Chapter Six #2
Viv smiles to herself. “Ah,” she murmurs. “That explains why he was looking at you like something precious he was scared to let you out of his sight.”
When we’re finished, Viv takes me onto her porch with my bags of new clothes. A soft golden light has settled over the town. It’s beautiful here, trees in blossom lining the street, and a fountain sparkling outside a big old building that must be the library.
Across the road, the diner door opens, and a man in a sheriff’s uniform steps out. I don’t know him. But there’s a flicker of something, maybe a memory, instinct, I can’t tell which, that makes the back of my neck prickle.
He glances in my direction, then looks away and heads for his cruiser.
The feeling lingers.
“Bethany?” Viv says quietly.
“I thought I knew him,” I admit.
“The sheriff? Cherie, he gives me the creeps. But he’s Prez’s cousin, so he can’t be all bad.”
The truck pulls up before I can respond and Striker’s intense gaze finds mine immediately. The drive back is quiet. The air between us is thicker now, like something has changed. He glances at me more than once, each look lingering a fraction too long.
By the time we pull in behind the apartment, my pulse has climbed steadily. My nipples are hard points, poking at the slippery silk of my new blue shirt. He cuts the engine behind the apartment building, and silence drops into the cab.
I can still feel his eyes on me from every red light on the way back from Viv’s. Every glance he tried not to take and failed. The blue silk shirt suddenly feels like a terrible idea.
Striker keeps both hands on the steering wheel for a second longer than necessary. A muscle in his jaw leaps as he looks over at me.
“Princess,” he says, voice rough.
“Yes?”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “You trying to kill me tonight?”
I smile before I can stop myself. “You seem pretty sturdy.”
“That was before you showed up in that shirt.”
The cab feels smaller by the second, his thigh close to mine, and a nervous little laugh escapes me. His expression changes instantly at the sound.
“Bethany,” he says quietly, like he’s warning himself.
That does me in.
I don’t really decide to move. One second I’m in the passenger seat, and the next I’m shifting across the center console, one knee landing beside his thigh. Striker goes completely still, heat rolling off him, tension wound tight through his body like he’s holding himself together by force.
“You keep looking at me like that and then acting surprised when I do something about it,” I say, my voice breathy.
His hand lands automatically on my waist, steadying me as I climb fully into his lap.
The second I settle there, both of us suck in a breath. His cock is hard beneath me as one massive hand grips my hip. The other is braced hard against the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him from completely losing control.
He’s letting me know exactly how much he wants me and my cheeks heat up. Striker’s eyes close briefly, like the sensation physically hurts him.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
I should probably move, but instead I slide my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and grind down.
His eyes open immediately. Dark and focused entirely on me.
“Tell me to stop,” I whisper.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
Then he kisses me. Hard. One hand tangles in my hair while the other pulls me closer against him. His mouth is hot and demanding, and I moan involuntarily. The kiss deepens slowly, like he’s savoring it despite himself. Every soft sound I make seems to pull another one out of him in return.
His thumb brushes the bare skin just above the waistband of the jeans Viv picked out for me.
I shiver.
“Cold?” he murmurs.
“No.”
A dark smile touches his lips. “Good.”
I laugh, breathless, and he kisses me again before the sound fully leaves me.
The cab fogs up around us. My hands drift from his hair to his shoulders, exploring the hard muscle beneath his shirt. He groans when I shift against him and the sound goes through me, wetness pooling between my thighs.
“Striker,” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t think this is helping your self-control.”
“You think?” Then his mouth trails along my jaw, slower now, down to the sensitive spot beneath my ear and down my neck.
My breath catches.
“Problem is,” he says softly against my skin, “I’ve been wanting to do this since the second you walked into my bar.”
Heat rushes through me so fast it aches. I kiss him again before I can think of a response, unbuttoning my shirt. That finally snaps the last thread of restraint he has left.
His grip tightens on my waist as his massive hand trails upwards to cup my breast. I feel him shift beneath me, and the sudden friction pulls a soft sound from my throat that makes him groan into my mouth.
His thumb brushes my peaked nipple through my bra as I moan louder, arching against him.
Then he pulls back and I blink at him, dazed.
“No,” I protest. “Keep going.”
His voice is low and rough, like this is physically painful for him. His thumb strokes slowly across my hip. “If you keep sitting in my lap with your shirt open, looking at me like that, I’m going to forget how to stop.”
“Maybe I’m okay with that.”
His eyes darken and neither of us moves. Then he exhales sharply and presses one slow kiss to my forehead.
“Not in a truck behind my apartment building,” he says quietly. “Not the first time.”
The softness in his voice undoes me far more effectively than anything else. I rest my forehead against his shoulder for a second, trying to get my breathing back under control. His hand strokes once down my spine.
He buttons my shirt back up slowly, fingers not quite steady. When he’s done, he kisses the base of my throat, then my mouth again, softer this time.
His hand lingers at my waist as he leads me upstairs. At the bedroom door, he pauses.
“Sleep,” he says.
“Where are you sleeping?”
“The couch.”
“Again?”
He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s gathering himself. “Bethany… I won’t survive that bed with you tonight.”
I step closer, close enough to catch his scent again, to feel the change in his breathing. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”
Then he leans in, pressing his forehead to mine, a rough breath leaving him.
“I don’t want you to choose me because you’re in danger. Give it a little time and see how you feel when the heat is off. You’re my guest here, you’re not obliged to fuck me in return.”
Then he steps back and walks toward the bathroom before I can say anything.
I go to bed in his t-shirt, the smell of him wrapped around me.
Sleep takes a long time.