For a long minute, we just sat there, his hand on mine, the world reduced to the heat and the sound of our breathing.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows.
Inside, everything else went still.
I thought I’d explode from the wanting.
He must have known it, too, because he didn’t let go.
The silence between us was its own animal, big and hungry, gnawing at the edges of the lamp light. Rawley’s hand covered mine, thumb pressed to my pulse, and I was so conscious of his touch that the rest of my body went numb.
I tried to steady my breathing, but each inhale just dragged more of his scent into my head. I was drowning in it—leather and salt and some unnameable thing that was pure, feral alpha. My own scent went sharp in response, wild and helpless, but I didn’t care.
I didn’t want to care.
He squeezed my hand harder, then let go. I thought for a second he’d changed his mind, but then he grabbed my wrist in both hands and drew me in, not fast, but with the kind of certainty that said resistance wasn’t an option.
He locked his eyes on mine, voice dropping so low it barely made sound. “Enough planning,” he growled.
Before I could answer, he pulled me across the table and crushed his mouth to mine.
The kiss was nothing like I’d expected. It wasn’t gentle. It was hard, fierce, almost punishing—his tongue sliding deep,claiming, invading. My lips went numb from the pressure, but I wanted more. I grabbed at his shirt, desperate to anchor myself, but he was already in motion.
He stood, dragging me up out of the chair so fast I nearly tripped. His hands caught my hips, huge and unyielding, and in one motion he lifted me onto the edge of the kitchen table. My notebook and the property maps went flying, scattering across the floor in a flutter of torn paper.
He didn’t even notice. He stepped between my legs, shoving them apart until my thighs bracketed his waist. I could feel the heat of him through his jeans, the shape of him already thick and hot and straining for contact.
I tried to get my breath back, but he caught my jaw in his hand, tilted my head back, and devoured me all over again. His scruff scraped my chin, making my skin raw, but the pain only made me harder.
He pressed forward, the table creaking under our combined weight. I felt the grain of the wood digging into my ass through my jeans, and it only anchored me more firmly in the moment.
His hands moved from my hips to my waist, then up under my shirt. The calluses on his palms dragged over my ribs, leaving a path of fire in their wake. When his fingers found my bare skin, I almost sobbed.
He broke the kiss, just long enough to yank my shirt up over my head. I tried to help, but he had me pinned so firmly I could barely move. The shirt caught on my left elbow, and he just ripped it free, the fabric popping at the seam.
For a second, I wanted to protest—shirts were expensive, and I didn’t have a lot to spare—but then his mouth latched onto the curve of my shoulder, and all I could do was gasp.
He bit down, not hard enough to bruise but hard enough to leave a mark. My head rolled back, the world spinning. I couldn’t get enough oxygen, but I didn’t care.
He moved lower, kissing and biting down my chest. When he reached my nipple, he didn’t hesitate—just closed his mouth around it and sucked, tongue flicking the tip until I nearly cried out. His scruff scratched and abraded, the sensation so intense it was almost too much.
My hands found his shoulders, fingers digging in. I could feel the muscle there, solid and unyielding, like steel cables under skin. I tried to say his name, but it came out as a broken moan.
He moved to the other nipple, biting, then sucking, then biting again. His hand cupped the back of my neck, holding me steady. I arched into him, desperate for more friction, more contact, anything.
He pulled back, just enough to look at me. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide. His chest heaved, every breath shuddering with control barely held in check.
“I’ve wanted this since I first saw you,” he said, voice rough enough to sand the finish off the table.
I couldn’t speak. I just nodded, afraid that if I tried to use words, I’d come apart.
He grinned, savage and hungry. “You’re mine now.”
And I believed him.
His hands moved lower, undoing the button on my jeans with practiced efficiency. He shoved them down, dragging my underwear with them. The air hit my bare skin and I gasped, the cold a shock after the heat of his hands.
He stepped back just enough to look me over, his gaze raking every inch of exposed skin. I felt naked, even though I still had one sock on and the ruined shirt hanging from my arm, my jeans and underwear around my ankles.
