Chapter 6
Tank
I step out of the cabin because staying inside feels like the kind of mistake a man enjoys right before it ruins him.
The door shuts behind me.
Cold air hits my face.
Does not do a damn thing.
I plant one hand on the porch post and bow my head for a second, breathing hard, trying to get my body back under control and failing worse every time I think about her against that wall in my shirt, all bare legs and flushed skin and that look in her eyes when she said she thought I would not want her.
Christ.
I am hard enough to hurt.
I shift my stance and look out at the trees, jaw locked so tight it aches.
The cabin sits quiet behind me. Pine all around. Wind moving through branches. Gravel drive empty. Nothing but mountain air and the sharp bite of cold.
Still not enough.
I can still taste her.
Still feel the little hitch in her breath when my hand slid under the hem of my shirt on her body. Still feel the way she arched into me like her body was starving and mine knew exactly what to do with that.
And I walked away.
Had to.
Did not mean it felt good.
It felt like tearing my own skin off.
My phone buzzes in my cut pocket.
I drag it out, already irritated, and see Ghost’s name on the screen.
I answer on the first ring. “What?”
“Good to hear you too,” Ghost says, voice flat as old steel.
“Bad time.”
“I figured.”
That shuts me up for half a second.
Ghost knows me too well to waste time guessing. If he called anyway, it matters.
I look back at the cabin door once before I step off the porch and put a little distance between me and the walls. “What do you have?”
“The buyer you dropped last night wasn’t just some rich bastard with a taste for girls.”
My body goes cold in a different way.
“Who?”
“Salazar Huntington’s uncle.”
I go still.
Wind cuts through the trees. Somewhere above me, a branch creaks.
Ghost keeps talking.
“Not one of the polished ones. Family rot. Old money. Old appetite. The kind they keep half in the dark because he’s useful and connected.”
My grip tightens on the phone.
“So now what?”
“Now Salazar’s pissed.”
No surprise there.
Ghost exhales once. “Word is there’s money out on both of you.”
I look at the trees again, every line of my body going hard and quiet.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
Meaning enough to make every lowlife in three counties start thinking they could get rich if they got lucky.
Ghost’s voice roughens. “Stay put. Stay buried. Havoc wants your ass off the grid until we know where the Huntington side is moving from.”
“They won’t stop at me.”
“No. They won’t.”
We both know what that means.
If they know who she is, if they know she got pulled from that sale alive, then this just got uglier.
“Anything else?” I ask.
A beat.
“Yeah,” Ghost says. “Don’t go stupid.”
That almost gets a laugh out of me.
Almost.
“A little late for that.”
“Probably.” He pauses. “You good?”
I look back at the cabin again.
At the thin line of smoke rising from the chimney.
At the woman inside wearing my shirt and thinking I turned her down because I did not want her enough.
No. Not good.
“Working on it.”
Ghost grunts like that tells him everything he needs to know. “Call if you move.”
The line goes dead.
I stand there with the phone in my hand for one more second, all the cold from the call settling under my skin.
Salazar’s uncle.
Bounty on both our heads.
Do not go stupid.
Too late for that too.
I shove the phone back into my pocket and head for the porch.
By the time I get inside, I have my face under control again.
Mostly.
She is sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap.
My shirt still hangs halfway down her thighs. Her hair is drying in loose waves around her shoulders. Her mouth is pink and swollen from kissing me. The sight of it hits me hard enough to make my body remember exactly what I was just trying to get a handle on outside.
Her eyes flick up to mine.
Then away.
That lands wrong immediately.
“Julie.”
She says, “Bad news?” like that is all I came back in for. Like there is nothing hanging in the room between us but danger.
I tell her about the bounty. Salazar’s uncle. Staying buried.
She nods.
Too quiet.
Too careful.
And then I see it. Hurt.
Embarrassed hurt, tucked low and trying not to show on her face.
She thinks I rejected her.
Something mean rolls through me.
I move closer. “Look at me.”
Her eyes come up slow.
There.
I crouch in front of her so she does not have to crane her neck. So she can see whatever truth is on my face and not miss it.
“That’s not what happened before,” I say.
Her throat moves. “You said not like this.”
“Yeah.”
“That sounded like no.”
I look at her mouth for one second too long. Pink. Kiss-swollen. Mine.
“It meant if I kept going, I wasn’t stopping.”
Her breath catches.
Good.
I lean in a little closer. “It meant I wanted too much.”
Color climbs up her throat and into her cheeks.
Still she whispers, “I kissed you.”
Like it is something to be ashamed of.
I shake my head once. “Best damn thing you could’ve done.”
Her eyes flash to mine.
There she is.
I rise slowly until I am standing between her knees. Her hands stay in her lap, but they twist together once. Nervous. Wanting. Trying not to be either one.
I put a hand under her chin and tip her face up.
“You still want me?”
Her breathing changes.
“Yes.”
“Use your words, angel.”
The word hits her hard. I see it.
“Yes,” she whispers again. “I want you.”
Christ.
I kiss her before I say something rougher than I should.
The second my mouth touches hers, her hands fly to me. One fists in my cut. The other grabs the front of my Henley. That little desperate clutch damn near strips the last clean thought out of my head.
I kiss her deep and slow at first. Let her feel every second of it. Let her know exactly what she does to me. Then her mouth opens for me and that is the end of slow.
I make a rough sound into her mouth and pull her closer.
She gasps.
I drag her up off the bed and into me, one hand locked at her waist, the other in her hair, and kiss her until she is soft against me and breathing like she cannot get enough air.
“Tank,” she breathes.
Yeah.
I know.
I keep kissing her as I turn us, guiding her sideways, until the wall catches her shoulder first and then the rest of her. She shivers when it touches her, but she does not pull away.
Good.
My hand slides down her thigh, over bare skin under the hem of my shirt, and she makes the prettiest little sound I have ever heard in my life.
“There you are,” I mutter against her mouth.
Her fingers tighten in my cut.
I kiss down her jaw, her throat, the spot below her ear that makes her knees go weak.
“Tell me if you don’t want this.”
“I want it.”
“Tell me to stop and I stop.”
She shakes her head fast.
I drag my mouth back up to hers. “Words.”
“Don’t stop.”
That damn near does me in.
I hook my hand in the hem of the shirt and drag it up her body in one clean pull. It hits the floor.
She is standing in front of me in nothing but a pair of tiny panties, flushed all over, breasts full and soft, damp hair falling around her shoulders, eyes dark and fixed on mine.
Christ.
The sight punches straight through me.
“You trying to kill me?” I ask, voice wrecked.
A shaky little breath slips out of her. Almost a laugh. Almost a moan.
My hands go to her waist, then higher, rough enough to show her what she does to me, careful enough not to scare her with it. I mouth at her throat, down over her collarbone, then lower, kissing the upper swell of one breast while my palm slides up the back of her thigh again.
She gasps and throws her head back against the wall.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her skin. “Let me hear you.”
She is so damn responsive it feels unfair. Every brush of my mouth, every drag of my hand, every filthy little thing I say into her skin gets me another sound. Another shiver. Another helpless roll of her hips that tells me exactly how far gone she already is.
I drop to my knees in front of her.
Her eyes go wide.
I look up at her from between her thighs and slide my hands up the backs of her legs, holding her there while I drag my mouth over the inside of one thigh.
“Tank,” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
Her fingers fly into my hair before I even touch her, like some part of her already knows what I am about to do and cannot decide whether to brace or beg.
“First time?” I ask quietly.
Heat rushes across her face.
She nods.
I go still for one beat. Just enough to make sure.
“Anybody ever touched you like this?”
She shakes her head.
Something black flickers through me. Fast. Violent. Mean.
I bury it.
I kiss the inside of her thigh instead. Slow. Then the other one. Letting her feel my mouth there, letting her shake for the right reasons this time.
“You let me know if anything feels wrong,” I tell her. “You hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Words, angel.”
“Yes,” she says, breath unsteady. “I hear you.”
Good girl.
The words rise right to the back of my teeth. I keep them there.
Barely.
I hook my fingers in the sides of her panties and look up at her again.
She is breathing hard now. Pink all over. Watching me like she is scared and wanting and trusting all at once.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
I slide the panties down her legs and toss them aside.
Then I put my mouth on her.
The sound she makes goes straight to my cock.
I hold her thighs and keep going. Slow at first. Then slower.
Learning her. Watching what each flick of my tongue does to her body.
Which touch makes her gasp. Which one makes her knees threaten to give.
Which one gets my name to fall out of her mouth in that thin, wrecked whisper that makes me want to ruin us both.
Her pussy tastes like heat and want and something sweet under it, and I could stay there all damn night if the way she is shaking in my hands is any sign.
“Tank,” she cries softly.
“I know, angel.”
I don’t stop.
I keep at it until she is writhing against the wall, until her breath is broken, until her thighs are trying to close around my head and I hold them open because I’m not done with her yet.
Then she comes.
Hard.
Her whole body locks and shudders, one hand flying to the wall, the other tangled in my hair while my name breaks out of her like something dragged from deep in her chest.
That sound nearly makes me come in my jeans.
I stay there through it. Ease her down slow. Kiss the soft skin of her inner thigh while she shakes.
When I stand, she looks dazed. Boneless. Ruined in the prettiest way.
I kiss her mouth and let her taste herself on me.
That gets another sound out of her.
Filthy little thing. Sweet enough to rot a man from the inside.
I lift her and carry her the two steps back to the bed.
She makes a soft sound and clings to me harder, and that nearly does me in worse than anything else.
I lay her down carefully. She reaches for me right away, fingers catching first in the front of my cut, then in my Henley underneath, trying to pull me with her.
Needy.
Christ.
I strip my cut off and let it hit the floor. Then the Henley. Then everything else I can’t stand having between us another second.
Her eyes drag over me and go wider.
“Tank,” she whispers again.
“You keep saying my name like that, angel, and I’m gonna forget every decent thought I ever had.”
Color floods her cheeks.
I climb over her slowly, bracing my weight on my forearms so I do not crush her. She reaches down between us before I can stop her and wraps her hand around my cock.
I swear.
Hard.
Her eyes jump to mine.
I catch her wrist and pin it gently above her head, breathing rough.
“You keep doing that, and this is gonna get real ugly real fast.”
A startled, shaky laugh slips out of her.
Good.
I kiss her again and settle my weight more carefully between her thighs.
“This might hurt,” I tell her. “Just at first.”
She nods.
“Words.”
“I know.”
“You tell me if you need me to stop.”
“I will.”
I line myself up and push in slow in her tight pussy.
Her face tightens. I stop instantly.
“Breathe,” I murmur, kissing her cheek, her mouth, the corner of her lips. “That’s it. I’ve got you.”
She clings to me and breathes.
Good girl.
This time I do say it.
Her eyes flutter closed at the words.
When she nods, I move again. Slow. Gentle. Giving her time. Letting her body learn me inch by inch instead of taking what I want because I can.
The second it changes, I feel it.
The tension eases. Her body opens for me. Her breath goes soft and broken instead of sharp.
“There,” I mutter against her mouth. “That’s my girl.”
She moans.
Fuck.
That does me in worse than anything else yet.
I start moving for real then. Still careful. Still watching her face. But hungrier now. She wraps her legs around me and takes me deeper, and whatever was left of my self-control starts bleeding out fast.
I slide a hand between us and rub her clit while I move.
She gasps and arches up.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Oh God...”
“There you go,” I say, voice rough. “Take it. That’s it.”
She is so damn responsive. Every drag of my fingers, every roll of my hips, every filthy little praise lands right in her body. I can feel her getting tighter, feel the way she starts to lose rhythm, starts chasing it.
“Come for me,” I tell her. “I want to feel it.”
That does it.
She breaks apart with my name on her mouth, body clenching around me so hard I groan into her neck and almost lose it right there.
I hold out just long enough to watch her ride it.
Then I let go.
It tears through me hard enough to blur the edges of the room. I bury my face against her throat and come with a broken sound I don’t bother hiding, hips jerking once, twice, every muscle in my body locking down around the release.
After, I stay over her, breathing like I ran ten miles uphill.
So does she.
The fire pops in the stove. Wind rattles a branch outside.
She slides one hand into my hair and just holds.
That small, soft touch gets me worse than half the things we just did.
I lift my head enough to look at her.
Flushed. Kiss-swollen. Hair wrecked. Eyes heavy and still a little stunned.
Beautiful.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, then whispers, “Yeah.”
I brush my thumb over her bottom lip.
“Good.”
Because if she wasn’t, I’d tear the world apart starting with myself.