“You think you can just walk away? I’m not done, Silas. You don’t get to screw me over and act like it’s nothing. You want to play hardball? Fine. I’ll call your brothers. I’ll call their fiancées. You think they’ll be happy when they hear you’re sabotaging their weddings just to prove a point?”
I kept walking. She was relentless. I liked that, even if I shouldn’t have. Her anger was a live wire, sparking in the air, and part of me wanted to turn around and grab it, see how much it’d burn.
But I didn’t.
I pushed through the shop’s door, the smell of oil and metal hitting me like home. One of our guys—Vince, a wiry ex-Ranger—was fiddling with a carburetor. He looked up, saw Portia’s glare, and left without a word. Smart man.
“I’ve got work to do,” I said, heading for a workbench littered with gun parts. A half-assembled rifle sat there, waiting for a new trigger group. I picked up a tool, focusing on the task, willing her to take the hint and leave.
“Work?” Portia’s voice was a whipcrack. “Is your work being an asshole? Because you’re putting in overtime.”
I set the tool down, slow and deliberate, and turned to face her. She was a vision of fury, her cheeks flushed, her eyes burning like twin flames. The color had crept from her neck to her face, and fuck, it was beautiful.
She slammed the shop door behind her, the bang echoing in the cavernous space, and stalked toward me, her finger pointed at my face like a loaded gun.
“You don’t get to dismiss me,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to act like I’m some disposable vendor you can screw over and send packing. I’m the best at what I do, and you’re not going to ruin this for me.”
I almost laughed. Almost shoved past her.
She was close now, so close I could feel the heat radiating off her, smell that citrus-and-steel scent that made my blood hum.
I opened my mouth to tell her to get out, to take her clipboard and her attitude and go cry to someone who cared. But then she did something that stopped me cold.
Her hand shot out, fast as a snake, and grabbed my crotch. Her fingers closed around me through my jeans, firm and unapologetic, and I froze, every nerve in my body screaming.
She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear, her breath hot and sharp.
“If I’m going, Silas,” she hissed, “I might as well take my own party favor … to go.”
My brain short-circuited. One second, she was gripping my cock, her nails digging in just enough to make me inhale. The next, she tugged me closer, and I was done.
I didn’t know how it happened, didn’t care. My hands found her ass, lifting her like she weighed nothing, and her legs wrapped around my waist, tight and demanding. She shoved at my jeans, her fingers on a mission, grabbing my cock like she owned it, and I felt her heat through the thin fabric of her panties as she guided me inside.
“Fuck,” I growled, my voice raw, as I slammed into her.
She was wet, tight, and perfect, her body clenching around me like she’d been made for this. For me.
I backed her against the workbench, tools clattering to the floor, and thrust hard, each movement a war I didn’t want to win. Her nails raked my shoulders, her moans sharp and determined, and I felt like I’d met my match. Like she was fire and I was gasoline, and we were both too stupid to care about the explosion.
Her lips found mine, and it wasn’t a kiss—it was a fight. Teeth clashing, tongues battling, her taste flooding my senses like a drug.
I gripped her hips, angling her to take me deeper, and she arched against me, her head falling back, her throat exposed. I wanted to bite it, mark it, claim it.
She was relentless, matching every thrust, her legs tightening around me like she’d never let go. I didn’t want her to. Not now. Not ever.
The shop was a blur—metal and oil and heat, the world narrowing to her body, her sounds, the way she broke me apart without trying.
I felt the pressure building, too fast, too much, and I growled against her neck, trying to hold on.
“Portia,” I rasped, her name a curse and a prayer.
“Shut up,” she growled back, her hands fisting my shirt, pulling me closer.
She came first, her body shuddering, her cry laced with grim satisfaction.
It undid me.
I followed, hard and brutal, my vision whitening as I spilled inside her, my hands bruising her hips, my heart pounding like I’d run a marathon.
