Grabbing her ankle, I yank hard, dragging her defiant little ass to the edge of the wagon. Her earbuds tumble free, hay clings to her hair, and pure fire blazes in her eyes.
Popped the little menace clean out of her earbuds—with the hold she has on me, this is just the first of many more times to come.
“What the hell, Chance?”
In one swoop, I climb on top of her, caging her with my knees at her waist.
Catching her wrists, I pin them to the floor above her head. "Don't ever do that to me again."
"Do what?" Her chest heaves, eyes flashing. "What’s your fucking problem?"
“My problem?” I growl, leaning in closer. “My problem is you sitting on that sleigh eye fucking Everett like—like—” The words tear out of me, raw and honest. “Like I wasn’t right there.”
Confusion flickers across her face. “I wasn’t—what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you using another guy to get to me.” My voice drops, rough with fury I’m still choking back. “I mean it, Holly. I won’t go there again—definitely not with you. Got it. Never with you.”
I hate where that one moment sent me. Back to a time where I caved to expectation and turned myself into a doormat.
And what did I learn?
Sometimes people are just shit… and it has not one goddamned thing to do with me and everything to do with them.
“Why do you care, Chance?”
My gut offers up straightforward logic—Don’t tell her.
But my heart? My heart is the captain of debate by day, drunk poet by night.
Because you’re everything—maddening, challenging, fearless.
You’re the only one who can bring me to my knees.
And when I wasn’t paying attention, Squirt, you became my entire world.
Sneers and digs by day, falling more in love with her by night.
I can’t tell anyone. I can’t confess to my best friend that I’m so goddamned out of my mind for his sister, if he ever told meto choose between loving her or keeping my best friend—my brother—I’d choose herevery fucking time.
I bury my hands in her hair, angling her head just right, and pour every ounce of frustration into kissing her senseless.
It’s not gentle. Nothing like our careful mistletoe kisses.
It's raw hunger unleashed, days of pent-up tension exploding in one bruising, soul-wrecking kiss.
She makes a sound in her throat, half whimper, half moan, sending a surge of blood straight to my cock. But the sigh that follows, ragged and full of relief—like she’s been waiting for this— for me—for us—her entire life.
She tastes like chocolate and desire and something uniquely Holly that makes my blood burn.
"Rate that, Squirt," I growl against her throat. "I fucking dare you."
Her hands fist in my shirt as she arches up, meeting my intensity. When she rolls her hips, I nearly lose my mind.
Dragging my mouth down her throat, I savor hit after hit of delicious skin, her pulse racing beneath my tongue with every taste.
Behind her ear, she shivers.
Along her collarbone, she moans.
