18. Winnie #2
“Why, though?” I ask, and I hate that my voice comes out small. “Is it that you don’t want someone from Weston to think your ‘girlfriend’ is on a dating app?”
His eyes drop to my mouth. Just for a second.
“I don’t give a damn about what Weston thinks. But you? Meeting up with some random asshole turtle guy? Not happening.”
“Tell me why you care. You’ve made it clear you don’t want me. I’m just convenient?—”
He silences me by lifting my chin up so I am forced to look him in the eyes. “You think I don’t want you?”
I swallow. “I heard you. You just said?—”
“Touch me.”
I’m still boxed in, his palm flat on the boards. I blink. “What?”
He leans in, mouth at my ear. “You heard me.”
I look down and my breath catches. The evidence of what he’s talking about is straining against his jeans. There’s no way to miss that. My cheeks burn as understanding clicks right into place.
My fingers move on their own, tracing over his belt then moving carefully lower like I need to verify what I already know is there.
And—yeah. He’s hard.
Dangerously hard.
Dangerously large.
He places his other hand over mine. “This is what you do to me. Every goddamn time you look at me. When you’re around me. All I can think about is having my hands on you.”
I can’t breathe. “But you said awful things to that man?—”
“I’m sorry you heard that. Wasn’t meant for you to hear.”
His eyes flick to mine, then away. “I said what I had to say. Because if they know what you mean to me—” He cuts himself off. Swallows. “I’m holdin’ back,” he adds quietly. “More than you think.”
I want to ask what would happen if he just let it go. If he stopped holding himself back—but I don’t.
“Fine,” I say. “Keep disrespecting me, then. Keep saying mean things about me. Just hand me my phone.”
He grins. “No can do.”
I grab his collar, tug him down to me. “Then stop holding back.”
Something shifts in his eyes. It’s not anger. Not teasing. Hunger. He studies my face like he’s memorizing it—like he’s deciding whether he’s about to ruin both of us.
His thumb presses into my jaw, tipping my chin higher, forcing me to meet his eyes.
Then his mouth crashes into mine. Not soft. Not even close.
He kisses just as reckless as he rides, or as he fights: relentless, his tongue claiming mine in a way that tells me he could break me in half.
And I’d let him. His lips taste cool and faintly sweet like mint gum, contradictions I can't wrap my mind around.
The stubble on his jaw scrapes against my skin in the most intriguing way.
He tilts my chin exactly how he wants me, his calloused thumb pressing into my flesh as my pulse hammers wildly.
His other hand drifts to my hip, fingers digging into the strip of bare skin where my shirt has lifted up, and pulls me into him until his hard cock presses against my stomach.
I don’t even know when my hands sneak under his shirt, but now I’m addicted to the feel of his skin—hot, tight, ink and muscle. My fingers dig into the ridges of his abs, tracing the hard lines like a goddamn treasure map. He’s a furnace, burning me alive, and I want to melt into him.
I fumble for the button of his jeans, desperate to get my hands on what’s hiding beneath, but he grabs my wrist to stop me.
“You touched me already. Now It’s my turn,” he says, his voice low, husky, and dripping with that rough edge that makes my thighs clench.
“I’m gonna give you the attention you need. ”
I shouldn't like the commanding tone nearly as much as I do. Or the possessive way he's holding onto my wrist.
His mouth trails down my neck, teeth grazing my skin, and I arch into him with a gasp.
His hands move to my jeans, popping the button open with ease before sliding my jeans down just enough.
My panties, black satin with a ribbon tied in front are the last barrier standing in the way of where I want him, and he trails over the bow with an agonizing slowness.
“Fuck,” he exhales, and once he feels the slickness soaking through the fabric, he lets out a growl that sends shockwaves straight to my core. “Winnie Hawthorne, look how wet you are.”
I’m panting now, my head thrown back against the rough wood, my body trembling with anticipation.
He hooks a finger under the damp fabric and pushes it aside.
His fingers spread me open, and I nearly collapse when he finds my clit.
He rubs it in slow circles, and I moan so loud it echoes in the empty barn.
"I understand now," he teases. “You’re achin’, aren’t you baby?”
I can’t even form words—just a breathless “mhm” as he pushes one finger inside me.
I’m so wet that he slides in effortlessly, and I bite my lip to keep from crumbling. When he adds a second finger, stretching me, my knees buckle.
He curls his fingers inside me, hitting this delicious spot, and I cry out, my nails instinctively dig into his shoulders.
“Does that feel good?” he whispers, his lips against my ear.
“So good,” I gasp, my voice breaking into a jagged moan that’s half pleasure, half desperation.
His long fingers are relentless, plunging into me with a rhythm that’s punishingly perfect. My vision blurs, my thighs tremble. His thumb—oh god, his thumb—is circling my clit with just enough pressure to make me whimper.
“The way you moan,” he says. “I think I’m addicted.”
His teeth graze my earlobe, and I feel the bite of it deep in my core as I arch into his hand. His fingers don’t stop, fucking me harder, deeper, his thumb changing up speed on my clit. The slick sound of my pussy is the only thing I can hear.
“Oh, god yes,” I moan, my words slurring into a single, breathless plea. My hips rock against his hand, fucking myself on his fingers, chasing the peak that’s already burning through me.
“Anytime you want this,” he growls, his lips trailing down my neck, “you ask for it. From me.”
His fingers don’t slow, the rhythm unrelenting, the pressure on my clit unforgiving. He doesn’t get tired, doesn’t let up.
“Don’t stop,” I beg, the words tumbling out of me in a broken stream. “Right there. Oh fuck, right there.”
“Are you about to come, Winnie?” he asks, and I swear his voice alone could make me combust.
I can’t answer right away, I can’t think. I’m shaking with the need to unravel. His lips crash into mine, stealing my breath, his tongue pushing into my mouth, claiming me.
“Yes,” I whimper. ”I’m about to?—”
Then, the bastard slowly pulls his fingers out just as I’m about to tip over the edge. I let out a frustrated whine, falling back against the wood.
“Why did you?—?”
I pull up my jeans and button them, trying to pull myself together.
He chuckles darkly, licking me off his fingers. “Consider it a punishment for that dating app.”
I glare at him, my chest heaving, my body screaming for release.
“Wow. Are you serious?” I snap.
His jaw tightens instead of that stupid grin, eyes dark and raw like he’s holding himself back by force.
“Dead serious,” he replies, and I swear, I’ve never been so frustrated and turned on at the same time in my life. “You’re with me. Fake or not. Until I say.”
“I disagree,” I whisper. “And you’re the one who said those terrible things about me. I was checking the app for someone who didn’t think I was just a convenience.”
A rough, broken sound rips out of him. It’s not a laugh, more like something tearing loose.
“You don’t get it, Winnie. I don’t do this.
I don’t do soft. I don’t do want.” His gaze slips for half a second, like he’s already said too much.
“And I damn sure don’t get to want someone like you.
If I have to protect you by saying those things about you, and if it pushes you away, then so be it. ”
My chest aches. “I never asked you for a fairytale.”
“That’s what scares me,” he says quietly.
I reach for him anyway, fingers just barely catching his wrist. “Then stop half doing this. You either act like I’m your girlfriend—like you want me—everywhere, or you don’t do it at all.”
His jaw hardens. “You want me putting a target on your back? I won’t do that.”
“Do it anyway.”
A sigh leaves him. “I knew you’d be a problem.”
Me a problem? No he didn’t.
“You’re such an ass. I’m not the problem.”
He takes a single step back, like distance is the only thing keeping him in control. “Then don’t make yourself one.”
He grabs my phone and slips it back into my hand. Our fingers tangle for a moment.
“And that app?” He draws. “Don’t get someone killed.”
I lift my chin. “Is that your way of saying I matter to you?”
His eyes darken. “You matter to making this arrangement work.”
"That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me." I fire back sarcastically.
He hooks an arm around my waist and flings me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
“I can walk, you jerk!”
“Don’t care,” he says. “You run your mouth, I run your legs.”
“Put me down!”
“No,” he says, gripping my thighs to keep me still. “You’re testing me, and you need to be put to bed before I lose my damn mind.”
I stop fighting—if you can call my kicking “fighting”—and smirk. “It’s kind of hot when you go all alpha Daddy.”
His grip tightens.
“Keep pushing me, Winnie. See what happens.”
I hope he means it.