Her mouth tasted like wine and it was soft. It made him forget about the hitchhiker, not care that they’d been talking about death and killing. She’d say the sharpest thing, slice everything to ribbons, then turn around and cry like a bird with a broken wing, or be affectionate in a way that made his guts feel weak.
He didn’t know she had the urge to break something, but James could tell she was feeling reckless. It was coming off her in waves. Maybe that was why she kept coming around. He was a spoke on her training wheels. Why bother pretending to be a gentleman about it? When he couldn’t stand it, he put his hand in the hair at the nape of her neck and kissed her back, harder. He broke off. “This is what you came for, right?”