“I’m not a good man. I’m fucking greedy and selfish and cruel, and you should run away because I want you.” His voice shredded the space between them. “I want every fucking piece of you. I want to ruin you for anyone else. I want to keep you so close nobody even thinks about touching you.”
She laughed and rocked down on his lap, grinding hard enough that he hissed. “That’s a lot of wanting for a guy who can barely admit he likes me.”
His grip tightened. “I don’t like you. I want you. There’s a difference.”
“Yeah?” She bit his jaw, teeth scraping just to see if he’d flinch. He didn’t. “Could’ve fooled me.”
He yanked her in, pinning her chest to his as his mouth slammed into hers. This time, the kiss was rough, all edge, no give.
Rain hammered on the windshield, fogging the glass, turning the world outside to nothing. Just the two of them, wrapped up in heat and violence and the impossible need to crawl inside each other’s skin.
She fisted her hands in his shirt. “You want me, take me.”
He shoved her back just enough to look at her. “You really want to do this? Right here?”
She could see it in his eyes—the leash of his control was down to threads. She’d be lying if she said it didn’t scare her a little. “I want you everywhere, Owen. Don’t care if it’s the truck, or back at my place, or in the middle of the bakery. Just do it.”
He let out a sound that was pure violence, then gripped her ass and rocked her against him. She was wet, throbbing, so far gone she would’ve begged if he’d asked for it.
His hand slid down her back, squeezing her ass, and he ground up against her, earning a gasp she couldn’t swallow. Helicked up the side of her neck, then hooked a hand in her hair and tugged her head back to expose her throat. “I’m not gentle.”
“Did I ask for gentle?”
His eyes blazed. All the restraint, all the careful distance, gone. He reached between her legs and stroked her through her jeans, hard and slow, until she was panting. “You want it like this, Fury? Want me to fuck you mean?”
Yes. God, yes.
But the words were lost somewhere in her throat, so all she could do was nod.
He popped the button on her jeans and shoved his hand inside. She was soaked. He found her clit and pressed, thumb relentless, while his mouth ate at hers. She tried to grind down, but he just pinned her hips and kept up the slow torture.
She wanted to hit him. Or kiss him harder. Maybe both.
“Owen, God, just—” The words snapped off, replaced by a sound she’d have been embarrassed to make if she’d had any pride left. But he’d stripped that away already, hadn’t he?
He caught her mouth, swallowed her next curse, and shoved his fingers deeper. She tried to grind against his hand, but he just laughed—low, dark, a sound that vibrated straight through her—and withdrew his hand. “You want it that bad, Fury?”
“Fuck you,” she gasped, but her hips told a different story, chasing his touch.
“Not yet. You come first.”
She grabbed at his wrist, desperate, half a second from begging. His thumb flicked her clit, hard, then lighter, back and forth until she was shaking. She bit his jaw, didn’t care if she left a mark. Maybe she wanted to.
He kept her there, teetering on the edge, for what might have been forever if someone hadn’t rapped on the driver’s side window.
Ghost went perfectly, murderously still.
Naomi spun halfway off his lap, heart throttling in her throat, jeans tangled around her hips, and knuckles white on Ghost’s shoulder. His hand never left her waistband. If anything, he squeezed harder.
Outside, in the sheets of rain, a man stood in a black cowboy hat, scowling at them.
Boone Callahan.
She twisted, trying to right herself. Her jeans were unbuttoned, her shirt half untucked, and her hair was probably a disaster. Awesome.
Ghost’s hand never left her waist.
Outside the glass, Boone didn’t move. Just stood there in the rain, face unreadable, water running off his hat brim in slow, steady lines. There was no way he hadn’t seen everything.
