Chapter 22 Bonfire #2
I turn, tossing my words over my shoulder. “Maybe I’ll go see what Leon’s up to. I bet he won’t make me wait.”
I barely make it two steps.
Strong hands grab me, yanking me back against heat, solid and unyielding. His arms cage me, pressing me flush to him, pulling me into the shadows. Bonfire smoke, sweat, and something sharp and male sinks deep into my veins.
His breath is hot at my ear. “Try that again,” he murmurs, dark, dangerous, “and see what happens.”
The words curl down my spine, pooling heat between my thighs. One hand grips my hip, fingers digging in. The other traces the bare skin above my collar, fingertips grazing my pulse before resting at my throat.
A spark ignites, sharp and liquid, spreading like wildfire.
Oh, I like this.
His fingers tilt my chin back, forcing me to bare my neck, a silent dare. My pulse pounds against his palm, and I know he feels it.
A low tsk rumbles from his chest, wicked and indulgent. My breath stutters, my body caught on the tightrope between defiance and surrender.
“There’s a lot of messed-up things in this world,” he murmurs, voice like smoke and sin. “So I’m going to date the hell out of you. Court you. Make you feel special.”
His lips brush my neck, barely a touch, but it ignites me, sets off a sharp ache.
“I’ll cook for you, we’ll get to know each other . . . and in a week, when Trish gives you the all-clear, if you let me,” his mouth follows the curve of my throat, tongue flicking out before dragging back up to my ear, inhaling as he goes, “I’ll make you scream my name while you ride my face.”
A shudder rips through me so hard I forget to breathe.
Holy. Hell. Yes.
He kisses the hollow of my neck before pulling back, his hand tightening on my throat.
“Does that itinerary suit you, Lyla?”
The way my name rolls off his tongue sends a chill straight to my center.
I shift, grinding against the unmistakable hardness straining against his jeans.
He hisses through clenched teeth, sending a wicked thrill through me.
“Depends,” I murmur, meeting his eyes. “How good of a cook are you?”
A low chuckle vibrates against me. His hand leaves my hip, pressing between my thighs, palming me through denim.
His grip on my throat tightens just slightly. A moan slips out before I can stop it.
“Not nearly as good as I am in bed.”
My pulse pounds, control slipping through my fingers. “Damn,” I murmur, shifting again to hear that sharp inhale. “I really love a good meal.”
His grin is all teeth as he drags his mouth along my jaw. “I’ll work on that.” His lips hover over mine, barely touching. “What do you say? Do you want that date?”
Do I have a choice? The man’s a sexy devil playing my body like a demented fiddle.
I nod slowly, brushing our lips—a fleeting, electric touch that has both of us breathing hard.
“Good girl.”
Ding, ding, ding. Congratulations, Lyla! You’ve just unlocked the praise kink. Only two hundred points to the hand-necklace fetish.
His teeth catch my earlobe, tugging lightly, playfully, but the effect is anything but playful. A sharp surge of want pulses straight to my clit, my body tightening in response.
“And since you’re being so good, I think you deserve a gift.”
The rasp of my zipper sliding down sends chills racing over my skin. My mind loops the same desperate mantra—please don’t stop, please don’t stop.
He guides me into the side of the camper, the cold metal searing against my front, a jarring contrast to the heat radiating from him behind me.
His body shields me from view. My palms flatten against the siding, bracing, as his hand slips past my waistband, fingers gliding over the thin barrier of my underwear in slow, deliberate circles.
His other hand stays wrapped around my throat, holding me in place.
“Oh, Trouble,” he murmurs, voice dark with promise. “The filthy things I’m going to do to you.”
My thighs tremble. Anticipation winds hot and tight through my veins. His mouth brushes my neck, lips and teeth coaxing shivers down my spine.
A moan escapes before I can bite it back. I press into the sensation, my head tipping against his shoulder.
His fingers slide my panties aside. The first touch of pressure sends a sharp jolt of pleasure shooting through me, and I whimper.
“Shh,” he breathes against my ear, fingers stroking through my slick heat. “You don’t want the others to hear, do you?”
I bite my lip, swallowing the sound building in my throat. His hardness presses firm against my ass, and I arch into it just as his finger presses against my clit.
His hand leaves my throat, covering my mouth instead, trapping the sounds he drags out of me. My hips jerk against his hand, chasing the friction, every muscle strung tight. I’m already close—too close.
His fingers work faster, each stroke hitting that spot with ruthless accuracy. Heat coils low in my belly, sharp and insistent, winding me tighter with every pass.
I try to breathe, to steady myself, but the rhythm of his hand is merciless. My nails dig into the camper’s siding, searching for something solid while everything inside me comes undone.
“That’s it,” he growls against my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Take it. Don’t hold back.”
The words push me closer, my body arching into him, his chest a solid wall at my back. I can feel the power in him, restrained but threatening to snap, as his other hand presses harder over my mouth, a silent order to stay quiet even as pleasure surges higher.
Each stroke sends another shockwave through me, my thighs shaking, knees threatening to give out. I grind back against him, feeling the hard length of him throbbing against my ass, a wicked reminder of everything he’s still holding back.
The coil inside me tightens to the breaking point. My breath comes in short, desperate bursts through his fingers. My vision blurs. The rest of the world falls away until there’s nothing but his hand, his body, and the unbearable, perfect pressure building until—
The wave crests fast, too fast, and then I’m shattering, quaking against the camper, clutching the back of his head for something to hold on to as my orgasm tears through me. My breath stutters, hips twitching until I’m left weak, melting into his hold while the aftershocks pulse through me.
He turns my head and kisses me as he pulls my zipper up. Then, just as suddenly as he had me, he’s gone. The emptiness rushes into the space between us, brutal and biting, and my body protests violently. Every nerve still thrumming, still on fire, still aching for more.
Dazed, I stand there, my head turned, watching him stride up the steps to his camper. His movements are too controlled, too precise, like he’s forcing himself to walk away.
But just before disappearing inside, he pauses.
His fingers grip the frame, knuckles whitening, tension coiled tight in his stance. His eyes, dark, hooded, hungry, lock on to mine.
Then—
That devastating smile.
“Goodnight, Trouble.”
My pulse slams against my ribs, my throat. I barely find my voice. “Night, Gorgeous.”
He steps inside, and the door clicks shut behind him.
I stand there, heart pounding, heat curling low, my body still thrumming with the ghost of his hands, his lips, his voice.
Then, with legs far less stable than I’d like, I turn and head back to Lucy.
Next week can’t come fast enough.