Page 6
“Happy now?” he mutters, breathing hard. “I’m starting to think you like my face.”
“There’s nothing about you I like.”
His chest moves against mine each time he inhales, and the heat of him seeps through the wet cold.
Fear tangles with the closeness of him and the smell of rain, earth and that rich cologne lacing his damp skin.
A strong thigh pins mine, his hands clamp my wrists above my head, and God help me, my body doesn’t know the difference between danger and desire right now.
And I hate him for it, although I hate myself more.
A muscle jumps in his jaw.
He lowers his face, bringing his mouth close to mine. “Say, ‘you caught me, Fionn Harrington.’”
“Never.”
For a few brutal seconds, the fight turns into something else by accident. My hips drive up as I try to throw him off, his body bears down to stop me, and the drag of him lands so precisely on my clit through the wet denim that my breath tears in half.
I do it again before sense catches up. Chase the pressure like an animal. And when I realize what I’ve done, shame floods in behind the heat and does absolutely nothing to cool it.
He’s aware of it too. Every muscle in him locks, and the hard length of his dick settles against me exactly where I’m aching, thick through his soaked trousers so my body registers the hardness before my brain gets a chance to refuse it.
Instead of getting off to pretend the chase and the fight haven’t dragged something raw out of us, he holds my wrists tighter and lets me feel exactly what I’ve done to him.
“Typical Tallon,” he says. “Still trying to win when I've caught you.”
My cheeks flame because I should be disgusted, and I am, but disgust does nothing for the heat pooling low in my belly or the wet, insistent throb between my thighs that’s been building since he put his hands on me in that barn.
His eyes stay locked on mine, his jaw clenched as if control is something he’s biting in two.
“You’re so fucked in the head, Fionn,” I say, because if I can make it ugly, I can survive it. “Bet your da would be proud to know chasing women through the dark gets your dick this hard.”
His pupils flare, and when his mouth comes close to mine, I think our lips are going to touch.
“There’s a first time for everything,” he says, the words dragging over my mouth with his breath.
My throat tightens. I try to laugh, but it comes out broken.
“Truth is, little wild thing,” he says, voice dropping to a rumble that vibrates through my chest, “if you wanted saving, you would’ve run for the road. Instead, you led me out here… where no one can hear what happens when I catch you.”
I yank against his grip, nails digging into his wrists. “Get the fuck off me, Harrington.”
“Make me,” he taunts.
I buck harder, hips snapping up, only this time the thick ridge of his dick drags right over my clit through our clothes. The whimper that spills out of me isn’t a fighting sound. It’s a wrecked groan that’s very unmistakable.
My hips chase him for it. Twice. Three times. Riding the ridge of him through my denim like I’ve got no say in what my own body does, and God help me, I don’t.
I need more. That’s the ugly truth of it, lying in the mud with rain running into my mouth. Not less of him. More. Harder. Bare. His hand between my legs instead of his hipbone, his fingers instead of the seam of my jeans, and it’s so wrong that my eyes sting with it while I keep rolling up into him anyway.
“Fight me,” he bites out. “Come on, little wild thing. Or were you all talk back in the barn?”
His mouth moves dangerously close again. We both take deep, heavy breaths, the possibilities throbbing through the contact until I shove my shoulder into his chest and hook my leg around his.
Using his weight, and the half a beat of arrogance in his eyes against him, I force us to roll.
The ground knocks a grunt out of him, and then I’m straddling his waist with my knees digging into the wet earth.
