Chapter 22
LILA
M y last shift order goes down easy as I do some final cleaning.
My mind's been everywhere but here tonight—bouncing between daydreams about the Veritas interview and replaying every detail of what happened with Dane.
I've checked my phone approximately fifty-seven times since Dane texted he'd pick me up after work.
"Earth to Lila," Joey waves his hand in front of my face. "You planning to wipe that counter or just stare at it all night?"
"Sorry." I snap back to reality, quickly wiping down the sticky surface. "Just tired."
Joey snorts. "Yeah, tired and grinning like you won the lottery. Who is he?"
"Who says there's a he?" I deflect, but my cheeks heat up instantly.
"Your face does." Joey crosses his arms. "Same face Marissa had when she started dating that hedge fund guy."
Marissa is the girl I replaced after she quit without giving notice.
I roll my eyes. "It's nothing serious."
Yet. Maybe. God, I don't even know what I want it to be.
With a shrug, I grab my bag from behind the bar. "Night, Joey."
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" he calls after me.
"That leaves the field wide open," I shoot back, pushing through the door into the cool night air.
And there he is, leaning against his car, looking like he walked straight out of some dangerous fantasy. Black t-shirt stretched across those shoulders, dark jeans, and that intensity in his eyes that makes my stomach flip.
"Right on time," I say, trying for casual like my heart isn't doing gymnastics in my chest.
Dane doesn't answer. Instead, he moves toward me with that purposeful stride that makes everything female in me stand at attention. Before I can say another word, he's opening the passenger door, hesitating—then closing it again without letting me in.
"Dane, what?—"
He grabs me, whirls me around, and presses me against the car, one strong hand at my waist, the other sliding into my hair. When his mouth finds mine, it's not a hello kiss. It's a claiming. Deep and thorough, his tongue sliding against mine like he's been thinking about this all day.
Which, apparently, he has.
"Been thinking about you," he murmurs against my lips, voice rough with want. "About all the things I want to do to you."
My breath catches. "Like what?" The words come out embarrassingly breathy.
His hand tightens in my hair, tilting my head back so he can trail his lips down my neck. "Like how I want to peel these jeans off you. Inch by inch." His teeth graze my throat. "How I want to taste every part of you. How I want to hear those little sounds you make when you come."
Jesus. My knees actually wobble.
"We're still outside my work," I manage to point out, though I'm not exactly pushing him away.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes dark with hunger. "Then we should go. Now."
The intensity in his gaze makes me shiver. Whatever's happening between us—this isn't casual. It's not just sex. It's something that scares me and thrills me in equal measure.
"Take me home," I say, holding his gaze.
His slow smile is pure sin. "Yes, ma'am."
The car ride is a blur—all barely contained energy and stolen glances. Dane's hand finds my thigh, his thumb tracing small circles that send heat radiating through my body. The man drives like he does everything else—with scary competence and single-minded focus.
We make it to my place in what has to be record time, though I couldn't tell you if he broke any traffic laws.
My heart's hammering as we climb the stairs, my fingers fumbling with the keys.
I'm not usually this jittery, but the weight of his gaze on me makes me feel like I'm being hunted in the best possible way.
I finally get the door open and—holy shit—I'm suddenly inside, back against the wall, Dane's body pressing into mine.
The door slams shut behind us without him even looking.
His mouth is on mine before I can catch my breath, hungry and demanding, and I can feel how hard he is already through his jeans.
"Been thinking about in full detail," he growls against my lips, hands everywhere—in my hair, under my shirt, gripping my ass.
"Wow, multitasking," I gasp when his mouth moves to my neck. "Driving and mentally undressing me."
"Not mentally anymore." He tugs my shirt up and over my head in one fluid motion. The cool air hits my skin, but I'm burning up everywhere his fingers touch.
My own hands aren't idle, sliding under his t-shirt to feel the ridged muscles of his stomach. The man is built like some kind of Greek statue come to life—all hard planes and impossible perfection.
"Too many clothes," I mumble against his mouth.
He steps back just enough to strip his shirt off, and—Christ—the sight of him shirtless in my dimly lit apartment makes my brain short-circuit. That tattoo on his ribs—the snarling wolf—ripples as he breathes.
"See something you like?" There's that dangerous half-smile that does things to my insides.
"Fishing for compliments?"
His answer is to lift me up like I weigh nothing, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me toward my bedroom. The feeling of being completely at his mercy should terrify me, but it doesn't. With Dane, it feels like jumping off a cliff and knowing—somehow—that I'll fly instead of fall.
Dane sets me down by the bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His hands frame my face, but there's something different in his eyes—a restraint, like he's pulling back invisible reins on himself.
"You okay?" I ask, breathless.
He exhales slowly. "Just need a second."
I recognize that look now. It's the same one from his apartment—when he held himself back until I called him on it. He's trying to be gentle. For me. Because of what I told him about my past.
Dane, this dangerous man with his hard edges and lethal training, is trying to handle me like I'm made of glass.
"Dane." My fingers trace the wolf tattoo on his ribs. "You don't have to treat me like I'll break."
His jaw tightens. "I don't want to remind you of?—"
"You won't." I pull him closer. "You're nothing like that."
"You don't know what I'm thinking right now." His voice has that gravelly quality that makes heat pool between my legs. "The things I want to do to you."
God, that shouldn't turn me on as much as it does.
"So show me." I look directly into those steel-gray eyes. "I said I trust you. And I'll tell you if I need you to stop."
Something shifts in his expression—hunger breaking through the restraint.
"You sure?" His thumb traces my bottom lip.
Instead of answering, I bite gently. A challenge.
The change is instant. He growls—actually growls—and pushes me back on the bed, pinning my wrists above my head with one strong hand.
"I've got you," he promises, his free hand working my jeans open. "Promise to say stop ."
My body hums with anticipation, not fear. This isn't like before—not the helplessness, the violation, the shame. This is freedom. Choosing to give control to someone who sees my darkness and meets it with his own.
"I promise." I arch against him. "Now stop being so damn polite."
His laugh is dark and promising as he yanks my jeans down my legs.
"Yes, ma'am," he says, echoing his words from earlier, but this time there's nothing gentlemanly about it.
And when his mouth finds my inner thigh, biting just hard enough to make me gasp, I know I've unleashed something in him—something that matches the wildness I keep buried inside myself.
Dane buries his face between my legs without warning, making me cry out. His tongue is relentless, almost savage in its intensity. I grab fistfuls of sheets, my hips bucking against his mouth.
"Oh my god," I gasp, feeling myself already tightening around his fingers as he slides them inside me. It should be embarrassing how quickly he pushes me toward the edge, but I'm beyond caring about anything except the hot, wet pressure of his mouth.
"You taste so fucking good," he growls against me, the vibration of his words sending new shocks of pleasure through my body.
Just when I'm about to shatter, he pulls back. Before I can protest, his strong hands flip me onto my stomach in one swift movement.
"Up," he commands, tapping my hip, voice thick with need.
I rise to my knees, feeling exposed and vulnerable and impossibly turned on. His hand trails down my spine, possessive and appreciative.
"Perfect," he murmurs, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes my insides clench.
His hands grip my ass possessively, fingers digging into my flesh with an intensity that makes me gasp.
A flicker of anxiety mingles with my arousal—I've never done anal before, never even considered it.
Is that what he wants? The question burns in my mind as his thumbs trace dangerous patterns, making my body tense with anticipation and uncertainty.
But then I feel him positioning himself behind me, the blunt pressure of him against my pussy's entrance making my breath catch. Even after last time, I'm not prepared for how big he is.
"Breathe," he reminds me, one hand gripping my hip.
He pushes forward slowly at first, the delicious stretch making me whimper. There's that burn, that ache that walks the line between pleasure and pain.
"Jesus," I hiss, dropping my forehead to the mattress. "How are you even real?"
He laughs darkly, pushing deeper. "You can take it. I know you can."
And then suddenly he's buried to the hilt, filling me so completely I can't think straight. He gives me just seconds to adjust before he starts moving—not gentle, not careful—with deep, hard strokes that have me clawing at the sheets.
His hand tangles in my hair, pulling back just enough to arch my spine. The new angle makes me see stars.
"Fuck, Lila," he grunts, his rhythm relentless. "So. Fucking. Tight."
Each word punctuated with a thrust that hits something deep inside me. My arms give out, but he holds me up, one arm around my waist now.