Page 18 of Tank's Temptation

I’m still on top, but the power has shifted exactly as I want it to.

The bed moves beneath us. Tank sits upright, one arm locking around my waist and bringing my chest flush to his. His mouth closes over my breast while he thrusts up, hard and deep, his other hand tangled in my hair.

Pleasure tears through the slow build and turns molten.

“Tank.”

He lifts his head, eyes black with hunger. “I’ve got you.”

The words aren’t about saving me.

They’re about this, my body shaking around his, his arms holding me close, nothing between us except heat and everything neither of us knows how to say.

His fingers return between my legs. Two rough circles are enough.

The orgasm rolls through me, deep and relentless. I bury my face against his neck, crying out as my body locks around him. Tank keeps moving, holding me close enough that I feel the moment his rhythm breaks.

He drives into me one final time and comes with my name against my skin.

We remain joined, my legs around his hips and his arms locked across my back. Neither of us reaches for distance.

Tank’s breathing slows beneath my cheek. “Still planning to take your time working out what happens next?”

“Yes, and you don’t sound worried.”

His hand moves down my spine. “I know I’ll be in it.”

The certainty makes me lift my head. “Confident.”

“You told me to stop acting as if you were already gone.” His mouth brushes mine. “I listened.”

I kiss him because there’s no argument available that doesn’t sound like agreement.

A motorcycle engine starts directly beneath the window. A moment later, somebody pounds once on the hallway wall.

“Five minutes,” Judge calls.

Tank closes his eyes briefly and shakes his head. “I swear I’m going to break his hand.”

I laugh against his mouth, and the sound feels strange in the middle of a night built around murder and guns. Tank looks at me as if he wants to keep it.

Then he kisses me once, hard and thorough, before helping me to my feet.

Ten minutes later, Tank’s motorcycle waits near the open gates.

The club leaves in staggered groups rather than one loud convoy announcing where they’re headed. Gray and his men are already near the river. Kane and Judge pull out separately, while Cash follows.

Tank gives me the spare helmet. This time, he doesn’t tell me to get on or order me to hold him. I climb onto the bike, slide forward and wrap my arms around his waist before the engine starts.

His hand closes briefly over mine.

In the small mirror, our eyes meet. I see the stern line of his face, the cut across his shoulders and my body fitted close behind him, with no space between us.

Then the gates open.

The ride to the Rivermark is faster than the journey from the motel, but it feels nothing like captivity. I lean with Tank through every curve, my palms flat against his stomach and my thighs tight around his hips. He doesn’t need to shield me from the road; I move with him.

The hotel appears beside the river at ten minutes before eleven, its empty windows black against the night.