His hands tear at my clothes, pulling down the fabricand shoving it aside. The cold storm slams my bare skin but his heat burns over me.
I yank at his jeans, and the wet fabric is rough against my palms. He jerks them down halfway and kicks them off. His mouth devours my neck, my collarbone, back to my lips.
Every move is a fight. I shove, he pins. I claw, he captures. I buck, he drives me harder into the bark. My defiance makes him fiercer. His control makes me wilder. The storm disappears. The danger, the chase, the knives, the guns—gone. Only this. My naked body lit, my thoughts burned away. Even sound.
He lifts me, both hands gripping my ass as I wrap my legs around his hips and my arms around his neck. His mouth owns mine, his body crushing every line of me.
I gasp his name. He growls mine.
Then he slams inside me. I’m more than ready, and I don’t understand that. Sex and fighting have never gone together before now. But I feel him everywhere. I gasp, arching, completely taken over as he holds me against the tree, my legs around his hips, his cock pulsing inside me. All the way.
I like it more than I should. More than I want to, but I don’t care. Later, I will, but that’s a concern for tomorrow. Right now, I’m finally out of my head. Out of my fear of the future, of the enemies coming for me. There’s only right here and now. I grip him tighter as he starts to pound, his hands protecting me from the bark now. Spread across my back. I dig my nails into his skin, gasping and climbing. Fast. Desperately. He shifts slightly to the left, brushing my clit, and I explode.
Crying out his name, I bite into his shoulder, silencingmyself. He keeps hammering, a long time, way past the aftershocks inside me. I climb again. How is this even possible? His teeth latch onto my shoulder. Pain and pleasure mix wildly inside me. I teeter on the edge again and then fall, my entire body gyrating against his much larger one. His hotter one. The guy is an inferno.
When I’ve come down, he stills. His body tightens then he erupts inside me, jerking wildly.
Holy crap.
His teeth release their hold. I gasp, trying to breathe.
The rain pummels us.
He leans back, his gaze intense. Shielded. Dark. Then he slowly withdraws from me. My body shakes, trying to hold him in, and more aftershocks slake through me.
I can only stare at him. Bemused.
One of his dark eyebrows arch. Then, in a too smooth movement, he shifts and tosses me over his broad shoulder, buck-assed naked, before striding back the way we came.
To the cabin.
SEVENTEEN
Justice
Iwatch her sleep. Blonde hair springs in curly directions, and her body is barely discernible beneath the comforter. She snuggles into the bed with the dog splayed across the bottom, no doubt pinning her feet. I took her hard against the tree outside and then again inside the cabin, and she’d been all in. A fireball in such a small package. Consent from both of us had been clear, and I’m sure we’d both like to change that fact. Not the consent, but the fact that we’d been unable to stop. Truth be told, I almost lost control.
Never in my life have I wanted a woman more.
She’s wrong for me. All wrong. An enemy with a mission of her own. She’s a killer as well. Attempted, anyway. Allowing such a threat to continue breathing goes against my very DNA. Against every cell still multiplying or dying in my body. I’ve fucked her twice, and she’s nowhere near out of my system.
It might take a week.
A buzz sounds and I move to the kitchen, opening thebottom drawer and ripping out the false bottom to grasp a burner phone. Neither the woman nor the dog move.
I pad barefoot across the cabin and outside to sit on the porch, my legs extended to the bottom step. “You shouldn’t be calling on your honeymoon,” I answer.
“Who attacked us?” Anger rides Thorn’s tone. So much for his relaxed vacation.
“Don’t know.” The rain has ebbed but water drips loudly from the tree branches around me. “The hit was to the penthouse and not the servers, so—”
Thorn swears. “You were the target. Take you out while I’m gone.” He exhales. Loudly. “I’ll have the pilots clear a flight home.”
I stiffen. “Nope.” My jeans are clean but my feet are still dirty. I should shower. “If you come back right now and don’t trust me to handle this, then you’re cutting my legs off beneath me.” It’d be seen as a sign of weakness. “I have to handle it myself.”
He’s silent. Yeah, he knows I’m right. Might not like it, but there you go. “Do you think it was Ella Rendale?” The question makes sense because she did try to kill him.
“No.”
