Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Talk about a mind-bending conversation. I don’t even know what loop I’m in now.
But the thought of being kidnapped by the man should absolutely be terrifying.
So, why is my blood stirring like a pool of warm honey, my nipples turning into achy pebbles, and my spine crackling with zingers of energy?
“You’re…a maniac.” It’s the only word that makes sense.
“I won’t deny that.”
“So, I’m just supposed to go along with you—” I huff, my anger making my vision sharpen as I take in the boat. “On a self-prescribed vacation where I get no say. Except I get a say on ‘how safe’ I want to be?”
“Yep,” he drawls with a tight smirk that seems to hide some real intent he’s keeping close to his vest. Or in his case, his bare chest.
Before I can stop myself, I flip him off.
Oh, my god .
I never flip anyone off. I don’t even say the F word. What has this man done to me?
I turn my back on him, clutching the rail of the boat, trying to figure out why standing here in only his shirt, I feel weirdly resilient, but incredibly vulnerable at once. Like a warrior princess that’s been through a battle and is still standing before a man who thinks he is the conqueror.
Or my savior.
Or my friend.
God, he’s so confusing.
If he’s not giving me mental whiplash, he’s causing a mutiny inside my skin.
It’s a real party. The kind you think you should leave because something crazy is going to happen.
The ovarian cheerleading squad jumping up and down below my belly button have decided he’s the winner of the best male candidate for reproduction.
Thanks a lot, natural selection . You can go home. I don't need your input right now.
But it’s the riddles and unanswered questions that really set me on edge. I can spot them a mile away.
After a lifetime of dealing with my father, I’ve got no patience for games.
His gaze is practically melting the shirt off my back.
The game between us is on pause with the ball in my court. But I refuse to play by his rules.
When I turn, I let a sweet smile soften my lips. “What is your real name?”
Those dark, possessive eyes flash over me, and I can see his defenses rising.
“I don’t tell that to women unless they’re beneath me and I’m about to be balls deep. Otherwise, I keep it simple. Nothing personal, I’ll stick to the call sign.”
Touché.
I didn’t expect that. “You don’t think saving my life multiple times, undressing me, and sleeping next to me is personal?”
“It’s not me fucking you.”
I will not gape. I will not let him see my reaction.
He smolders. “You’d know it, sweetheart, if I was. Trust me.”
It’s an act of sheer determination not to show my shock.
Brain sputtering, I stare at him as if he didn’t just say the most ridiculous thing a man has ever said to me.
“You might still want to call me Truck even then, because it will be like getting hit by one when I bend your lithe, little body until your ankles are on my shoulders and I nail you to the floor.”
“Is that so?”
“Want a demonstration?”
Whoa. Wow. So, he’s going for shock and awe.
This guy redefines cocky.
But an unfamiliar sensation clenches inside of me. My mouth opens, my pulse throbs at the base of my throat.
“Well…” I sound way too raspy and want to kick myself in the rear.. “If that’s the case, then Truck it is because you are never manhandling me and definitely not going to be balls deep. I hate that description, by the way. And from now on, you cannot call me Ally. Or Allison. Come to think of it, I’m Doctor Westerly to you.”
He barks out a rough laugh and leans back on the bench, man-sprawling, letting his eyes drop down to my bare legs.
The corner of his mouth hitches into that sexy, stupid tease of a grin. “Right on, Doc. Whatever you think. Keep lying to yourself for a while longer. I like the anticipation.”
My hands turn into shaking fists. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Now I wish I had that knife because for the first time in my life, I want to try some target practice.”
I’m enjoying a vision of hurling something dangerous when he shifts his entire frame and stands up.
A sensation skitters through me.
Flames lick at my nerves.
Uh… He’s really big. Bigger than before, somehow.
My betraying eyes slip downward and latch onto the way his cargo pants hug his lean hips.
He’s got that V thing. Below that is a sizeable chunk of man real-estate.
“Like what you see?”
“No.”
Yes.
Stupid ovaries. I’m putting them on leave right now.
The sensation moves through me again. Stronger this time, and I put a name to it. Hunger. A hollow, warm sensation.
I cannot be lusting after this man.
“Don’t come any closer.”
He tilts his head the way he does. “Why’s that?”
“Because…” I half-shout, half-sputter.
An evil little laugh echoes inside my head.
You have no say in this lust thing.
Ugh! All I can think about is his weight pressing down on me, his gigantic cock stretching me open, hitting the places that are aching. Places I didn’t even know existed until he looked at me like I’m his next meal.
Truck, silent and keenly watchful, takes two slow, controlled steps toward me.
I can’t back up. There’s nowhere to go except overboard. Which is starting to have a reckless appeal.
My mouth goes dry when his scent hits me. Spice and a hint of clean sweat invades me like a swarm of honeybees on wildflowers.
“Doctor Westerly,” he murmurs in a low rasp, his blue gaze sliding over me top to bottom and back, making the ovarian cheerleaders go berserk.
That feather-light touch of air from his words across my perspiring skin is so intimate I almost collapse.
“Don’t say my name like that.”
“Doctor. Westerly.”
No. That’s even worse! Slow, sexy as hell.
Truck's voice has to be registered as a dangerous weapon. Combine it with the riot of hunger in his gaze and he is a one-man force of destruction.
“Look at me.”
“I am.” Not going to look at his face again. Ever.
I’m not strong enough.
This man dragged me off a cliff, he’s taking me away from where I need to be on a probably-stolen boat.
I am not having sex with him.
Petulant, I refuse to look up. Instead, I focus on the small pale scar on his beautiful chest.
He’s infinitely interesting.
A tight swallow moves up and down in my throat.
Being so close to him is not good. No human can reason when all of your senses are under attack.
“Back off, Truck.”
“Shhh, now, Doc.”
Then he touches me. Like a man who knows what he wants.
I’m so in trouble here because Truck takes a firm grip of my face, with one calloused hand, his long fingers reaching all the way along my jaw.
The pressure of that warm, utterly-masculine grip locks my breath, causes a gush of warmth to rush south, making my pussy clench violently.
My next swallow is loud enough for both of us to hear.
“Well, look who's quiet now,” he murmurs, as he uses his other hand to capture every bit of my hair.
We breathe at each other as he forces my face to tip up.
The heat builds around us like we’re standing in a campfire.
No.
No, don’t do it.
I beg him silently with my eyes, but my lips part and my tongue slips across my lower lip. Desperate to quench the tingles. Hungry for his taste.
His throat rumbles, those irises receding, and his pupils take over.
“Damn, you’re so beautiful.”
Watching him devour my features makes my entire body tremble.
The columns of his throat work, his voice turning huskier. “I have to taste you.”
In true Truck style, he crashes his mouth into mine in a clash of lips and teeth.
A shockwave hits my brain.
The kiss is possessive. Utterly masculine and everything I’ve never felt in a kiss before.
His groan is rough, his tongue commanding as he takes me with the hot, determined swipe that’s meant for one thing—destroying boundaries.
The protest in my head is so faint, it’s barely a whisper now. Replaced by a chorus of, Oh yes. Oh my god.
“Fuck me. You kiss like an angel,” he rumbles and tilts me more, putting me exactly where he wants me, and goes impossibly deeper.
“You’re such a bad influence,” I breathe deliriously, gasping for a quick breath of air.
Lifting on my tiptoes, I move as close as I can, pulled into his vortex. Drinking from a well that magnetizes me to his body.
He tastes earthy. Steel and some kind of essence that’s too complex for words. A recipe that cranks my hunger to level one thousand.
Our fronts press together as he bends me backward. His wall of muscles locked against my electrified skin.
I want to climb him. I want to ride him. I?—
Oh, my god.
This has to stop.
I try to pull back, but he refuses to allow even an inch between us.
“This is wrong,” I rasp against his mouth.
“All right, sweetheart.” A warm chuckle forms in his throat. “Keep telling yourself that while you climb all over me some more.”
Clenching at his hips, my hands shake, but I do not push him away when he chuffs and takes my mouth again.
I can’t stop myself.
He feels too good.
Damn you, ovaries and hormones and things that are programmed in my DNA that make it impossible to deny what is happening right now.
I’ve never, ever been kissed by a man that could kiss.
Now I know.
What a fool I was to think those slobbering boys with weak tongues were actually kissing me.
He pulls back. “Fuck, little one, you taste like a disaster on the horizon.”
His words are raspy, his mouth sliding along my lower lip as he hotly whispers them into my ragged inhales.
When I weakly push against his chest, he breaks long enough to say, “Don’t.”
I’m out of my mind because I open to him again. Willingly rise to press against him even more.
God, his mouth. The taste of him.
Something is happening in my body.
A fire simmers low, shooting sparks of energy everywhere. It’s a hot, delicious sensation. Making my nipples and clit pulse with some kind of foreign rhythm.
Finally, I can’t take any more.
I tear my mouth away before I climb my panty-less body right up onto his ripped stomach and grind myself there to ease the ache, using him any way I can.
Seconds pass as I try to get my breath. “W-wh-what happened to anticipation?”
“Fuck that. I hate it.” His words are growls as he shifts, his hand dropping from my face, sweeping around my lower back and picking me right up off the deck.
“Oh, my god,” I gasp. “You’re not only crazy, you’re really strong.”
Every ridge of him is vibrating and hard, pressed against me. There is a feral animal in him clawing to get out.
“You have no fucking idea. I’d break you if I wasn’t careful, Ally.”
Wow.
Talk about knocking a girl’s sense right out of her head…
High on his dirty talk, a wicked smile lifts up the corners of my mouth. “That’s Doctor Westerly to you.”
He throws me onto the bed and licks at his dampened mouth. “I like playing doctor. Now let me see that pretty little pussy again. I’m ready to give it a thorough exam with my tongue.”
Wait…
Did he say, again?