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He cuts me a look. Okay, less cute, more scary.

“What?” I say. “You don’t think I can handle her myself if something happens?”

He cradles my cheeks with his calloused hands. “You can, but you shouldn’t have to handle her alone. That’s what I’m here for.”

My heart squeezes at the intense, serious look in his eyes. He’s never looked at me like that, and the bundle of guilt wiggles its way free. I want him, I do, but when he finds out what I did, he might not want me back. He might not want me on this planet. If I’m honest, it’s why I’ve always tried to push him away.

“Don’t,” I warn, stepping away. Don’t do this. Don’t trust me. The bed frame presses into the backs of my knees.

“Don’t what? Care?” he murmurs, hovering over me so I’m caged by his body. “Fuck it, I already do.”

Lawton’s lips crash into mine, and he pushes me down until my back meets the mattress, his heavy body a delicious weight on top of me. I can feel every hard inch of him, and I rock my hips, wanting more, more, more. When he grinds against me, I suck in a gasp of pleasure.

He instantly pulls back, chest heaving. “Shit, your shoulder—”

“Is fine.”

“But we shouldn’t—”

I fist my hands in his shirt and drag him closer, ignoring all those don’ts in my head. “Yes, we should.”

47Sabrina

Lawton surrenders with a groan and his tongue dives between my lips, savoring, opening. He tastes like fresh mint with a smoky edge, and I tangle my fingers in his hair, using my good arm to pull him closer.

Maybe I should be thinking this through, but for the first time, I don’t want to go through my mental pro/con list, even though I could come up with a million cons. There’s no act we need to sell, for one. This is happening because I want Lawton. I don’t care if he thinks flannel counts as black tie. I like that I don’t have to tiptoe around his personality or come up with a completely new identity just to grab coffee.

This is bad, but so good.

Lawton’s thumb brushes over my peaked nipple, and a shot of heat drops to my core. His mouth demands more from me, so I suck his bottom lip, earning a groan from deep in his throat. It’s been so long, so long, that I can’t stop the ravenous need clawing through me. He nips at me, and then his lips skim my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. He continues down, sucking my nipple, warming it with a swirl of his tongue. He pays attention to my body like an assassin does his target, with complete and utter focus.

I arch against him, and he presses an open-mouthed kiss to my stomach. “What do you want? My hands? Tongue? Cock? Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“Tongue,” I gasp. “Definitely your tongue.”

“Not my cock?” he teases with a flick of that scandalous tongue. “I’m kind of offended.”

I widen my legs, opening for him. “Tongue first. Cock later.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, sucking the skin of my inner thigh until there’s a small red patch. “I really like you like this.”

I roll my hips toward the pressure of his mouth. “Like what?”

His eyes lock with mine, hands tightening around my hips. “Demanding. Telling me exactly what you want, so I don’t have to guess.”

My lungs squeeze. He wears his feelings the same way I wear my favorite Chanel heels, shamelessly meant to be seen. And that openness is what I need to go through with this. No more hiding or pretending. It was never going to be just sex with Lawton, but I always knew that. I never wanted just sex.

He peels off my lace thong and throws it across the bedroom. They catch right on a longhorn skull hanging on the wall.

My chin drops to my collarbone. “Lawton! Those were La Perla. You can’t just fling them.”

“You want me to rip them instead?” His tongue darts out, and he licks up my center.

I moan, legs twitching against his shoulders. “You rip them, you replace them.”

“All right.” Another long lick. “I’ll buy you a drawer full of panties if you let me rip them off you.”

“Each pair is a hundred dollars.”