Chapter 16 Last Light #2
"Tank." He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. "Stop thinking so loud."
"Can't help it."
"Yes, you can." He took the wrench from my hand, set it aside on the workbench with a soft clink of metal on metal. "Let me help."
He kissed me. It was soft at first, tentative—giving me space to pull away if I wanted to.
His lips tasted like coffee and something sweeter underneath, and his hand came up to cup the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair.
I let myself sink into it for a moment, let the sensation wash over me.
But I was done being passive. Done letting fear make my choices. I turned us, pressed Tyler back against the workbench, and took over.
He made a small sound against my mouth—surprise, pleasure, surrender.
My hands found his hips, lifted him onto the bench so I could step between his thighs, so I could feel every inch of him against me.
The kiss deepened, turned hungry, teeth catching on lips, tongues tangling. I let myself take what I wanted.
"Let me." The words came out rough, almost unrecognizable—my voice, but stripped down to something raw. "Tonight, let me have this."
Tyler's eyes were dark, his breath coming fast, his pupils blown wide. "Yes."
I peeled his shirt off slowly, watching the fabric reveal skin inch by inch.
The scars I'd learned by heart over the past week—the thin white line across his ribs, the puckered mark on his shoulder from a bullet that had come too close.
The dip of his collarbone. The way his chest rose and fell with each ragged breath.
I wanted to memorize every detail, burn it into my memory so deep that nothing could ever take it away.
"I want to remember every inch of you." I traced my fingers down his chest, felt him shiver under my touch. His skin was warm, almost feverish, goosebumps rising in the wake of my fingertips. "Every single inch."
"Then take your time."
I kissed the hollow of his throat, felt his pulse hammering against my lips like a trapped bird.
Traced my tongue along his collarbone, tasted the salt of his skin, the faint bitterness of sweat.
His hands came up to my shoulders, gripping hard enough to leave bruises, but he didn't try to rush me.
He'd given me control, and I was going to use it.
My mouth moved lower. Tyler wasn't built like me—not the heavy muscle of someone who'd spent years hauling engine blocks and swinging fists.
He was lean, cut, every muscle defined beneath smooth skin like he'd been carved from marble.
The kind of body that looked deceptively slender until you saw it move, until you felt the strength coiled beneath the surface.
I kissed down his chest, dragged my teeth across one nipple and felt him jerk, a sharp gasp escaping his lips.
Did it again to the other side, harder this time, and his hands fisted in my hair.
I worked my way lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his abs, feeling them tense and release under my lips.
I dropped to my knees on the concrete floor—felt the cold bite through my jeans, the hard surface already making my knees ache—and looked up at him through my lashes.
"Tank—" His voice cracked on my name.
"Quiet." I unbuckled his belt, the metal clinking loud in the silence.
Worked open the button of his jeans, lowered the zipper tooth by tooth.
Freed him from the fabric, and there he was—hard and straining, a bead of moisture already glistening at the tip.
The sight sent a bolt of heat straight to my core.
A month ago I wouldn't have known what to do with this. A month ago the thought would have terrified me. Now I knew exactly what I wanted.
I wrapped my lips around him and sank down.
Tyler's head fell back, a groan tearing from his throat that echoed off the garage walls. The sound was obscene, beautiful, everything I wanted to hear. His hands tangled in my hair, not pushing, just holding on, like he needed an anchor to keep from flying apart.
I worked him slowly, learning the weight of him on my tongue, the way his hips jerked when I hollowed my cheeks and sucked. The way his breath caught when I swirled my tongue around the head. The sounds he made when I took him deeper, letting him hit the back of my throat before pulling back.
"God, your mouth." Tyler's voice was wrecked, barely recognizable. "How are you so fucking good at that?"
I hummed around him in response, felt him shudder. Pulled back to lap at the head, tasting salt and need, then sank down again. His thighs were trembling, his stomach muscles jumping with each stroke.
I pulled off, looked up at him. His chest was heaving, his lips bitten red, his eyes wild with want. Sweat was beading at his temples, his whole body trembling. He'd never looked more beautiful.
"Turn around."
He obeyed without hesitation, bracing his hands on the workbench, presenting himself to me with a trust that made my chest ache. The long line of his back, the curve of his ass, the way his muscles tensed in anticipation. I stood, ran my hands down his spine, felt him arch into my touch like a cat.
"Please." The word was barely a whisper, more breath than voice.
"Not yet."
I brought my hand up to Tyler's mouth, pressed two fingers against his lips. "Get them wet."
He obeyed instantly, taking my fingers deep, tongue swirling around them with an enthusiasm that made my cock throb. When I pulled them free, they were slick with spit, and Tyler was watching me over his shoulder with dark, desperate eyes.
I traced my wet fingers down the cleft of his ass, circling, teasing, watching him tremble under my touch. His hands curled into fists on the workbench, white-knuckled with anticipation.
When I finally pushed inside, one finger at first, Tyler made a sound that went straight to my cock.
A broken moan, half pleasure and half relief, like he'd been waiting for this as desperately as I had.
He was hot inside, tight, clenching around me in a way that made me want to bury myself in him and never come out.
I worked him open slowly, thoroughly. Added a second finger, twisting and spreading, stretching him until he was pushing back against my hand. His breath came in sharp gasps, punctuated by sounds he wasn't even trying to muffle anymore.
"More."
A third finger, and he keened, his forehead dropping to rest on the workbench. I curled my fingers downward, searching, and found that spot inside him that made his whole body jerk.
"There. Fuck, right there."
I worked that spot mercilessly, watching him fall apart under my hands.
The noises he was making—soft whimpers and sharp gasps and my name, over and over, like a prayer or a curse.
The power of it was intoxicating. This man who'd survived three years of hell, who'd faced down Cross and the Wolves and everything the world had thrown at him—coming undone because of me.
"Tank, please. I'm ready."
I withdrew my fingers, heard his noise of loss. Freed myself from my jeans, spat in my palm to slick my cock, lined up against him. Pressed the head to his entrance and felt him tense, then consciously relax, opening for me. "I've got you."
I pushed in slowly, inch by inch, giving him time to adjust. The heat of him was overwhelming, tight and perfect, and I had to stop halfway just to breathe, just to keep from losing myself too soon. My fingers dug into his hips hard enough to bruise. Neither of us cared.
Tyler's hands were flat on the workbench, his head hanging between his shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was raw. "More."
I started moving, slow at first, finding a rhythm that made us both gasp. One hand braced on his hip, the other on his shoulder, holding him steady as I thrust. The sound of skin on skin filled the garage, punctuated by Tyler's increasingly ragged breaths and my own low groans.
"Let them hear." I growled against his ear, not slowing my pace. "I don't care. Let the whole compound know you're mine."
Tyler moaned—loud, unrestrained, the sound bouncing off the walls like a declaration.
Anyone walking past would know exactly what was happening in here.
The thought should have given me pause. It didn't. Let them know.
Let everyone know. This man was mine, and I was his, and nothing Cross or anyone else could do would change that.
But I wanted to see his face.
"Wait—" I pulled out, ignoring Tyler's noise of protest, the way his body clenched around nothing. "I want to see you."
There was a tarp in the corner, thrown over a pile of spare parts. I grabbed it, spread it on the concrete floor—not comfortable, but better than bare cement. Tyler understood immediately, lowering himself onto his back, reaching for me with desperate hands.
I settled between his thighs, hooked his legs over my shoulders, and pushed back in.
The angle was different—deeper, more intense.
Tyler cried out, his back arching off the tarp, his hands scrabbling for purchase on my arms. I could see everything now—the flush spreading down his chest like wildfire, the way his mouth fell open, the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.
Not from pain. From pleasure so overwhelming it spilled over.
"Look at me." My voice was wrecked, barely human. "Tyler. Look at me."
His eyes found mine, held them. Brown with flecks of gold, swimming with something I recognized because I felt it too. Something beyond words, beyond sex, beyond anything I'd ever felt with anyone. A recognition. A claiming. A promise.
I moved faster, harder, chasing the edge. Tyler's hand found his own cock, stroking in time with my thrusts, and I watched his face contort with approaching release. His free hand clutched my forearm, nails digging in, leaving crescents in my skin.
"Tank—I'm—"
"I know." I buried myself deep, hit that spot inside him that made him shake. "Come for me."