I nip at his neck again, delighting in the sound of his control slipping and a moan slipping free. It’s the sexiest sound I've ever heard, and I'm nearly feral with the need to bring it out of him again.
The light from my front porch is just piercing through the trees when he gives in, slamming me against a tree trunk, my bare back scraping against the rough bark. His jeans are undone in record time, his cock bursting free from the confines and driving up inside me before I can process it.
I scream from the intrusion, his cock stretching me so suddenly that all I can feel is fire. But he doesn’t relent, fucking me against the tree until I’m clamping down on him, an orgasm tearing through me that nearly causes permanent eye damage from how hard they roll.
He spills inside of me on a hoarse shout, ramming me so deeply into the tree, I swear there will be an imprint of my ass.
I’m sure the squirrels will find that fascinating.
Pulling out of me, he harshly tears me away from the tree and speed walks the rest of the way back. A visceral energy radiates off him, and I can’t tell if it’s full of anger or desire.
My back is on fire, accompanied by the dull throb radiating between my legs. It’s the sweetest agony I’ve ever felt.
In the duration of the trek back to my house, my brain has come back to Earth, and yet nothing has changed.
That unsettles me more than anything.
The fact that I’m no longer delirious from fear or bliss, and still, my desire and need for this man hasn’t lessened in the slightest. If anything, it’s only grown with the weight of anticipation hanging over my head.
The small light hanging over my door is like a beacon. As if the house will make me feel any safer from the man holding me in his arms.
Instead of beelining towards the door as I expected, he heads for my car. Despite the back of my SUV being spacey, Zade is no small man, and being cra
mped in a small space with him suddenly feels intimidating.
If I change my mind, it’ll be impossible to get away from him.
“Why not the house?”
“I’m not waiting any longer,” he answers tightly.
His tone is serious, and if it wasn’t for his still-hard dick currently trying to play tag with my stomach, I’d think he was mad at me.
Opening the back door, the barbarian nearly tosses me in, barely giving me enough time to scoot away before he's following in after me, slamming the door behind him.
The rain patters loudly against the car. It’s a sound many sleep apps have tried to replicate, but nothing can ever come close to imitating the sound of Seattle rain.
I back myself into the opposite side of the car, but the second he realizes what I’m doing, he grabs both of my legs and drags me right back to him.
He hovers over me, my back pressing into the leather seat and instantly sticking to it like hot glue on paper.
It’s now that my brain focuses on all the insignificant details. Like that I’m completely naked and he’s fully dressed, and somehow, that makes me feel a little embarrassed.
Or that the scent of rain and dirt clings to both of us, yet somehow leather and smoke linger on his clothes. I notice how small this car feels with him in it and how incredibly tiny I feel with him crowding me.
Those things shadow over the details I’m too chicken to acknowledge. Like the fact that he’s staring down at me so intently, it feels as if his retinas are electromagnetic, and he can see everything I’m hiding inside. I’m not brave enough to meet his stare.
Or that his hands are settled back on my waist, the coarseness of his skin sending delicious static shocks throughout my nerve endings.
He leans down close, until his lips are a mere inch from mine. My eyes snap to his, like two opposite magnets. I can’t stop the force and once our gazes clash, all thoughts—all those details—are forgotten. I can’t think of anything else but how much I want him to kiss me, touch me, and claim me as his, over and over until I’m too delirious to fight any longer.
“You like to pretend,” he observes, a touch of amusement in his tone.
“Maybe I’m not,” I retort.
“Maybe you’re in denial.”
I tighten my lips, refusing to answer.