Click.
The moment his gun clicks as he cocks it, I go still—breath caught, heart hammering, every nerve on high alert.And I know that if whatever or whoever is out there steps too close, he won't hesitate.
But fuck, that sound—the unmistakable sound of a round being chambered—low, deadly—sends a jolt straight through me, like he’s flipped some hidden switch that intensified the sensation.
“Oh, god yes,” I say, shuddering, thighs clenching, fingers digging into his back like I’m trying to fight my way out of this pleasure—or maybe hold on as long as I can.
“That’s it, baby,” he bites his lip, eyes only focused on me now.
The pleasure is overwhelming and my head rolls back, my back arches, and I cover my mouth to keep myself from screaming—no,howling—as the pure, unrelenting ecstasy drowns me.
The gun—fuck, I almost forgot about it—it’s still there, aimed, just a trigger pull from firing. But I’m not done. Not even close. My clit is still throbbing, swollen and sensitive, and I can’t help myself, I need more.
“Don’t stop,” I breathe out.
“Keep quiet, Sawyer,” he grits through his teeth.
I nod frantically, my fingers clawing at his shoulders, desperate for more. He presses harder, deeper, and I feel the orgasm building again, a slow, sweet torture that’s going to wreck me completely. My body is still hypersensitive, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up. I’m panting now, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps, and I’m fucking losing all control. He’s going to make me come for a third time.
There’s a voice from the trees, some idiot saying, “Maybe they’ll let us party.” Trouble doesn’t falter. His fingers are relentless, pushing me closer and closer to another orgasm, and I know that whoever it is out there isn’t worth his time. Isn’t worth taking a second away from this. Even if he pulledthe trigger right now, I don’t know if that would phase him enough to stop.
I think the men are still yelling something else, but all I hear is the blood rushing in my ears, the slick, filthy sound of his fingers sliding in and out of me. My legs are shaking, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. And I don’t want him to stop. Fuck me, I don’t want him to stop, ever.
His voice is like fucking steel when he whispers, “They better get the fuck off my property. All I need is the trespassing excuse to kill a Kennedy.”
How can he multitask this well? And if he's this good with his hands—what is sex like with this man?
There’s silence, then a man mutters, “Fuck it,” followed by another voice. “It’s not worth it tonight. There’s too many people. Let’s go.”
He watches them until they’re gone and then lowers the gun slowly and puts it back into his holster. His focus is completely on me again, his lips press against my neck. “Sorry about that. Now what do you need, darlin’?”
“Tristan, I need to—” I gasp, my voice trembling. “Make me come again.”
He fucking does it. His fingers work me over in a way that’s almost terrifying, and it’s not long before I’m coming apart all over again. My body arches, my breasts are pressed against his chest, my nipples hard and aching. He kisses me again, deep and dirty, swallowing my moans as I shudder against him.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Fuck. Oh,fuck.” I clench around him, my hips jerking uncontrollably.
My body convulses, my pussy clenching tight around his fingers, and I’m coming again—harder this time, longer, more violent. It’s like every sense and nerve I have ison fire, every inch of me consumed by the burst of flames. My nails dig into his back, and I’m crying out, as the pleasure rips through me and leaves me shattered. He covers my mouth to try and hide my scream from the crowd, but I don’t care at this point. The music is louder now, the laughs are louder, and no one is looking our way.
He leans in, his lips brushing mine. “Good girl,” he whispers before pulling back with that smirk of his.
“Holy mother of socks,” I say, as I fall back on his truck bed, limp and panting, my body trembling with the aftershocks.
I’m a fucking mess—my legs barely able to move.
He straightens up and grabs his beer again. “Darlin’, you’ve got no idea what you’ve got comin’.”
And fuck, I believe him.
twenty-four
Trouble
“Ain’t that your hat sittin’ pretty on Knox’s baby sister?”
My gaze drifts across the room to Sawyer. She's gorgeous, the light catching in her blonde hair as she throws her head back in a laugh. And there it is, on her damn head, the hat I told her to keep. And there's no denying it—seeing her in my hat’s messing with my head. It ain’t just a look—it’s a problem. A possessive kind of problem.
