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Realizing she was braced on one hand, he batted the other away before it could get near her pussy. “I didn’t say you could touch yourself, did I?”
“Fuck you, you prick. It’s my clit—”
“Not right now it’s not. It’s mine. I say who gets to touch it.”
Larkin cursed as he planted a hand between her shoulder blades and pressed down, pinning her upper body to the bed. Her pride dictated she should call him fit to burn, but she’d be lying if she claimed she didn’t like how he maneuvered her exactly how and where he wanted her.
Larkin never liked when guys tried exerting control by teasing her or denying her orgasms. It only annoyed her. Teague didn’t do that. No, he asserted himself by quite simply taking, rough and bold and unapologetic. She dug it. And it was something else about him that her demon got off on.
Her breath caught as he angled his hips, pounding his cock even deeper than before, hitting until-now-unexplored nerve-endings. God, she really did love his dick. Truly. It overstretched her walls, spicing each powerful thrust with an exquisite burn that was dangerously addictive.
And she was going to come any second now. Any second. It—
She came.
Whips of hot pleasure streaked through her, intense and blinding. She screamed, fisting the sheets, slamming back onto the cock that pounded deep again and again and again. Then he exploded with a half-growl half-groan, emptying every bit of his come inside her.
She slumped to the mattress, spent, weak, panting. He fell on top of her, catching his weight on his elbows, each warm pant fanning the crook of her neck.
Finally, he withdrew his softening cock from her pussy and rolled onto his back with a sated sigh.
Deliciously sore, Larkin moved to lay on her back as well. Staring up at the ceiling, she cleared her throat. “I’m pretty sure you just broke your oath to not sex-up any of Khloë’s friends.” And if he started fretting or expressing regrets, Larkin would not be pleased. It would be understandable, but it would sting all the same.
“Nah. We were just practicing in case we ever have to have sex in public.”
Her lips quirked. Why she thought he’d react normally, she had no clue, since she knew better. “Yeah. It’s best to be prepared. Just in case.”
“Exactly. And now if we ever have to fuck in public, it won’t be awkward.”
A silent laugh shook her shoulders. “Yeah, not awkward at all.”
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning, Teague stepped out onto the porch of his wagon, a mug of half-empty coffee in hand. He usually prepped his breakfast and then ate it in the clearing, where the entire clan typically gathered each morning just as they had now. But today, he’d eaten alone, knowing that—since the others would for sure shower him with questions the moment they noticed the brand, interfering with his ability to enjoy his food in peace—he’d have otherwise struggled to chomp his breakfast down without it going cold.
Just thinking of the brand made him automatically remember all that had followed last night. It turned out that there had been plenty of substance to his prediction that a single taste of the pretty harpy would intoxicate him.
He hadn’t lingered at Larkin’s place after fucking them both raw. Not that she’d coldly tossed him out, or that he’d felt the need to leave in a hurry. There had simply been no reason for him to hang around. She’d made that clear shortly after their orgasms had fully subsided . . .
“So, how long do hit-and-run guys usually stick around after sex?” she’d asked with a teasing smile. “Am I going to come out of the bathroom to find that you’ve done such a spectacular disappearing act that it’ll feel as if you were never here in the first place?”
Already greedy for more of her, despite being utterly sated, he’d stared at her for a long moment before asking, “What if I don’t want this to be a one-time thing?”
Her smile had dimmed. “I have zero interest in a no-stringsattached-fling, Teague. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t judge you for sticking to shallow encounters. I’m simply saying it’s not for me. I don’t regret what happened tonight, but I’m not interested in a repeat. Besides, you pledged oaths to Khloë. You’ve already broken one of them once. I’d say it’s best that you don’t do it again.”
She’d moved as if to rise from the bed, so he’d caught her jaw, turned her face to his, and then taken her mouth. She’d kissed him back—no hesitance, no half-heartedness.
Pulling back, he’d then said, “I know I shouldn’t have broken my word to Khloë. But I don’t wish I hadn’t. You were worth it.”
As he’d once told her, he didn’t ‘do’ regret. Never had. But even if the emotion didn’t elude him, he doubted he could have wished away all that happened.
