Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
The air around us turns volatile. A lightning storm in the Midwest would be calmer. Any second I expect to see bright flashes from the simmering heat between us.
Scout makes a rough sound behind me. His hand wraps around my left wrist, banding my forearm in a tight hold. “I’m not a good man, Aria.”
“You’re also a liar.”
He makes a deeper, animalistic sound against my neck. “You’re making me crazy.”
“It’s mutual. I won’t touch you if that’s what you need.”
He’s still as stone for a few seconds.
“You won’t be allowed to look at my body. I’ll fuck you without you touching me or looking at me.”
Wait. What ?
I swallow convulsively until I can speak. “If that’s what you need.”
“It’s what I demand.”
Ooookay. That’s way hot.
This whole scenario is melting my circuits and making me feel like I’m in some kind of alternate universe. Like a Terminator movie with a lethal dose of romantic tension and a twist of 50 Shades.
Heat pulses inside my chest, scattering out to the ends of my fingers and toes like I’m made of sparklers inside.
Scout makes a rough sound deep in his throat. The tip of his tongue circles the edge of my ear. “You good with that, beautiful?”
God, his voice, so low and rough, is the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
“Yes,” I reply with a strained tremble in my voice.
I’m not sure who I am right now. My body is humming with so much need, there’s so much adrenaline, so much hunger coursing through me, I feel possessed.
He brings my arm across my body, locking it tight to my chest. “Are you okay with me binding your arms—tying you up?”
The pounding pulse in my chest screeches to a halt. Cold sweat erupts along my spine and coats my palms. Every breath I take for the next few seconds feels choppy.
Scout wants to tie me up.
Why didn’t I realize that’s what he was getting at?
“Aria?”
A wave of dizziness rocks me. The bones in my melt. “Yes, what?”
“You going to let me tie you up and fuck you?”
Oh god. How can I be so terrified and so turned on at the same time?
I truly am going mad.
But I promised him the truth.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
He inhales slowly against my temple. “Good. You should be. I’m not good for you. You deserve a man that doesn’t have the kind of fucked up?—”
Argh. I unclench my teeth. “Stop! You’re not allowed to talk badly about yourself with me.”
He’s still for a few seconds, then he laughs huskily against my hair. “You baffle me, Aria. That’s the only reason I’m even having this conversation. I don’t kiss. I don’t fuck women that expect more than a physical relief. I have sex and on my terms. Never while I’m working, and most definitely not with a friend’s baby sister.”
There’s so much in those sentences that I can’t even begin to process it all. But one remark sticks. He doesn’t kiss? Well you could fool me.
Tell my silly hormones that he didn’t kiss me to the point of delirium. Because that’s the only explanation for what I ask next. “What would you tie me up with?”
His voice turns to gravel. “Rope, normally, but I’m not going back to the truck, so I’ll use your shirt.”
Whoa.
I fight the tightness in my throat that feels a lot like my heart is trying to punch my tonsils.
Why is it so damned sexy to think about him trying me up with my own clothing?
My mouth drops open, and out comes the craziest statement of my life. “I’ll let you.”
He groans, his cock pulses, monstrously large and hot against my bottom.
Burrowing his nose deeper into my neck, he rasps, “ This is the worst, worst , fucking worst idea ever. Your brother is literally going to shit bricks.”
It’s my turn to growl.
“First, don’t ever mention my brother in a conversation about sex. That’s just ick. Second, let me be the judge of half of this idea. And I’m thinking it’s not the worst idea ever. I actually think it might be exactly what we both need right now, because this sexual tension is killing me.”
His other arm comes around me, sweeping my right wrist up in his hold as he does. Now he’s got me—both arms locked in his grip—crossed over my own chest with me pinned against his abs.
A thrill runs through me at the sheer size of his gigantic body locked against my back, at the control he has over me.
It’s freaking crazy that I’d want this—that I’d ever want to be restrained after what happened. But here I am. And I can’t stop a train that’s already left the station.
I’m not just playing with fire, I’m swimming in it. A raging, burning sea of it.
The only explanation is that I’m ravenous for Scout.
In a deeply primal way that can only be blamed on chemistry. There’s no reasoning with my brain over this one. Ten bazillion cells in my body are driving and I’m just along for the ride.
Aching, throbbing. Coming unglued, I melt into nothingness in his arms, consumed by his intensity.
Breathless, I say, “Are we going to stand here and talk about sex, or are we actually going to do something, Memphis?”
The tip of my tongue tingles at the use of his real name.
He groans hotly.
My heart throbs a beat that reaches all the way to my pussy .
“Do you have a safe word?”
It takes me a second to process his question. Then I laugh, sounding a little crazed. “No. Should I?”
He nips my neck, then trails his tongue over the stinging bite, and any semblance of words flies out of my brain.
“Definitely need one. Pick something you won’t forget.”
My core clenches hard.
Empty. Hungry.
Uh. Uh. “You can’t bite my neck and expect me to have rational words.”
“Can you remember colors?”
“I can’t remember my name with your cock pulsing against my ass.”
He pushes me a step forward into the bedroom using his big body like a plow. “Sweet girl, you need to be careful using that word.”
“C-cock?”
He exhales the word, “Ass,” against my neck.
I blink at the bed. Oh, lord. This is about to get real. I’ve never had sex with a dominant man like Scout and I don’t know whether to be terrified or overcome with joy. “Tell me about safe words.”
He clenches me harder against his chest as he wedges his cock more tightly between my cheeks. “Green. Yellow. Red. Just like the traffic light. Yellow is if you’re uncomfortable or want to slow down. Red is stop. No matter what, I stop. You might be tied up, but you are one hundred percent in control of when this stops.”
“Okay,” I breathe as sweat starts to form on my brow and between my breasts.
Oh god. Glancing down at myself, I frown. I have on a sports bra under my fishing-style shirt. On the bottom I have on hiking pants and panties that I dove in .
So not sexy.
I haven’t had a shower since only god remembers how long.
I’ve been in a plane crash, I’ve fought for my life, and I’ve been working.
Breathing down at me in a slow, agonizingly sexy way, with every bit of his six foot five inch body sealed against mine, he asks, “Permission to take over?”
That question is so utterly Scout in every way.
I take a slow breath, say goodbye to my sanity, and jump in with both feet. “Permission granted.”
Oh, but I’m a dirty mess. “Should we shower?”
“After.”
After I die from adrenaline overdose?