My fingers fist in his cut and yank him closer, and he makes a sound in the back of his throat like I just snapped the last thread of his restraint.He lifts me off the gravel without breaking the kiss, my legs locking around his hips on instinct, like my body can’t deny who it belongs to.
His hands grip my thighs hard enough to bruise, hauling me flush against him.
“Jesus Christ, Sophie,” he rasps into my mouth.“You’ve been holding out on me.”
“Maybe,” I breathe.“Maybe I wanted to see how long you’d last.”
That does it.
He groans, deep and ugly and feral, and presses his forehead to my throat like he’s fighting the urge to drag me somewhere private and fuck me properly.
“You don’t get to tease me like that anymore,” he mutters.“You’re mine.Ring on your finger means you don’t deny me shit.”
My pulse jumps.
“You gonna make me?”I whisper.
His laugh is low and dangerous.“No.I’m gonna fuck that attitude right out of you.”
He carries me into the shadow beside the back door, where the neon can’t reach, where the noise of the bar covers the sounds we’re about to make.My back hits the wall gently, then not gently at all when his hips press into me and I feel exactly how little self-control he has left.
“Careful,” he warns, breath hot at my ear.“You keep grinding on me like that and I’ll take you right here.Let half the county hear who you belong to.”
“Maybe I want them to,” I say.
His hands slide under my shirt, palms hot and rough, claiming skin like he’s memorizing it.I bite my lip to keep from moaning, and he notices.
“Oh, don’t do that,” he growls.“Don’t pretend you’re shy now.”
“Says the man shaking,” I tease.
He stills, jaw tightening.Then he leans in, mouth brushing my ear.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about?”he murmurs.“About how good you’d look swollen with my kid.About filling you up and keeping you that way so everyone knows you’re spoken for.”
My breath stutters.
He feels it.Smiles against my skin.
“Yeah,” he says softly.“That thought does things to you.”
His fingers hook at my waistband, not rushing, not gentle either.Just deliberate.Possessive.
“Sophie,” he says, voice fraying.“If I don’t quit now, I won’t.”
I nod once.
That’s all the permission he needs.
His eyes darken.
“Sophie…”
A warning.A plea.A promise.
He curses softly, reverently.His fingers unbutton my jeans with a rough urgency.He undoes his belt.Then after an undignified dance, us working hard to make it all possible, he’s back in place, sliding inside, hard enough to make my knees give out.
I come first, shaking, gasping, burying my face against his neck while the world narrows to his cock and his breath and the way he murmurs my name like a vow.
