I drop to my knees in front of him. He’s already undone, thick and heavy in his hand as he strokes himself once, slowly, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded.
“Open,” he says, low and wrecked.
I do.
He guides himself to my lips, and I take him in, slow at first, dragging my tongue along the underside until he swears under his breath. My hand wraps around the base, stroking in rhythm with my mouth as I hollow my cheeks and suck him deep. He groans, a dark, broken sound, and braces a hand against the roof of the truck.
“Fuck, Josie. Just like that.”
His voice, low and wrecked, shoots straight through me, a new, raw pulse of heat settling between my thighs. I work him with my hand and mouth together, letting instinct and hunger guide me, finding a rhythm that makes his hips twitch forward.Each subtle thrust fills me deeper, stretches the corner of my mouth, but I don’t pull away. I want to take all of him. I want to ruin him with the feel of me.
His fingers tangle in my hair, not rough, not forcing, just holding on like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded. That gentle desperation undoes something inside me. He’s always so controlled, so unreadable. But here, in this moment, I can feel him unraveling for me. Because of me.
“You feel so good,” he mutters, voice strained and breathless. “So fucking good. You’re gonna make me lose it.”
The thrill of that, of knowing I have that power, makes my skin flush hot, my body ache with want. I pull back to kiss the sensitive head of him, tongue flicking a slow, teasing circle around the ridge before I take him again, deep and slow. I hollow my cheeks, moaning softly around him, and he groans in response, the sound primal.
He starts to move, controlled but hungry, hips rolling in slow, mind-blowing thrusts that make my thighs clench involuntarily. Each stroke is a promise, each retreat a threat. He’s holding back, barely, and the restraint only winds me tighter, makes me wetter. I want him to lose control. I want him to break.
“Look at me,” he demands, voice rough with need.
I glance up, lips stretched around him, eyes locked on his. And in that gaze, blazing, possessive, I feel it: the fire I light in him, the storm barely caged behind his eyes. It makes my pulse stutter, my heart race. Because I want that storm to crash down on both of us.
“You like this?” he growls. “On your knees for me, looking like sin?”
I moan around him, nodding, and the vibration makes him hiss.
Then he pulls out abruptly, slick and hard and flushed, and lifts me effortlessly.
“Could’ve come just like that,” he mutters, pressing his forehead to mine, “but I need to be inside you when I do. I need to feel every damn second of it.”
His mouth crashes into mine, messy and urgent, tasting himself on my tongue.
“Next time,” he says, grinding against me, lining up again. “I'll come in your mouth. And you’re gonna swallow every drop.”
A fresh wave of heat floods me at his words, filthy and raw and so full of dark possession that it makes my toes curl inside my boots. The thought of it, his control, my surrender, the taste of him on my tongue, sends a shiver of excitement down my spine.
Before I can answer, he turns me to face him and lifts me without effort to set me down on the tailgate. My legs part automatically, needing him close.
His forehead presses to mine. His breath is uneven. His hands are shaking, just barely.
“I’m going to wreck you, Josie Dawson. And tomorrow, you’re still going to be mine.”
The words slam into me like a lightning strike, hot and wild and impossible to ignore. They brand me, claiming something deeper than my body. It’s not just sex he’s offering, it’s a promise, a possession, a declaration that this isn’t a mistake or a fling. It’s him choosing me.
My breath catches, a gasp lodged in my throat, equal parts arousal and awe. My body aches at the raw intent in his voice, but my heart. My heart stutters under the weight of it. Wreck me? Damn, I want him to. I want him to ruin every man who came before him. I want to belong to this.
Then his mouth is on mine. Not soft. Not patient. He kisses me like he has something to prove. Like everything he’s kept bottled up is pouring out through the press of his lips, the pull of his hands.
One hand grips my hip, the other wraps behind my head, holding me still while he devours me. His body crowds mine, all heat and strength, no space between us. I feel the shape of him everywhere. His chest, his thigh between mine, his breath flooding my lungs with every desperate inhale.
“I’ve wanted this since the second you looked at me in that bar,” he growls against my lips. “Since you looked up with those sweet eyes, all soft and unsure, and had no clue how much I wanted to ruin you.”
My stomach flips. My heartbeat’s too fast. My body answers before my mind catches up, grinding down on his thigh, gasping at the pressure, the friction. I can’t stop moving. I don’t want to.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low, his mouth trailing along my jaw. “Just like that. Don’t hold back.”
I let out a shaky moan. “Someone could see.”
