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His features twist, oscillating between skepticism and regret. “You really don’t know?”
A sardonic laugh wheezes out of me. “Why you’re acting crazy? Why you went from playful and flirty to smoking and strangling? Nope. Can’t say I have any idea.”
He crashes his mouth to mine in an uncharacteristic, impassioned stealing of my breath. While he’s been deliberate and calculated with every movement in our previous encounters, this is wild and untamed. And I can’t get enough. Every nerve ending in my body buzzes with a surging current.
He tastes like stale nicotine and the garbage coffee served in the arena—staples of cravings. But mostly, it’s the flavor of taboo deliverance.
In all the stupid adrenaline rushes I’ve chased to feel a rumble clawing up my esophagus, nothing has ever yielded this level of delirium. His thumb sweeps over my throat, searching for my pulse maybe, but next thing I know, he’s got both of my wrists above my head, his huge hand clamping them together.
“Christ, you piss me off, Carver. Driving me fucking insane.” There is no sweetness to those words. He sounds murderous, completely unhinged.
And my panties have never been wetter.
Holy. Hell.
His tongue commands mine with an alarming dominance that, despite my near suffocation, is like inhaling fresh air for the first time.
I break away to catch my breath. “Obviously. But insanity suits you.”
I’m not sure if that lands as an accolade because his chuckle is stilted, my brain is fuzzy, and he’s devouring me again. There’s barely any space between us, but my body still fights to consume it, needing to feel every inch, every morsel of him. His free hand cradles the side of my face, fingers entwined in the strands of my wrecked ponytail, tilting me at the angle he wants.
And even though my irritation for his absurd mood swings whirls around me, reminders of his arrogance nipping at my skin, it’s somehow drowned within his swallowing presence. He’s everywhere. In my chest and veins, my cells and blood. The soupy air encircling us and my voracious bones.
He releases my wrists to pull me completely flush against him, deepening our fusion so that I wonder if I’m going to black out.
Good God, this is only kissing.
As I clasp my arms behind his neck, my legs eagerly climb to his hips, curling around him, which only seems to incite him more. His teeth drag over the sensitive skin below my ear, his tongue sweeping out in a languid stroke that I want everywhere.
“Fuck, Ace. You’re infuriating, but you taste good.” He groans before sinking his teeth deeper and pressing me flatter against the barn siding.
The air whooshes out of my lungs from the pressure as his lips find mine again.
At the feel of his hardness, I moan with obscene desires, but awareness floods me. “Against a barn,” I murmur between kisses. “Rex … Dante … Keith … stables’ crew.” His hand squeezes my ass, and I care very little about who the hell can see us, but I mutter the end of my objection for good measure. “Watching.”
“Let them,” he growls, like a warrior declaring a battle cry.
Why is that so hot?
“Let everyone fucking see what I’m doing to you.”
Yeah. Okay. I can get behind that.
My fingers weave through his thick hair, and I’m seriously considering slipping inside the barn and letting him fuck me on the hay bales. Or in the back seat of Rex’s SUV. He works for me, essentially. He’ll fight me on it though.
I had to suggest the bike. Brilliant idea.
No. That’s good. A natural cockblock. I was playing a long game. Right? Although I can’t fathom why. A reason or rules. Yeah. I had a couple of rules. Some elaborate scheme. God, I don’t know.
Fuck it. I’ve never been so ravenous for anyone in all my life. We only live once. And my single days are numbered.
As if sensing my decision, he pulls back, both of us heaving puffing breaths. His mossy-green hazel eyes caper all over my face, shouting exclamations I can’t decipher.
Jesus, why is he so hard to read?
My hips gyrate of their own accord, and I’m reminded that not all of him is an enigma. His swollen erection is abundantly forthright, as is the groan of pleasure that follows.
In the stillness of our locked gazes and panting breaths, I crawl my hand down his taut chest muscles to his trim waist, in eager pursuit of the massive gift awaiting on the other side of his zipper. There’s no denying my objective at this point, but I’m a grown woman on borrowed time—as far as salacious rendezvous are concerned—so there’s no sense in feigning coyness. With one hand, I manage to unfasten his jeans button, to which he responds with a sharp inhale.
