“He marked you,” I rasp against her skin, my voice thick with a rage I can’t contain. “Let’s fix that.”
Covering the bruise with my mouth, I suck gently at first, my tongue laving the tender skin. Then I suck harder, a possessive act of erasure and claiming all at once. I’m not just kissing her; I’m branding her, replacing his filth with my mark. A soft, broken sound escapes her throat, and her hands fly up, fisting in the front of my shirt, holding on for dear life.
“Yeah, baby,” I breathe against her hot skin, my lips moving to her throat, finding the frantic pulse there. “Hold on tight.”
My hand leaves the counter, my fingers splayed, trailing a slow, hot path up the outside of her bare thigh. Her skin is like silk, and my fingers burn with the contact. She gasps when my fingers brush the hem of her shorts. I don’t stop. I slide my hand underneath the denim, my fingers brushing the bare, soft skin of her ass. My gut clenches.No panties.
My hand doesn’t stop there. It glides around, under the denim, moving from her ass to the front, my palm pressing against the new territory of her hip. I feel her breath hitch, her entire body go rigid with anticipation. My fingers find the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. And she’s already so fucking wet.
“See?” I whisper, my thumb finding the hard, pebbled bud of her clit. “Already found a weak spot.”
I press down, rubbing a slow, deliberate circle directly against her slick, sensitive skin. Her head falls back against the cabinets with a soft thud, her eyes fluttering shut. A broken sound, a low moan, escapes her lips. My name.
“That’s it, baby,” I growl, my other hand coming up to grip her hip, holding her in place, anchoring her to me. “Don’t hide from me. Let me feel you.”
Darla arches against my hand, a desperate, silent plea. I give her what she’s begging for and slide one finger into her pussy. She’s soaking wet. Her inner walls clench around me instantly, like a hot, tight welcome. She gasps, her whole body jerking.
“So tight,” I murmur, my voice a thick rasp. “So wet for me, princess.”
Another finger slides in, scissoring them, her pussy gripping, slick and hot. My fingers move in and out in a slow, steady rhythm, a thumb never leaving that perfect, hard nub. She comes completely undone. Her hips move, at first a hesitant rock, then a frantic, bucking rhythm against my hand, chasing the pleasure. It’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
Her breath comes in ragged sobs, her body trembling. “East—please—”
“Please what?” I rasp, my mouth at her ear, needing to hear it. “Tell me what you want. You want me to stop?”
“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she chokes out, the words a surrender.
That’s all I need. I’m a playboy, a fuck-up, a man who knows his way around a woman’s body. I know every way to make a woman scream. But this? This is different. This is her. I curl my fingers, pressing them deep inside her, hitting that spot that makes her whole body lock up.
A sharp, ragged cry tears from her throat as she shatters against my hand. “East! Oh god, East!”
Holding her through it, my thumb never ceases its relentless circles, grinding her clit until she’s shaking apart, every nerve on fire. Every pulse of her pussy clenches around my fingers, a hot, violent flood. The storm continues as I hold her, until the last aftershock has faded and she’s panting, boneless against the counter, her eyes glazed and unfocused.
I drag my hand away, her slickness coating my fingers, dripping onto the floor. She watches with parted lips as I lift my fingers to my mouth and slowly, deliberately, lick the taste of her from my skin. She tastes like citrus, honey, and a musky sweetness that is pure Darla. My cock is granite-hard in my jeans, straining painfully, screaming for more. I want to rip myjeans open, lift her onto this counter, and bury myself so deep inside her she forgets her own name.
But I stop.
She’s not just some easy fuck to distract myself with. She’s Darla. And after last night, after that kiss, she deserves more than a quick, desperate release against a kitchen counter. She deserves all of me.
I lean in, my mouth brushing her ear, my voice a low, rough promise. “This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”
I step back, giving her space to breathe, then walk out of the kitchen, leaving her trembling and breathless against the counter.
My revenge is just getting started.
Chapter 23
East
Thegarageismysanctuary within the sanctuary. The familiar smell of motor oil, metal, and fresh coffee is comforting. It’s a place where problems are tangible, where a solution is as simple as finding the right wrench.
Kyle is hunched over a partially rebuilt carburetor on the workbench, his new patch stark and clean on the back of his cut. He’s earned his place, but he’s still green as hell.
“No, no, stop,” I say, wiping a smear of grease from my hand onto a nearby rag. “You’re torquing it too tight. You’ll strip the threads. Just… easy. Feel it. Let the tool do the work.”
“I don’t get it,” he mutters, frustration in his voice. “It’s just a bolt.”
“It’s not ‘just a bolt,’ kid. It’s the bolt that keeps the fuel from spraying all over a hot engine. You want to ride this thing, or you want to wear it as a funeral pyre?” I tap the wrench in his hand. “Again. Gentle this time.”
