Chapter Four
Duke
She tastes like trouble. Sweet, stubborn, impossible trouble.
I didn’t mean to kiss her, not yet. I told myself I’d wait and keep things clean and my head on straight, but the second her chin tilted up with that little bit of defiance and want in her eyes, I was done.
Truth is, I was probably done long before that.
Maybe even back in Texas when I caught on to her trailing me.
I knew right then that I had to have her rebellious little ass bound and begging.
Hell, the thought of it alone got me through countless lonely nights.
I’d imagine her soft curves lying next to me, what she’d feel like bent over with her ass up, how tight she’d feel as I pressed inside of her, how fun it would be to have someone around who matches my energy and challenges my every thought.
Fuck.
With my hand still on her jaw, thumb brushing the soft curve of her cheek, I can feel her breathing against my chest like she’s trying to match my rhythm. I deepen the kiss without thinking, without planning, and it hits me like a gut punch. I want her. Not just her body, but her fire, her fight.
That’s dangerous.
I’ve got a job to do. A killer to hunt, two lives to avenge, yet I’m out here playing with my food, when I should’ve eaten her hours ago.
I pull back just enough to look at her. Her lips parted, her eyes half-opened, her hair spilling down and shining in the last golden rays of the sun.
My hand rests on her throat. “You ready to play by the rules?”
I keep giving her chances like they’re owed to her. I need to get a grip.
She grins slow and wide, her gaze meeting mine. “I’m ready for whatever you’ve got, cowboy.”
The grin stays, reckless and wild, hitting me harder than the kiss did. She’s not bluffing. She’s not scared. She wants me to push her. She’s daring me, which only gets me harder.
I drag my thumb along the curve of her throat, slow and deliberate, her pulse jumping beneath my touch, but she doesn’t flinch.
“You sure?” I ask, voice low. “Because once we start, I don’t stop halfway.”
She leans in, just enough to close the space between us. Her voice is nearly a whisper as she says, “Then don’t.”
And just like that, the last thread of restraint I’ve been clinging to snaps.
I sink in close, crowding her against the post, one hand braced beside her head, the other still resting lightly on her throat, my lips on hers, harder, devouring.
Fuck.
Her tongue twists against mine, and a slight moan escapes.
“You’re a naughty little bunny, aren’t you? You’ve been running all over the place, spying on me.” My tone is low and husky against her ear as my palm drags down over her thick curves.
I settle on her round breasts for a pulse, then continue down beneath her sundress, onto her thighs. She moans in my ear as though she likes where I’m headed, so I palm over her soaking panties and rub.
If I don’t get control over myself, I’ll bend her over right here and teach her every fucking lesson I haven’t listed out yet. Like how to beg for my cock. How to hold eye contact when I’m spreading her wide. How to edge until I give her permission to come.
Lord, I’m not going to make it.
My cock aches and presses against the inside leg of my jeans as her soft fingers flex for space.
“I want you so bad,” she moans. “I’ve wanted you since I watched you clean that gun in Texas. You were at a table, drinking a beer, sliding the barrel back into place.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” she grins, her eyes soft, “it was so hot. Your forearms were flexing and there was this quiet intensity about the way you were working. Ugh, I went back to the hotel that night and,” a smirk spreads onto her face, “I thought about you.”
Fuck.
“Bunny,” I growl lowly in her ear, watching her body shake as I slide one, then two fingers inside of her slick folds, “you’re trouble. So much fucking trouble.”
“Yeah?” she pants, grinding up against my touch. “You love it. You want this little virgin pussy more than you’ve ever wanted anything, don’t you?”
Virgin?
The words hit me like a knockout punch. Like a fall straight down off a mile high cliff. Nothing about this woman screams innocent. She’s mouthy, straight-forward, and I’d guess she wouldn’t back down from a bar fight with a bear and two full-grown men.
My cock grows harder. How the fuck is this pretty little thing a virgin? A virgin.
I thrust my fingers in deeper, salivating at the thought of being the first to sink into her little frame.
Holy fuck, I want that. I want that more than anything.
I want to claim her. I want to make her mine.
But as much as that fantasy turns me on, I’m a broken asshole who’s still chasing demons, ghosts from the past. I can’t drag her into that life.
What the fuck am I doing?
I pull from her tight little core, drop my hand from her throat, and step back half a pace, just enough to clear my head, to breathe, but my fingers flex and my body aches for hers.
She watches me, eyes narrowing with a sweet, playful smile. “What? Is it the virgin thing? You don’t like that I’m pure, untouched, brand-new territory?”
I don’t answer right away. I’m too busy recalculating, rewinding, rethinking every move I’ve made since I first saw her following me through a little cantina outside of Amarillo.
She was wearing cut-off shorts and a white tank top with a baseball cap turned back.
Girl thought she was slick, but I knew she was there the whole time.
I drag a hand down my face, jaw tight, cock knocking against my zipper. I can’t remember the last time I was this hard. Maybe never.
I’m pretty sure that goes to show how fucking sick I am. The thought of her tight, little pussy shouldn’t turn me on. If anything, it should be a reality check as to how young she is, how fucked up I am, and how desperately I need to get a grip.
This should be the line in the sand. The solid reason I needed to back off and walk away. Instead, the thought of being her first hits me like gasoline on a fire built by neanderthals. Crude, debilitating, and completely out of control.
I need to walk away but all I’m thinking about is how soft she’d be. How tight. How she’d cling to me. How she’d squirm beneath my weight.
Damn it!
I grit my teeth and take a step back, fists clenched at my sides.
“Oh, come on, cowboy! You’re not wimping out, are you?” Her tone is light and playful, though I wonder if she knows how rough I can really be.
“You’re playing with fire again, bunny.” I growl out the words trying not to unravel.
“You keep running your mouth, you’re going to be tied up here all night.
” Now, the tie is for her own safety. The wild animals that lurk aren’t as dangerous as me.
They may take a bite or two, but I’ll completely fucking wreck her.
“You know what happens out here after dark?”
That playful grin keeps dancing on her pretty face like this whole thing is a game. Like she’s taunting me. Like she’s daring me to cross a line. “Let me see… wolves, bears, hungry raccoons out for revenge. Not as scary as someone’s virginity… I guess. ”
That mouth.
I step toward her, my hand on her throat again, my gaze stuck on hers. “I’m not scared. I’m trying not to wreck you.”
“Ah, makes sense.” She tilts her head back and blows a strand of hair out of her mouth, her pretty pink sundress now tucked into the front of her white cotton panties.
“Probably for the best considering you’re a contract killer.
I mean, I’m not here so you can fuck me.
I’m here because you’re hell bent on killing a man, and I’m hell bent on a story.
” Her eyes roll to the side. “I gotta ask, though, what’s the real reason you don’t let all this go?
I mean, your parents deserve a peaceful rest, don’t they? ”
“Peaceful rest? There’s nothing peaceful about murder.”
“I’m just saying, maybe the hunt isn’t bringing you as much justice as you planned. Maybe it’s just keeping you angry.”
I step closer, watching her eyes track mine, slow and steady, which only makes my pulse tick harder.
“Yeah? You seem to know an awful lot about me, don’t you, bunny?
Hoppin’ around, diggin’ up all the dirt you can.
” I shift closer to her, voice low as I say, “You don’t know that I did my homework, too. ”
Her brows narrow. “What are you talking about?”
I let the silence stretch a beat. Then I lean in, just enough for her to feel the heat rolling off me as I tug her dress back into place. “I know you were left at that diner. Four years old, right? Just a backpack and a note.”
Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t respond.
“You don’t ever wish you could find the people who did that to you?” My tone is lower and blunter than it needs to be.
She stares at me, eyes wide, lips parted, but still no sound. I don’t rush her. I let it settle.
“That note,” I murmur, softer now, “it shaped every wall you built after, didn’t it?”
I’m not trying to hurt her. I want her to see how pain shapes us, how similar we are.
She swallows hard, looking away like she’s trying to stuff the emotion back down where it belongs. “How do you know that?” she finally says, voice jagged.
“You’ve been following me for months. You think I’d let someone trail me and not do my homework? There’s nothing I don’t know about you.”
There’s a silence that confirms everything I need to know.
“You’re sick.” She spits it with a defiant spark in her voice, like maybe she likes this scene she didn’t see coming.
“I’m sure I’m a little sick,” I laugh. “We all are. Mine shook loose because of the careless asshole that killed my parents. You… you were left alone, homeless, helpless, at four years old. You deserve to be sick, too. You deserve answers. You deserve control.”
“I don’t want control or answers.” She narrows her eyes, and for the first time since I’ve known her, I think she might actually be angry.
“Sometimes choices get made for you. It sucks I was abandoned in that diner, and it sucks your parents were killed in a hit and run. Both of us are carrying real pain, Duke. But this rage you're married to, it’s a trap. It’s keeping you frozen in the past, and the past doesn’t change just ‘cause you’re looking at it. ”
I want to swat her reasoning away like an annoying fly that won’t quit buzzing, but with her tied out in front of me, the sun casting golden shadows on her skin, I wonder if maybe she’s right.
What would life look like if I stopped chasing ghosts?
Easier said than done. I’ve built my whole damn self around keeping my anger fed, focused, alive. It’s the thing that gives me direction when the world is silent. It’s my map, my fire, my permission to fight.
But now, she’s here, and she’s not just standing in the wreckage of her own story. She’s climbing out of it with light in her eyes and rebellion in her voice.
“I don’t know how to live like you do,” I admit quietly. “I don’t know how you came out of that ruin with a cute little smile and this sunshine and rainbows attitude. I’m not that guy. I was born to hunt.”
She watches me. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t mock. She just listens… and that’s worse. I realize, for the first time in years, I want to be understood. Not as a weapon, not as a name, but as a man.
Her gaze shifts and glows with something warm and wary. God, I’m not ready for this.
“Maybe you were born to hunt,” she whispers, “but you were also born to be found.”
I don’t reply. How can I? What would I even say?
I can’t get caught up in this shit. Perfect or not, this girl is dragging me into the weeds.
I have a mission. A purpose. A reason I hauled her out here.
It wasn’t to touch her soft skin, watch her come, or get advice on how I should live my life. It was to tie her down, make her listen, and keep her from telling this whole mountain what she thinks she knows about me.
I turn away and stalk up the hill toward the house like I didn’t hear her at all. Like whatever she said just punched her ticket to sit out in this field all night long with whatever wild comes to play.
It’s deserved. She’s acting like a brat.
Brats don’t get mercy. Brats get punished.
But halfway there, something hits me hard. It’s not a thought, more like a jolt. No name for it, no reason, just a force that slams the brakes.
I turn and stare at her, my stomach spinning as I watch the wind kick up dirt around her tiny frame.
She’s tough. Eyes steady, her chin high even when restrained.
Her defiance cuts deep. I feel it in my ribs, in my gut, in places I thought went numb years ago.
I want her. That much is clear. It’s not just the curve of her hips, or the fire behind her stare.
It’s the way she rattles something buried in me.
Lust, yeah, but it’s knotted tight with something heavier, some part of me that craves more from life than what I’ve been doing.
I tell myself keeping her tied is for safety, for control, for her own damn good, but I’m a liar, and I know it. I want to be the one she turns to and the one she pushes away. I want to protect her from the world even if it means chaining her up in mine.
So, I do what I knew I should’ve done from the get go. I stride back down the hill, untie the ropes, and lock eyes with hers.
“Inside. Now.”
It’s not a threat. It’s not seduction. It’s a demand.
A demand she follows.