “Isn’t that the way this works? Why would you even have to ask? Of course I’m yours. I’m yours forever. I’ll be here. I’ll be in this exact spot if that’s what you want. Say the word,” she says, pointing to the ground.

My stomach is a tangled fucking mess. This conversation just increases my inner turmoil. I’ve never had to have a talk like this. Not even with the blonde monster. But I never gave a shit about her, so I guess I wouldn’t. This is the sissy stuff that attached people deal with. Not lone wolves like me.

I view attachments with a singular view. With each person you grow close to, you increase your odds of miserable things happening—whether it’s friends or a girlfriend, or even parents having more children. With each addition of love to your life, the favor turns against you. You’re more liable to have something stripped away. Cancer. A car accident. A broken heart. The horrific scenarios of loss are endless and more plausible with each attachment you form. Because that’s the thing with attachments —you benefit from them, but they fucking destroy you. If you keep attachments to a minimum your risks stay low. I have Stone and my team. Now I have Windsor. An addition I know makes me vulnerable tenfold.

Stone told me I should talk about how I’m feeling with Windsor. I took his advice because number one, I always take his advice, and number two, he has Morganna, the impenetrable force field wrapped like a hard dick. You can’t undermine that feat.

“This is new to me, Win. I’ve never left a girlfriend behind before. I just wanted you to know that I don’t want to lose you because of my job. I don’t want to lose you for any reason. I want you to be here, in my house, in my life when I return. That said, I’ll understand if you can’t. It’s a lot to ask of anyone. You should know though, I’ll never not want you. You’re my always. And I do