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My brain is still trying to fathom what is happening. He’s either so pissed off with my line of questioning that I’m in serious trouble, or something in my pleading has finally gotten through.
A thought that terrifies and excites me in equal measure.
Either way, we’re moving. Fast. Thorne Calliano wastes no time, keeping my hand wrapped in his warm, calloused palm, he tugs me behind him.
We head toward the edge of the dance floor, cutting through the crowd and making an arrow-straight line for the exit.
Apparently, when this man decides to move, there’s not a moment’s pause, and I’m a little uncertain what the urgency is.
33
Thorne opens the back door of the vehicle for me and helps me step up. As I slide into the spacious backseat, he doesn’t shut the door behind me in the way I’ve come to expect. Instead, his bulky frame follows me like a muscular shadow and the space shrinks by about three feet.
The others are hot on our heels, with Raven driving and Ky making himself comfortable in the passenger seat, having already ditched his suit jacket on the way out. He quickly rolls his shirt sleeves up his forearms, catching my line of sight in the rearview mirror as he does so.
There’s pure mischief in his eyes when he snaps me checking out his veined forearms.
I duck my head and go to shift further across toward the other door, but my progress is halted when a heavy arm bands across the front of my waist. The unexpected contact makes me jump, and Thorne uses that to his advantage. Scooping me off the leather and settling me sideways in his lap.
“What are you doing?” With fists clenched, I push against his chest. Quite honestly, right now, I feel like a startled rabbit about to be skinned alive and made into slippers.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs. His eyes have darkened, and that heavy-lidded gaze drops to my mouth.
Holy ever loving fuck.
This must be a fever dream. Maybe they drugged me again, and I’m hallucinating. Because there is no way Thorne Calliano is holding me in his lap, staring at my mouth like he’ll starve if he doesn’t get a taste.
My wretched heart leaps into my throat, pulse tripling in intensity.
I’m apparently squirming, because a solid palm lands on my leg to prevent me from moving. His fingers wrap the outside of my thigh while a thumb presses down on the soft inner flesh.
“Thorne…” I hesitate. Darting my tongue out to wet my lips, steely eyes track the small movement.
His pupils bloom.
Every molecule of air gets sucked out of this tiny space in an instant.
Oh, my god, he’s turned on.
“Let go of me.” I don’t know if I mean from his lap, from his compound, or from the intensity of his stare.
No matter how hard I try to argue otherwise, my body yearns for him in a way that must surely be insanity. I’ve found myself tangled in a web between the three men filling this vehicle, and right now, I’m gladly allowing them to spin their devious threads tighter and tighter.
Heat rages through my body and all I can feel is the overwhelming presence of him assaulting me. I want to turn around and straddle his lap. I want to throw my arms around his neck and lose myself in his lips. I want to guide him inside me and put on a show for my wolf and my naughty boy, whose two sets of eyes I can feel searing into me from their positions in the front.
As soon as we pull out of the Noire Estate grounds, Thorne strikes.
He twists my body so that I’m now seated directly on his lap with my back against his torso. There’s no hesitation or lingering debate going on inside him now as his fingers hook the slit up the side of my dress and yank at the material until it rucks up around my hips. With predatory ease, he slides two rough palms up the inside of my thighs and spreads my legs to fall on either side of where his knees are spread wide. Holy fuck. I’m a live wire beneath every inch of skin his touch glides over with fierce, possessive strokes.
It’s as though he’s been calculating exactly how and where he’s going to imprint his hold on me, and this is finally the moment his plan comes together.
His muscled chest presses against my back, and the hardness of his cock juts up against my ass. Jesus. They’re all big, but this man might split me in two.
Thorne expertly avoids the space between the junction of my thighs where I’m already aching and throbbing to have his rough hands on me, right there. A delicious rumble flows from his chest when he realizes I’m shifting and trying to chase after his fingers. Issuing a low noise of warning, and being every inch a controlling asshole, Thorne grabs my wrists and wrenches them behind my back.
My brain is too fogged with unrestrained desire to react.
It’s only when cold metal kisses my skin that I’m broken out of my horny daze. He clicks a set of handcuffs around my wrists with the efficiency of a man who has done this a thousand times before.
