"Sloane," he shouts, "get back in the truck."
There's that tone again, the commanding one that makes my stomach flip. It's the predator I know he is under the surface fighting to be seen, but if he wanted me dead, he'd just turn me loose. I grin at him and lean out farther, almost halfway through the window now, arms stretched toward the sky.
The alcohol makes me bold.
A hand grips my waist, hauling me back inside the truck before the window slides up, sealing us in together. Dane's jaw is even tighter now when I glare at him for locking me into the heat, a muscle ticking near his temple.
"What the hell are you doing?" His eyes stay on the road, but I can feel the tension radiating off him.
"Having fun. You should try it sometime." I'm pressed against the seat now, his hand still resting on my waist where he grabbed me. The touch burns through the thin fabric of my dress.
"You're drunk."
"No, I'm not… I'm fine." I shift in the seat, turning to face him. The dress rides up my thighs and I don't bother adjusting it. "You know what I think?"
"No, but I'm sure you're gonna tell me." His eyes stare straight forward, but I'd like him to look at me.
"I think you like being bossy, ordering me around, telling me what to do, keeping me locked up in your cabin." I lean closer, watching his profile in the dashboard lights. "If you're going to boss me around, you should at least make it fun."
His knuckles go white on the steering wheel. "Watch yourself."
"Or what?" The alcohol has stripped away my filter and my self-preservation instincts. All that's left is the attraction I've been fighting for two weeks, the awareness of him that I can't ignore anymore. "What are you going to do to me, Dane?"
He doesn't answer. He just keeps driving, that muscle still ticking in his jaw. And now there's a pulse in his temple too, throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
I let my hand drift across the center console, fingers trailing over his thigh. The muscle tenses beneath my touch, so I move higher, bolder, feeling the heat of him through denim.
"You like what you see?" I ask him, and I'm practically crawling over the damn console. "Been wondering if you've noticed me walking around your cabin in your clothes. If you've thought about what's underneath them."
"Sloane." Dane's growl is a warning, but it doesn't deter me. This man has driven me up a wall for weeks now with his bossiness. And when he walks around without a shirt, holy fuck, I have to keep my hands to myself.
"Maybe you want to find out?" My fingers trace higher, and I feel him respond. And there's no mistaking the rock under that zipper. "Maybe you want a girl in your bed tonight. Or am I too young for you?"
I can see the war happening behind his eyes—control versus lust, discipline versus desire. My hand moves over the bulge in his jeans and he makes a sound low in his throat while his jaw works, tensing and tightening as he turns down the gravel lane that snakes through the trees in the final climb to his cabin.
"You're playing with fire." He's barely controlling himself, and I like that. I can uncage this beast by being just a little flirtatious, and I like that I'm getting under his skin.
"Good… I'm cold." I find his zipper, slowly pulling it down. The sound seems impossibly loud, and as much as I've had to drink, I'm amazed I have the coordination. "Maybe you should warm me up."
He doesn't push my hand away, so I work him free from his jeans, wrapping my fingers around hot, hard flesh. He's bigger than I expected, and touching him makes my groin throb and flush with heat.
I stroke him slowly, watching his face, watching the control crack. His hips lift slightly into my touch while his shoulders stiffen and his jaw tightens more. The truck swerves minutely before he corrects, but his focus is definitely not on the road anymore.
"You keep doing that and we're going to crash," he manages.
"Then drive faster." I increase the pressure, my hand moving in a steady rhythm. "Get us home so you can show me what happens when I misbehave."
His eyes are wild and dark with lust when he glances at me. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"Don't I?" I lean closer, lips near his ear. "I'm asking you to stop being so controlled all the time. I want you to use some of that angry, bossy energy and punish me for being bad."
Dane's hand leaves the steering wheel and grips my wrist, stopping my movement but not pulling me away.
"You're drunk," he says again, but there's less conviction this time. He's actually thinking about it, and it only encourages me that he's trying to stop me. Fuck, I'd wrap my lips around it if I didn't think he'd drive this old beater off a cliff.
"I'm aware of every choice I'm making right now." I meet his eyes, making sure he understands. "And I'm aware that you're once again controlling me, and I don't like that."
He releases my wrist, and I resume stroking him, feeling him get impossibly harder in my hand. The truck speeds up, eating the distance to the cabin faster than legal or safe. His breathing is harsh, controlled only by the thinnest thread of discipline.
