Page 113 of Twisted Steel

My control cracks, and I lift her onto the workbench in one smooth motion.

She gasps, legs parting to make room for me, and I step between them before the sound finishes.“Good girl.”

Her eyes flash.“Careful.”

“No,” I say, leaning in.“Not tonight.”Her breath catches, and I drag my mouth along her jaw, stopping near her ear.“Tonight you’re going to take the praise, Harper.Every word.Every touch.Every fucking second of what you do to me.”

She shivers, and I feel it through both of us.“I thought you were asking nicely.”

“I did.”My teeth graze her throat.“Now I’m telling you what I want.”

Her hands fist in my shirt.“And if I tell you no?”

“I’ll stop.”I stare into her eyes.

She slides one hand to the back of my neck.“Don’t stop.”

I kiss her hard.We have done patient.Careful.Soft enough for bruises and healing skin.This is not that.This is one month of wanting her in every corner of my life.One month of her walking through my yard as if she belongs to herself, of sleeping in my bed because she chooses it, of kissing me goodbye before shifts and telling me to “behave like a semi-functional adult” like I know what that means.

This is Harper laughing in my clubhouse.Harper taking my hand after Crimson apologized.Harper standing in the sun with sauce on her fingers and life in her eyes.

Our mouths crash together, teeth and heat and tongue, and she kisses me back like she has been waiting all night to become a problem.Her hands tear at my shirt, and buttons scatter, but I don’t care.I grab her hips and pull her to the edge of the workbench, grinding against her until she gasps into my mouth.

“That’s it,” I growl.“Make that sound again.”

“So fucking bossy.”The words are more a moan than a complaint.

“Yes.”

“Do you like hearing me lose control?”she asks.

My hand slides up her thigh.“I like knowing you trust me enough to.”

Her face changes, soft for half a breath, then wicked.She spreads her knees wider.“Then earn it.”

Fuck.

I drop to my knees on the concrete, and her breath stops.

Outside, the party roars louder.Someone starts chanting something obscene that has nothing to do with us, probably Fury being an idiot.The sound should pull me back, it doesn’t.Nothing exists but Harper above me, braced on the workbench, looking down with heat and trust and that sharp mouth parted like she forgot how to use it.

I run my hands up her calves, over her knees, along the inside of her thighs, and her fingers grip the edge of the bench.

“Steel.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re teasing.”

“I know.”

“That’s rude.”

“That’s control.”

Her eyes narrow.“I thought we were doing out of control.”

I smile against her thigh, and she inhales sharply.