Slowly, deliberately, she shifted. It was the smallest of movements, a subtle roll of her hips, but it was enough to grind her core directly against his straining length. A raw, guttural sound tore from his throat, half pain, half want, as her body pressed against his. His hands lifted instinctively, then stopped midair.
He could grip her. He could roll them, take her mouth, lose himself in the fire roaring through him, and that was exactly why he didn’t.
His fingers curled into fists at his sides instead, every muscle locked in restraint as he forced himself to breathe through the ache. Through the need. Through the truth of how badly he wanted her.
She deserved more than heat born of pain and chaos. She deserved intention. She deserved him whole.
The heat of her, the feel of her was just sensation. What demolished him was the truth of her.
He didn’t know how to be present in the act with her, but he knew how to take. He knew how to drive pleasure hard and fast and leave nothing but wreckage in his wake. That had always felt like power.
She was different in the way she spoke to him in body and soul.
He didn’t trust himself not to overwhelm her. Not to lose control of the tidal force that lived under his skin. He had built his life around channeling that force into something sharp and contained.
With her, it wanted to surge, and the thought of sex without emotional distance of staying open while he burned made him ache with a need he’d buried most of his life.
His body screamed at the denial. His leg burned. His cock throbbed. His chest felt tight enough to split.
He stayed still because if he let himself go now, he wasn’t sure he could hold back. He needed to know that when he finally touched her, it wouldn’t be about conquest. It would be about connection.
Her fingers flexed slightly against his chest, as if she was about to push off, or pull him closer. He didn’t know which. He didn’t care. Her reaction only made him desperate to get to the answers he needed as soon as he could. With her, he just wanted...more.
He would’ve said something, anything, but that’s when the door opened.
Loud. Wide.
Footsteps. Silence.
GQ, dragging it out, murmured, “Geezus, I need some popcorn and a cold shower.”
Ice, furious, his jaw locked, teeth grinding, growled, “Fucking little shit, you’re supposed to be in bed.”
Kodiak said, way too calmly, “I think he’s working on it, boss.”
Breakneck groaned. Not from the pain this time. His head thunked back against the floor, and he cursed the universe.
Blair turned her head, still sprawled across him, and said with total deadpan precision, “He had a muscle spasm.”
A beat of silence.
Then Skull laughed softly. “I would too.”
Boomer, said with lifted brows, “Is that what you kids are calling it these days?”
Then Hazard, dry as dust, said, “Would that be your favorite muscle, Break?”
Laughter exploded in the doorway.
Breakneck let his arm fall across his face. “I hate all of you.”
Blair leaned in, voice low at his ear. “If this gets out,” she murmured, “my staff will have a field day, and I’ll lose all respect…” He turned his head, met her gaze. “…but it’ll be worth it. Because you’re simply the most beautiful, divine-smelling, hard-as-rock with skin like velvet man I’ve ever had the opportunity to get embarrassed with.” She grinned, her lips brushing his jaw. “No regrets, gorgeous. Eh?”
His voice was still stuck somewhere in his throat. “I don’t think I can move.”
Kodiak stepped forward from the laughing mass at the door, shaking his head like the long-suffering big brother he was. “I’ve got this.” He bent, grabbed Breakneck’s wrist, and hauled him up like he weighed nothing. Before Break could protest, Kodiak shifted him and slung him right over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
Breakneck let out a helpless laugh, breathless and wrecked. He didn’t even care anymore.
