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It’s a nice distance, comfortably several walls away from Mia’s room, but I hope like nothing else we won’t wake her.
Marshal’s subtle, rough scent amplifies in the bedroom. I can’t take a breath without smelling him in the sheets draped over his spartan bed, in the work clothes hanging in his closet, and yes, all over me.
My nostrils bristle. His scent is just like his taste: pain dipped in passion, a little bit of motor oil, and so overwhelmingly real.
“Marshal, please!” I hiss, falling against the bed, bucking against his hand. He’s grabbing at the hem of my gown. He’s already torn one of the straps, leaving my right boob nearly exposed.
I thought he’d suck it, flick it with his thumb, but there’s no stopping the animalistic need to be inside me. He has me bent over, pressing his hard-on against my wetness, edge of my gown tossed over my ass.
It’s suddenly paper thin. Like I’ve been wrapped up and served, and his rough, marauding hands are going everywhere.
“You really want to fuck me, Red? You want a dick inside you attached to a mouth that can’t kiss without teeth?” He’s snarling in my ear.
His hand reaches for my neck, gives it a firm squeeze. Then a brusque shake, demanding answers.
“Would I be here if I didn’t?” I whimper.
No sooner than the words are out, something hot stings my ass. A delectable crack explodes in my ears.
Holy hell. He didn’t just do that…did he?
I haven’t even lost my virginity, and I’m being spanked.
“Wrong fucking answer, Red. If you want this, if you want me to give you every inch, then say it. Say it.” Every word rips out of him sharper.
I’m tense and hot. Squirming underneath him. His bulge presses into my panties, separated only by our clothes. My ache becomes insane.
And, God, he’s still holding me down.
“Yes, Marshal. Please. Please be my first.” My moan crescendos and softens, wondering why his pressure is suddenly so much less.
Those rough hands catch my shoulders, flip me around, and put us face-to-face. His huge chest rises and falls. I think we both know I just screwed up. I never should’ve said the word first.
“Too honest?” I whisper, hoping it cuts the tension.
“What the fuck did you mean by first?” Raging blue eyes shift, searching mine. “You can’t be serious, Red, telling me you’ve never fucked a man before?”
Who knew hot, cold, and awkward could merge like a melting sundae? Okay, so when I’m half-naked, sopping wet, and begging to have my brains screwed out by a beast-man like Marshal Howard, announcing my virginity probably isn’t the smartest move.
“It’s true, but so what? I’m ready. I want you, Marshal. I want to give myself to –“
“Fuck.” He eases backward, hand over his face, snarling as he riffles his thick hair. “Fuck!”
My cheeks blaze like twin suns. I sit up, hands on my knees, pulling down my gown. I’m holding my breath, waiting for him to turn around, and look me in the eye. If I’m destined to shuffle back to my room tonight, humiliated and alone, then let’s just get this over with.
But he doesn’t say a word. Just stops, hand against the wall, staring like a wolf.
“What?” It comes out sharply. I can’t take the suspense. “Seriously?!”
“You.” He lifts a hand and points. “This is crazy, Red. Wrong. All kinds of fucked up in ways I didn’t know existed.”
My teeth prod my bottom lip. I don’t like how he’s staring. There’s a hundred reasons to get up, walk over, and send my hand flying across his cheek like lightning. But there’s another reason I’m paralyzed, questioning how it’s still possible to want him as bad as I do when he’s dressing me down like a dumb kid.
Marshal is a freaking enigma.
His pose, just a little too stern. His eyes, too bright. His voice, too much like thunder to leave me certain about anything.
I can’t figure him out. Even when he’s being a jackass, I can’t, and it makes me a moth to flame.
I jump when he starts moving. It’s such a deliberate, quick motion, so fast he’s next to me again, fingers in my hair, teasing new goosebumps on my skin.
“Real talk: as bad as I want to rip that thing to shreds, push your face into the pillow, and fuck you hoarse, I shouldn’t. You deserve better for your first. Some skinny, smiley little prick who didn’t get hollowed out in a war zone, who didn’t knock up a one-night bar stand.” His breath is so heavy on my throat, skipping up my neck as it travels to my ear. “But fuck, Red. Fuck. There’s that need. Desire makes a man crazy. Here’s your last chance: tell me to fuck you, and I will.”
My hands tense in my lap, a hard ball pressed together. Those eyes of his aren’t just undressing me. They’re blue oceans with a terrible undertow and zero apologies. They catch me, drown me, draw me into a deep trench with no escape written all over it.
