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His eyes widen.
His lips part.
He’s about to say my name.
I don’t give him half a chance.
My hands move, grabbing wet handfuls of his shirt. Steaming with his body heat, we go down hard.
I don’t know if I’m kissing him or it’s a freaking attack.
All I know is, I’m gonna die if he doesn’t touch me right the hell now.
It’s like striking a match to a lake of gasoline.
First one spark, and then everything bursts into flame.
Next thing I know, we’re stumbling back toward one of the empty stalls, first me pushing him and then him pushing me, fighting for it—and my back slams hard against the wall.
Yes!
Be rough with me.
Make me feel it, make me fight for it, make me scream for every second.
He reads my mind.
His hands rake every bit of me, dragging at my clothes, and I’m ripping at him, too.
We race to unwrap each other.
God, he feels good when he’s steaming wet and sultry to the touch underneath that slick water, hard muscle glistening and burning against my palms.
“Fucking hell, Libby,” he gasps out, his fingers digging hard into my ass, lifting me up against him until I wrap my legs around his waist.
He’s the only thing holding me up, my body grinding tight against his.
I love how his weight shadows mine, my breasts dragging against his chest, my nipples puckered.
I also love his hardness against my stomach, already so stiff it gives me a thrill to know he gets like this for me.
And I definitely love the challenge in his eyes as he lifts me higher, dragging my panties down, ripping them off, burying his face in my neck.
It’s almost a game.
How long can I torment him before he has to be inside me?
Today it’s a game with one round.
The second my bare flesh presses against the denim of his jeans, hot friction making me scream like a cat in heat, dragging against me and getting me so, so wet…he curses, biting at my neck, tearing his jeans open, freeing his cock.
The head presses against me—right there—his thickness making me squirm.
Oh, baby, I do, twisting my hips, trying to take him inside me.
But he’s got me tight, keeping me on the edge, and I scream, cursing and shoving and biting his shoulder.
“Holt!” I hiss, and he chuckles against my throat, licking the stinging bite mark.
“Let me have my little pleasures, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice like booming thunder.
Then he catches up a handful of my hair, pulling my head back gently—but still hard enough to make me thrill, hot and burning and begging.
My scalp prickles and my whole body ignites with a ripple of wild heat.
He’s got me pinned against the wall.
I stare up at him, smoldering with need, with something that feels like hate, but I know it isn’t even close.
A second later, he crushes his mouth down on mine.
Make no mistake: this is a kiss that claims.
Probably for life.
His rock-hard cock pushes into me, piercing me and filling me in a single smooth stroke.
He gives up everything I’ve been demanding, everything I crave.
It’s quick. It’s hot. It’s rough.
I don’t care what it is as long as it puts out the fire burning me alive.
I’m greedy, shameless, and every time he slams into me, I’m ready to kill him when he pulls back out. It leaves me feeling so alone, so empty, dying for his fullness inside me, slamming deep and touching this spot somewhere that makes me lose my ever-loving mind.
Leave it to Holt to discover parts of me I didn’t know existed.
The best part isn’t even the scalding feel of him fucking me against the wall.
When I’m like this, I get to stop thinking.
I just feel.
Feel him rocking me from head to toe in hard-pistoning rhythm.
Feel him grasping my hair, fisting it like he can’t even stand to let go, and he’s hellbent on leaving his marks.
Feel how hot his entire body gets, this forged steel thing burning me alive everywhere we touch, inside and out.
Feel my heart beating fit to break with every savage swipe of his tongue and the graze of punishing teeth.
I need this.
I need it so bad.
I’m just scared of him finding out how much I need him.
But I can’t hide it in how I hold on tight, in how I kiss him back just as viciously, or how I gasp out his name as he takes me deeper, deeper, throwing me over the ledge and into white-hot bliss again and again.
I’ll never know how many times I come. One O blurs into the next.
This is what shattering means.
Falling apart.
Falling for Holt.
Falling in love.
Yeah, it scares me, but it’s the nicest fear ever—and it turns my senses up, makes everything hotter and more intense.
More irresistible.
That overwhelming moment comes when he drags me down on his length, roots in me so deep it’s like I can feel him in my belly, joining us so tight we’ll never be apart.
