I laugh, genuinely amused by her sass. "You tell me, baby doll. Seem to remember you taking all of me just fine this morning."
Her cheeks flame red, and she ducks into the passenger seat without another word. Score one for me.
The drive out of Vegas is quiet. Wynter stares out the window, watching the city fade into desert landscape. I keep one hand on the wheel, the other on her thigh, needing the physicalconnection. Every time she tenses, I squeeze gently, reminding her who she belongs to now.
We stop for gas about two hours in, at a dusty station off the highway. The place is the kind of dive that makes most people nervous—truckers with hard eyes, drifters loitering by the pumps, a general feeling that violence could erupt at any moment. For me, it's just another Tuesday.
"Stay in the truck," I tell her as I pull up to a pump.
"I need to use the bathroom," she says, already unbuckling her seatbelt.
I grind my teeth, but nod. "Fine. Straight there and back. Don't talk to anyone."
She rolls her eyes but agrees, climbing down from the truck. I watch her walk toward the gas station, those jeans hugging her ass in a way that makes my mouth water. I'm not the only one noticing.
A lanky fucker leaning against a beat-up motorcycle straightens as she passes, his eyes following her like a starving man eyeing a steak. He says something I can't hear, but Wynter quickens her pace, head down. The guy pushes off his bike, taking a step after her.
Red floods my vision.
I'm across the lot before I even register moving, my hand closing around the back of his neck like a vise. I slam him face-first against his motorcycle, pinning him there with my forearm across his shoulders. He's a skinny piece of shit, probably tweaking on something, no match for my size and strength.
"You eyeing my wife, motherfucker?" I growl in his ear, pressing harder until he wheezes.
"D-didn't know she was taken, man," he gasps, struggling uselessly against my grip.
I lean closer, making sure he can feel every ounce of the threat I represent. "Well now you do. And if your eyes so muchas twitch in her direction again, I'll cut them out and feed them to you. We clear?"
He nods frantically, face turning purple. I release him with a shove, and he staggers away, gasping. The few witnesses suddenly find other places to look. Smart.
Wynter emerges from the station, eyes wide as she takes in the scene—me standing over the guy who's still bent over coughing, the sudden silence that's fallen over the lot. Fear and something else—something darker, more primal—flashes across her face.
I take her arm, guiding her back to the truck. My pulse is still pounding with feral rage, but there's satisfaction too. Let them all see. Let them know she's claimed.
Back on the road, the adrenaline still courses through my veins. My cock is hard in my jeans, a primal reaction to defending what's mine. Every few miles, I catch Wynter sneaking glances at me, her breathing a little faster than normal.
"He was looking at you," I say finally, breaking the silence.
"So you, what? Threatened to blind him?" Her voice wavers between outrage and something else.
"Would have done it too." I slide my hand higher on her thigh. "Nobody looks at what's mine."
She shakes her head, but doesn't push my hand away. "You can't just…hurt people because they look at me."
"Can. Will." I squeeze her thigh. "You're mine to protect now, baby doll. Better get used to it."
The sun is setting, painting the desert in gold and crimson. The highway stretches empty ahead of us, miles of nothing in all directions.Perfect.
I pull the truck onto a dirt turnout, cutting the engine.
"Why are we stopping?" Wynter asks, looking around at the desolate landscape.
Instead of answering, I unbuckle my seatbelt and then hers. In one smooth motion, I lift her across the center console and onto my lap, facing me, her legs straddling mine.
"What are you doing?" she gasps, hands bracing against my chest.
"What does it look like?" I grip her hips, grinding her down against my erection. "Need you. Now."
"Here? We're in the middle of nowhere!" Her protest is weakened by the way her body responds, pressing back against mine.
