Page 70 of Danger

I swallow. “I heard you. You just said?—”

“Touch me.”

I’m still boxed in, his palm flat on the boards. I blink. “What?”

He leans in, mouth at my ear. “You heard me.”

I look down and my breath catches. The evidence of what he’s talking about is straining against his jeans. There’s no way to miss that. My cheeks burn as understanding clicks right into place.

My fingers move on their own, tracing over his belt then moving carefully lower like I need to verify what I already know is there.

And—yeah. He’s hard.

Dangerously hard.

Dangerously large.

He places his other hand over mine. “This is what you do to me. Every goddamn time you look at me. When you’re around me. All I can think about is having my hands on you.”

I can’t breathe. “But you said awful things to that man?—”

“I’m sorry you heard that. Wasn’t meant for you to hear.”

His eyes flick to mine, then away. “I said what I had to say. Because if they know what you mean to me—” He cuts himself off. Swallows. “I’m holdin’ back,” he adds quietly. “More than you think.”

I want to ask what would happen if he just let it go. If he stopped holding himself back—but I don’t.

“Fine,” I say. “Keep disrespecting me, then. Keep saying mean things about me. Just hand me my phone.”

He grins. “No can do.”

I grab his collar, tug him down to me. “Then stop holding back.”

Something shifts in his eyes. It’s not anger. Not teasing.Hunger. He studies my face like he’s memorizing it—like he’s deciding whether he’s about to ruin both of us.

His thumb presses into my jaw, tipping my chin higher, forcing me to meet his eyes.

Then his mouth crashes into mine. Not soft. Not even close.

He kisses just as reckless as he rides, or as he fights: relentless, his tongue claiming mine in a way that tells me he could break me in half. And I’d let him. His lips taste cool and faintly sweet like mint gum, contradictions I can't wrap my mind around. The stubble on his jaw scrapes against my skin in the most intriguing way. He tilts my chin exactly how he wants me, his calloused thumb pressing into my flesh as my pulse hammers wildly. His other hand drifts to my hip, fingers digging into the strip of bare skin where my shirt has lifted up, and pulls me into him until his hard cock presses against my stomach.

I don’t even know when my hands sneak under his shirt, but now I’m addicted to the feel of his skin—hot, tight, ink and muscle. My fingers dig into the ridges of his abs, tracing the hard lines like a goddamn treasure map. He’s a furnace, burning me alive, and I want to melt into him.

I fumble for the button of his jeans, desperate to get my hands on what’s hiding beneath, but he grabs my wrist to stop me. “You touched me already. Now It’s my turn,” he says, his voice low, husky, and dripping with that rough edge that makes my thighs clench. “I’m gonna give you the attention you need.”

I shouldn't like the commanding tone nearly as much as I do. Or the possessive way he's holding onto my wrist.

His mouth trails down my neck, teeth grazing my skin, and I arch into him with a gasp. His hands move to my jeans, popping the button open with ease before sliding my jeans down just enough. My panties, black satin with a ribbon tied in front are the last barrier standing in the way of where I want him, and he trails over the bow with an agonizing slowness.

“Fuck,” he exhales, and once he feels the slickness soaking through the fabric, he lets out a growl that sends shockwaves straight to my core. “Winnie Hawthorne, look how wet you are.”

I’m panting now, my head thrown back against the rough wood, my body trembling with anticipation. He hooks a fingerunder the damp fabric and pushes it aside. His fingers spread me open, and I nearly collapse when he finds my clit. He rubs it in slow circles, and I moan so loud it echoes in the empty barn.

"I understand now," he teases. “You’re achin’, aren’t you baby?”

I can’t even form words—just a breathless “mhm” as he pushes one finger inside me.

I’m so wet that he slides in effortlessly, and I bite my lip to keep from crumbling. When he adds a second finger, stretching me, my knees buckle.