Guns: The Spencer Book
Page 60

I eye him carefully, trying not to read too much into what he just said. “Do you want me?”
“I’ve wanted you since the day I laid eyes on you. You know that.”
“Sometimes I forget, Spencer.” I say it softly, so I don’t hurt him. I’m done playing games. I just want to settle. I just want us to settle. I trace his lips with my fingertip. “It’s so hard to remember what it used to be like.”
He stares at me for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. “Maybe you need a reminder, then, eh?”
Fuck me, I silently mouth. Fuck me, f**k me, f**k me.
He says nothing, but his hand does. It rests on my thigh, squeezing gently, and the wetness escapes my throbbing pu**y. “Tell me, Bomb. Tell me what you want.”
I grab his hand and guide it to my sex, my fingertips holding his fingertip. I stroke myself with his finger. Back and forth. And then I slip inside myself, the walls of my pu**y slick with want. His finger follows, pushing mine in further.
“Tell me, Ronnie.”
I melt at the name. He’s got so many names for me, but Ronnie—that’s the one that says I love you. I gather up the wetness on my finger then withdraw it and brings it to his lips. “Suck me, Spencer.” His tongue darts out and laps against my finger. And then he dips his mouth down to mine and gives me a taste as well.
I taste like lust. I taste like want. I taste like greed.
He watches my tongue as I lick his finger. “I’ve said every dirty thing imaginable to you over the years, Ron. We like it like that, don’t we? The dirty talk.”
I nod. “We do.”
“You know what else we like?”
My head shakes out the slightest no. It’s been so long since he’s looked at me like this. So, so f**king long since he’s had any kind of real conversation with me. So long since he’s said all the dirty things that tell me he loves me. I need it so bad. “Tell me what else we like, Spencer.”
His smile is small and crooked. Almost sad as he reaches over and laces his fingers in mine. “We like to hold hands too, don’t we?”
Oh, God. That was not what I expected. I swallow down the tears and nod.
He watches me struggle and then frowns and lets out a sad sigh. “We like to watch TV, too. Don’t we?”
I nod again. “Adult Swim and King of the Hill.”
He laughs for real at this. “Yeah, baby. You appreciate the cartoons like no other woman I know. What else do we like?”
A tear slips out and rolls down my cheek. His finger automatically swipes it away and then he presses his mouth into my ear and says, “Shhhh. Don’t cry, Ronnie. Just tell me what we like, so I can remember. Because I’ve lost my way, baby. I’m worried about so many things right now, I’m afraid I might’ve forgotten why I’m doing all this. Why I’m hurting you so badly. Why this Bobby guy gets to take you out when I can’t. So tell me, remind me why I’m doing this, Ronnie. Tell me what we like.”
“Trees,” I blurt before the sobs come out.
“We do like trees. You love me for my buckeyes, huh?”
That makes me giggle, but his expression remains serious. “Yeah,” I whisper. “We love the buckeyes. And we love beaches.”
“I love being on the beach with you, Bombshell.”
I can’t stop the tears now, they just stream down my face. “We like puppies, too.”
“Pound puppies, right?” He leans down and kisses my head. “We like to save them, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say as I wipe my nose.
“We’re gonna get a shitload of pound puppies once this is over, baby.” His gray eyes are darting back and forth across my face, studying me. “Tell me what else we love, Ronnie.”
“We love the country. And we’re gonna live on the farm.”
He leans down and kisses me gently on the lips. “Absolutely live on the farm. I’d never leave the farm. What else?”
“And have Sunday dinners with your parents.”
“Together,” he adds with a sigh. “For once. We’re gonna do that together. Keep going. Tell me all the things we like. Tell me all the things we’re gonna do when this is over, Ronnie. I want to hear it all. I want it burned in my brain when I leave here.”
“Line dancing.”
“We love the f**k out of line dancing, Bombs. I’m gonna take you dancing every week when this is over.”
He leans off to the side of me, resting his hand on my stomach and his head next to mine, making it clear that none of this is about sex. Or my body. Or our lust. He makes it clear that every bit of this is about us. Our dreams, our lives.
“Do we love kids, Ron?” he asks, so, so serious.
“I think we do, Spencer.”
“That farmhouse has a lot of rooms. We’re gonna need to fill them all up. There is nothing worse than a big empty house.”
“We hate empty houses, huh, Spencer?”
“Can’t stand them, Bomb. Our farmhouse will be busting at the seams with rowdy kids and pound puppies. Do we like boys or girls, Ronnie?”
“We like girls. You need a pack of princesses running around in ballet shoes.”
He’s silent for a long time after that. Maybe picturing it like I am. My eyes begin to get heavy. I want nothing more than to make this moment last forever, but his body pressed up against mine makes me content in a way I can’t even explain. He makes me feel safe and protected.