10 - Lane
Lane
This time, I shoved him even harder against the door, my mouth still on his and my hands braced against his chest and shoulders.
He groaned into my mouth, his hands slipping from my waist to my hips and then sliding around to grab my ass.
He squeezed my butt and in response, I broke the kiss to bite his lower lip hard enough for him to growl low in his throat.
His head was leaned down, his forehead pressed against mine as we tried to catch our breath. It was the calm before the storm, a moment of clarity after an outburst that both of us knew would not just end here.
“We have to be quiet,” he whispered, one of his hands caressing its way up my body to rest at my neck.
He tilted my head to the side, a gesture so soft and gentle compared to the kiss and touches we just shared that I had to swallow a moan when his lips ghosted the line of my jaw. “Can you be quiet for me?”
There was a hint of softness in his hands now.
Not lust or anything wild but something altogether different and significantly scarier.
I wrapped a hand in his hair, glad that he'd grown it out a little since the first time we met, and pulled his mouth from my neck.
His lips parted in surprise, his eyes changing from shock to challenge.
“I should be the one asking you that. You’re the one who likes running his mouth all the time,” I taunted, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to his exposed throat.
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing under my lips and I ran my tongue across the skin there.
I felt Dax shudder against me, the hand still resting on my ass suddenly increasing its grip, nails digging into my flesh.
I wanted him like this. Not soft and unpredictable–I couldn't deal with unpredictable. But I knew how to handle reckless men. I’d been doing it for the better part of a decade now.
“Silas and Bear are still working downstairs,” he breathed, his chest starting to heave.
I nodded innocently and let a hand drift down his torso. I marvelled at the slick, soft skin over taut, hard muscle, the feeling of sweat and dust and the sounds every inch of exploration dragged from Dax’s chest against his will.
“Then be quiet,” I whispered back, letting my fingers trail along his Adonis belt. I rested my hand on his hip, pressing a thumb into the muscular dip of his flank where his obliques and abs met.
He held his breath.
“Can you do that for me?” I threw his words back at him, rubbing my thumb in slow circles before slipping my hand between his legs. He gasped, rolling his hips up instinctively and I only had a second to gloat about it before his hand shot out to grip my wrist.
Okay, play time was over.
Dax flipped our positions as easily as breathing, now wedging me between his body and the door. He took both of my hands in one of his and pinned them above my head.
“I don't think so, Counselor,” he said, voice low but deliberate.
I squirmed in his grip, fully aware that he had a free hand while I was essentially rendered immobile in defense.
And he seemed to relish the fact, a cocky smirk on his stupid lips that were still pink and swollen from the kiss.
“This isn't a courtroom. You can run laps around the prosecution all day but you can't be in control forever.”
“Says who?” I said defiantly.
He gave me a knowing look, then raised my wrists even higher. I gasped as my heels raised off the floor of the pantry and I was suddenly very sure that if he wanted to, he could probably leave me suspended with my feet hovering off the ground altogether.
I knew this tactic. He was trying to lay out the terms in a way that left no room for me to argue with him anymore. If I wanted to do this with him, it would be on his terms or not at all.
I had a reply loaded up but then he buried his face in my neck and started to kiss me there and my knees buckled. Dax was wild and foolish maybe, but when he was intentional, he was thorough too.
And he made it very obvious he intended on reading my body like a map.
“Just admit it,” he grumbled against my skin, his tongue snaking out to taste me.
“Admit what?” I gritted out, fighting against my growing arousal.
Dax pulled back for a moment, looking at me with dark, intense eyes.
I was so far out of my comfort zone that I couldn't even see the demarcation line anymore.
“Admit that you want me,” he murmured, running a thumb over my bottom lip. “Tell me that you’ve been waiting for this for as long as I have.”
That was what he wanted? Dax was still smirking at me, but I could see an uneasiness behind that look.
I wasn’t the only one teetering on the edge of just taking what I wanted and hoping I wouldn’t regret it after.
That old temptation of overthinking reared its head and I instantly wrapped my leg around his waist, trying to bring his body closer to mine again so the feeling of it could block out everything else.
I didn’t want to think.
Dax let himself be pulled closer, his hips now adding leverage to my sprawl against the door.
“If you want that admission, you’re going to have to force it out of me,” I said. “And just know that if you try to push me, I’m going to push right back. You don’t scare me, Dax. Not your past or your bike or your fucking attitude.”
Dax’s smirk didn't just fade—it vanished. The unease I’d spotted behind his eyes flared into pure, unadulterated focus. My defiance was the spark to a powder keg, and both of us knew it.
“Is that a promise, Counselor?” he growled against my lips, his grip on my wrists tightening for a fraction of a second before he suddenly let go. I wrapped both of my legs around him now, my arms going around his neck.
“That’s a guarantee,” I assured him.
His hands didn't waste time. They slid down to the hem of my shirt, his rough, calloused palms making direct contact with the bare skin of my waist. The contrast was staggering.
The biting chill of the pantry door against my spine and the radiating, unrefined heat of his body anchoring me flat against the wood had my head in a spiral.
I traced my fingers across his skin, let my nails rake across his shoulders and down his chest until he was the first to break. When he kissed me again, it was clear that the stalemate was over.
“You’re so fucking infuriating,” he groaned, nipping at the shell of my ear as his hands finally made their way to my breasts.
“Mutually,” I sighed. I rocked against him, trying to use my limited position to its full advantage. I dug my heels into the door behind me and pushed my weight forward and Dax tumbled back, knocking into the shelf.
Several cans toppled over and I flinched at the sound. I knew that Sy and Bear weren’t close enough to hear it provided they were still in the basement, but every single little noise felt amplified from inside this space.
"Quiet," Dax breathed, but there was a sudden, dark laugh caught in his throat. The noise didn't scare him, it wired him. He caught my hips and drove us forward again, pinning me back against the wood of the door with a sudden, heavy surge of momentum that completely stole the air from my lungs.
“Stubborn,” I murmured, dragging him down to press my mouth to his again.
I’d been right. Neither one of us wanted to lose as we struggled to gain the upper hand but when he hoisted me up again, lining my core to his, we both gasped.
He was so hard I could feel him through both layers of clothing, and as though trying to strike a point, he rolled his hips against mine once.
A ripple of pleasure washed over me, radiating from that point of contact. Maybe it was juvenile, dry humping like two teenagers. But the heat of it, the friction, the way I could feel his body straining with desperation for more killed any reservations I may have had.
Our competition melted into something fluid as we moved together, his hand wrapped in my hair, mine grabbing the back of his neck.
“That all you got, Miller?” I panted, deliberately trying to antagonize him. His hips stuttered, then thrust up harder. My hand squeezed the back of his neck. “Child’s play?”
“Oh yeah?” Dax asked breathlessly as he let me down. I was about to ask him what he was doing when he slipped three fingers down the front of my work pants and pulled me forward. “Remember to be quiet.”
I squealed as he worked open the button, his cold fingers shocking against my hot skin and he swallowed up the sound with a kiss. Not to be outdone, I immediately started undoing his fly.
Our pacing slowed then synched, his tongue snaking over my bottom lip as our hands found their places. Neither of us could maintain our composure anymore, our words falling by the wayside as our bodies betrayed the extent of our desire.
“So wet,” he whispered, sounding awed. There was something so intensely erotic about looking into his eyes while just feeling what he was doing to me. It was perhaps too erotic, encroaching on intimate.
I began to stroke him, alternating the strength of my grip as I worked his shaft and he shuddered against me, throbbing in my hand. The impressive length of him was slick with the proof of his own arousal but I withdrew my hand anyway and my tongue, just about catching a taste of him.
His focused stare turned darker at the sight of it right before he pinched his eyes shut against the sensation of my hand slipping back into his pants. His fingers began to stumble through the patterns they were just learning to memorize.
In the few brief moments in which I pulled ahead, I found myself drinking in the sight of him coming undone. The pantry was quiet except for the sounds of our heavy, ragged breaths and it reminded me of the moment we shared in the iron yard, right before Dax’s walls went up again.