Chapter 30
chapter
thirty
SHAY
Calder carried me to a sleek black sports car and gently placed me inside. His hand on the roof of the car, he bent forward, lingering. I fisted the soft black fabric of his shirt, noticing a darkening stain.
“I think I bled on your shirt,” I said.
He gripped my wrists wordlessly, stare lingering on mine. The air throbbed between us.
“Wait…” I glanced around. “Where is your bike?”
He gave me a look, tilting his head like, What are you talking about?
“You wore a motorcycle helmet,” I said, remembering our first date. And…well, the time he crashed mine.
A sheepish look crossed his face. “I don’t have a bike. My brother does. He left his spare helmet at my place.”
I laughed, unable to help myself.
“It’s dangerous!” he said, indignant.
“Afraid of spiders. Safety conscious. Stalker.” I leaned forward until our noses nearly touched. “Who are you?”
An unknown emotion clouded his gaze. His grip flexed against my wrists.
Then he pulled me off him and shut the car door.
I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Absently, I noticed the car’s interior. Soft leather seats.
Sleek black detailing. Graham had loved his luxury cars, but this was something else—
In the rearview mirror, I saw Calder reach behind his head and yank off his shirt. I think my mouth dropped. I realized I’d never actually seen him shirtless. I’d felt him, felt the hard ridges and cords of his abs.
But…
I stared at the rearview greedily. Inky black tattoos traced the hard muscle of his neck, sliding down the deep grooves of his abdomen, disappearing beneath his waistband.
That restrained power I’d noticed on our first date was no longer leashed.
With each movement, new muscles carved into his body—his triceps, his forearm, his—
Oh fuck.
His hips.
He opened the trunk, and my view vanished behind it. A few seconds later, Calder closed it and walked to the driver’s side, now wearing a shirt—my shirt. When did he get my shirt?
And it was way too small for him.
He slid into the car, shutting the door and us into silence.
“Did you steal my clothing? Is that some kind of kink? Or wait…” I remembered the time I’d nearly caught him. He’d been in the litter and—“Oh my god.” I broke off in a fit of laughter.
Though he didn’t start the car, he gripped the wheel. I traced the corded outline of his neck muscle down to the collar of his shirt, now remembering too vividly what was underneath. His jaw tensed with some kind of emotion, making that muscle pop.
Wait.
“Are you mad?” I asked.
Calder dragged my legs over his, then reached across me into the glove compartment. I sucked in a breath, skin tingling as his dark, earthy scent wrapped around me like opium. His chest pressed against my bare thighs, his shoulder brushing my breast. One movement and our lips would meet—
Calder grabbed something out of the compartment and sat back. I watched him unzip a bag marked “First Aid” and pull out white gauze.
Then he dabbed my knee.
There was something mesmerizing about watching this big, tattooed man clean me up so gently.
But then I noticed the tension threading his muscles.
“You can’t seriously be upset,” I said.
Working his jaw, he reached for a bandage. “You’re being careless.”
He rubbed the bandage across my knee, pressing it flat against the wound. I could barely focus on that gentle action, the way his palm spanned so large it reached my thigh.
“So what? You don’t care.”
Calder’s eyes flashed to mine, dark and probing. His stare was a lightning bolt, shocking my body, zinging through my blood and into my core.
He grabbed the first aid kit, bending back over me to put it in the glove compartment. This time, his eyes stayed locked on mine.
So close I could kiss him.
His hand still hot on my thighs.
The weight of his breathing pressing into my breasts.
My back bit into the door handle, thighs spread to accommodate his width. His eyes dropped to my mouth, and I was certain he was going to kiss me.
Thump.
Another thump—it seriously sounded like someone was banging against the trunk. I turned my head toward the rear, and Calder grabbed my chin, dragging my gaze back.
“Don’t drink like this when I’m not around,” he said, words steaming my mouth.
He shut the glove compartment with a loud snap and sat back.
I blinked like I’d been doused in cold water.
Once again, Calder faced forward, but his hands weren’t on the steering wheel. They remained on my leg, long fingers stretching to my inner thigh.
Don’t drink like this when I’m not around.
I chewed my lip. I could make a joke about how he’s always around, but with his grip on my thigh, I couldn’t think.
I still felt floaty.
Drunk.
And now he was here, touching me, taking care of me.
“I think about you too much,” I confessed. “You take up too much space in my head. It’s not fair.”
“Not fair?”
“I don’t take up space in your mind. You disappear for weeks—”
“You think you’re not in my head?” He cut me off, words disappearing into a growl.
“Not like this. When I’m at work, I think about you. When I’m at book club, I think about you. When I’m supposed to be finding a new guy”—his grip flexed on my thigh—“I think about you. This was my brain first.” I know I sounded petulant. Whiny. But I couldn’t help it.
I was coming undone.
“I think about you, Shay.” He laughed without humor, sounding pained. “You’re all I think about.”
My eyes narrowed, suspicious.
“Whenever you think about me, know I’ve already been thinking about you for hours. Any time of the fucking day.”
“Any time?” I asked, disbelief coloring the question. “What about nine a.m.?”
His gaze found mine. His thumb traced circles along my inner thigh. “Wondering if you’ve had your morning tea.”
“Twelve p.m.?”
“Wondering if you remembered to eat lunch.”
I found myself leaning forward with each question and answer, as if magnetized. His hand slid higher up my thigh as I did so.
“Five p.m.?” I tilted my chin in defiance.
“Wondering how your ass looks in the leggings you wear to work.”
My eyes popped, cheeks flushing. “Five forty-five p.m.”
“Making dinner, thinking about you.” I leaned closer, and his hand moved higher. Until his thumb brushed the edge of my panties.
I bit my lip. “Twelve a.m.?”
“Definitely thinking about you.” His voice dropped into something husky. My eyes dropped to his lap, the rigid outline of his cock underlining the meaning.
“Oh,” was all I said.
He laughed that dark laugh again. “Now what’s not fair, baby?” He arched a brow, thumb sliding just beneath my panties. Briefly. Too quick. He pulled his hand back, facing forward again.
So I climbed across the console, straddling him.
He didn’t stop me, but he didn’t help either.
“You ignored me.”
“I was protecting you.” His hands slid to my hips. “But you don’t care about that, do you? You don’t give a shit about what I want. You want me fucked up. You want me feral.” He traced his hands along my curves, up to my spine, back down to my ass.
I arched into him.
Then he stopped.
“Fuck me,” I demanded. I gripped his hands at my hips so he couldn’t pull back, grinding against him.
“I can feel you,” I said, pressing down against his rigid cock. “You want to fuck me.”
He forced me to stop, freezing me in place, hands on my thighs.
My breath caught, suspended in his gaze and in the thick tension of the car.
“Text your friends you got a Lyft,” he growled.
“Are you kidnapping me?”
“Yes.”