Page 60 of Savage Surrender

Bianca’s nails catch lightly in his hair. “You tell me.”

“Yes.” Weller’s thumbs press into the dips beside her hips. “Very much.”

My grip tightens on the island.

“And if I didn’t enjoy it?”

His hands go still. “Then I wouldn’t.”

“Even if you thought I needed it?”

A line appears between his brows. For once, he doesn’t have the answer waiting.

His palms slide up the backs of her thighs. Bianca’s fingers tighten in his hair, and he stops before he reaches the hem of her cover-up. “I want to know what you need before you have to ask.”

“And if I change my mind?”

His hands return to her hips. “You tell me your limits, Bianca. What you want, what you don’t, and where it stops. I will never decide those things for you, but if you want me to take control when you need to let go, you can trust me with that.”

Bianca looks like a deer in headlights. Years in the mountains, knives hidden on her body, blood on her hands, and somehow she looks impossibly shy and deliciously fuckable.

“You can spank me,” she says.

Owen makes a rough sound behind me. I don’t look away.

Bianca wets her lips. “I want you to make me forget how to think.”

Weller’s fingers flex against her hips, once, hard enough to pull the fabric taut. His eyes close, and the control he has spent his entire life building disappears for exactly one breath.

“We’ll discuss it all properly,” he says when he opens them again, and his scent is potent.

“This feels pretty proper. I don’t really have limits. You’ll know if I don’t like it.”

I chuckle. I’m going to eat her up. Hope she doesn’t get sick of me.

15

BIANCA

By the time Weller leads me into the hallway, I need every weapon in the house laid out where I can see it, a map of the property, and at least three ways to get all five of us out if somebody comes through the trees. This is easier than thinking about the men.

“Where’s the utility room?” I ask.

Weller looks down at me. The dark heat from the common room is still there, tucked behind the part of him already studying the windows along the hall. “Past the laundry. Why?”

“I want tools, flashlights, the breaker panel, and anything heavy enough to use as a weapon. Then I need the floor plan.”

He wants to tell me they’ll handle it.

“I’ll get the plans from Tristan,” he says.

“I want to walk it first.”

The weapon inventory is insulting. I add the tools I made at the mansion, knives from the kitchen, a fire poker, two heavy flashlights, and a hammer from a utility shelf. The ammunition portion takes no time at all because we have exactly zero guns.

My shoulder keeps reaching for the weight of a bow that isn’t there. My omega keeps reaching backward for Weller. Both are annoying.

“We need actual weapons,” I say.