"Waiting for what?"
He crowds closer, his hips slamming into mine. The contact sends a jolt of electricity straight to my womb. He’s hard, uncompromisingly rigid against the soft give of my stomach.
"For you."
The admission snaps the last thread of his restraint. Austin groans, a low, animalistic sound, and crashes his mouth down on mine. It isn't a kiss; it’s a siege. His tongue forces my lips apart with brutal efficiency to claim every wet inch of my mouth. He tastes like bitter coffee and cold mint, his stubble scraping raw against my skin.
My hands fly up to tangle in his wind-blown hair, then drop to fist in the heavy, cold leather of his cut, hauling him closer until our chests collide. His large hands span my hips, his thick fingers digging into my ass and the soft, sensitive skin of my thighs. I can feel the rigid, pulsing length of his cock straining against his jeans, a blunt promise of the ruin he’s about to bring to my pussy.
He’s marking me before we even reach the bed.
He tastes like my past and my future.The distance evaporate in the heat of his mouth, burning away the resentment and the fear until there’s nothing left but this—us, here, finally colliding.
"Courtney," he gasps against my lips, pulling back just enough to look me in the eye. His pupils are dilated so wide his eyes look black. "I’m not leaving again. You understand? I’m not walking out that door tonight."
"Good," I pant, my hands sliding down to grip the solid muscles of his shoulders. "Don't you dare."
He sweeps me up effortlessly—one massive arm hooking under my knees while the other hauls my lower back flush to his chest. I let out a jagged breath as my pussy grinds against the heavy, cold metal of his belt buckle; the friction sparks a white-hot jolt of need.
I wrap my legs around his thick waist, locking my ankles behind his back and clinging to his broad shoulders as he hoists me higher. He doesn't just carry me; he owns me with every stride, his fingers digging into the meat of my thighs. I feel the rigid, throbbing length of him straining against denim—a blunt promise of the ruin he’s about to bring to my body—as he takes the stairs two at a time.
I’m breathless at the sudden elevation, at the feeling of being small and protected in his grasp. He carries me toward the stairs.
"The bed upstairs is dust," I manage to say, burying my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. "The mattress is ancient."
"I checked it. It'll hold," he grunts, taking the stairs two at a time. "It better hold, because I'm about to test its structural integrity."
The master bedroom is bathed in shadows, the moonlight filtering through the bare windows casting long, pale stripes across the floor. He doesn't bother with the lights. He walks straight to the bed and lowers me onto the mattress. It groans under my weight, dust motes dancing in the silver light, but I don't care.
Austin stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at me like he’s conquered a kingdom. He reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in one fluid motion, revealing the canvas of ink and scars that maps his history. I trace the lines of his abdomen with my eyes, the deep V of muscle disappearing into his jeans. He is magnificent and terrifying, a god of war standing in my ruin of a bedroom.
"Take it off," he commands.
My hands tremble as I grip the hem. I pull the fabric up and over, discarding it on the floor. I’m wearing nothing underneath. The cool air hits my skin, but Austin’s gaze is hot enough to burn.
He stares at me like a starving man at a feast, his gaze heavy enough to bruise. He tracks the way my chest heaves, nipples peaked from the cold air, and the deep, inviting flare of my hips.
“Jesus, Court,” he rasps, his voice a low vibration in his chest. “You’re built like a fucking goddess. Those wide hips... you were made to take my weight. Made to carry my seed and keep this mountain ours.”
He unbuckles his belt, the metallic clink echoing in the room. He shoves his jeans and boxer briefs down together, kicking them aside. When he straightens, my breath catches in my throat. He is massive. Thick and heavy and visibly pulsing with need. The sight of him triggers a primal instinct deep inside me—intimidating yet sparking an overwhelming urge to be filled by him.
He climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping significantly under his weight. He crawls over me, caging me in with his arms, his knees bracketing my hips. He doesn't kiss me immediately. He just looks, his face hovering inches above mine, his breath fanning across my cheeks.
"Tell me you want this," he demands, his voice raw. "I need to hear you say it. Because once I’m inside you, there’s no going back. I’m claiming you, Courtney. To the club, to this town, to every asshole on that mountain—you’re mine."
"I want you," I whisper, reaching up to cup his jaw, feeling the rough stubble against my palms. "I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen, Austin. I never stopped."
A tremor runs through him. He turns his face into my palm, kissing the center of my hand, before trailing wet, hot kisses down my wrist, to the sensitive skin of my inner arm, and then to my chest.
He worships my body with a focused intensity that makes my head spin. His mouth closes over my breast, sucking hard, his tongue swirling against the nipple until I’m arching off the mattress with a cry. His hand slides down my stomach, heavy and possessive, fingers splaying wide over my womb.
"So soft," he murmurs against my skin, the vibration of his voice traveling through my breastbone. "Wide hips. Made for me. Made to carry my legacy."
The words trigger something deep and carnal in my brain. Breeding. The thought is irrational, dangerous, and utterly intoxicating. The idea of this powerful man planting his seed in me, binding us together permanently, makes my thighs fall open in silent invitation.
He lets out a dark, satisfied groan when he finds my pussy drenched for him.
He doesn't tease; he shoves two thick fingers deep inside me, relishing the way I stretch to accommodate him. “So fucking wet for me,” he growls, his thumb grinding hard against my swollen clit until my vision blurs and I’m nothing but a sobbing, needy mess under his hands.
