“That’s it?” Anger and hurt spark in her eyes.
“Not even close.” I grip tight to her leg, preventing her from pulling away. Then I return my hand to her pussy.
The last hour of the drive is pure torture. With my fingers curling inside her, I bring her to the edge repeatedly. She pleads and writhes. My body throbs and protests the eternal wait.
We both need relief, but I’m determined to make it home, where I can take my time, tease her kinkiest desires to the forefront, and introduce her to the dark edges of pleasure.
When the night ends, there will be no distinctions between her cravings and my needs. She said we want different things, but she’s wrong.
We want this, us, with matching intensity, and tonight, I’ll prove it to her.
Clearing my head of filthy, thrusting, flogging thoughts, I’m left with an earth-shattering revelation.
I don’t care about her secrets. I don’t even care about the sex. Not in the way I care about her.
She isn’t some gold-digging, narcissistic, faceless woman seducing her way into my bed. She’s everything I’ve been waiting for and nothing like I expected.
I made a deal with her that I have no intention of honoring.
Because I can’t fathom going back to a life without her. The notion is so bleak and horrifying it fills me with desperate rage.
I will never let her go.
By the time Jarret parks the truck at Julep Ranch, I’m in a panting, shaking frenzy of yes and no, stop and go, can’t and will and holy fuck.
He didn’t just spend four hours touching me. He spent four hours telling me with just his hands that he loves the texture of my skin, prefers the spot where my inner thigh meets my groin, and intends to control when, where, and how I come.
He can sense my approaching orgasm even when I stifle the signs. He has enough restraint to pull back, no matter how hard that tent in his jeans strains his zipper. The man has the power to reduce my body to ravenous starvation and rebuild me into whatever he desires—all while operating a vehicle at high speeds.
It’s terrifying.
I’ve never felt so desperate, vulnerable, reckless, and alive.
I need to get a grip on this unraveling, out-of-control free fall. At the same time, I yearn for it. I crave everything he’s promising to the point of self-ruination.
How can I pass this up? A journey in sexual discovery. A door that opens to a world of real-life fantasy. An aggressive, attentive, trustworthy man who knows what he’s doing. He offers all this with a determination that shakes the ground beneath my feet.
It’s just… The timing. I had a life, a good life, and it vanished before I realized what was happening. I can’t move on until I understand why.
Jarret Holsten holds the key to that. I so badly want to explain my circumstances and tell him everything, but if I do, I’ll never find the answers I’m looking for. I’ll never know the full story.
Because he’s involved, in a precarious, illegal way. All evidence leads to his doorstep, and my meeting with his father confirmed it.
People are missing. I don’t know if they made themselves disappear to escape their crimes, if they were threatened and forced to flee the country, or if something much worse befell them.
I can’t fathom Jarret or Jake participating in that something worse, but their father would. Are they loyal to John Holsten? Enough to protect his crimes?
I’ve asked Jarret to explain his relationship with his father, as well as the disappearances of his father’s business partners, but he refuses. If I tell him what I know or why I’m here, he won’t just refuse to give me answers. He’ll kick me out of his life faster than he roped me into it.
“You’re thinking too much.” He turns off the engine and releases our seat belts.
The deafening clicks of the metal latches should instill a sense of freedom. Freedom from the confines of the truck, the overwhelming press of his masculinity, and the probing examination of his eyes.
Except an entire evening with him awaits.
Shadows lengthen across the field, chasing the sun to sleep beneath the horizon. But sleep isn’t on Jarret’s mind. Not with that smoldering look on his face.
I clutch the mess of curls around my chest, restlessly twisting the strands into knots. “I don’t feel well.”
It’s not a lie. I’m sick to my stomach with fear, but not for the reasons I should be. I should be worrying about the secrets he’s hiding and things he’s done. Would he make me vanish like the others? What if he considers me such a threat he snaps my neck and dumps my body?
He won’t.
I trust him to protect me from himself and anyone else involved in his corruption. I trust him to not hurt me in an irreparable way, and that’s what scares me.