She doesn't answer, but I feel the shiver that runs through her body. It's not from cold.
My hand tightens on her hip. I could span her waist with my hands. Could pick her up and position her exactly how I want her. The thought makes my cock throb painfully against my zipper.
"You know what happens when a man and woman get trapped together like this?" My voice drops lower, rougher. "In movies, books?"
She swallows hard, the sound audible even over the storm. "Those are just stories."
"Life writes better stories than fiction." My lips brush her ear as I speak, feeling her shudder against me. "Especially when there's a storm raging outside and something just as wild building inside."
"I hardly know you," she whispers.
I laugh, a sound with no humor in it. "You know enough. You feel it too."
My hand slides from her hip to her stomach, resting there, feeling her quick breaths. Just a few inches lower and I'd be touching places that would make her gasp my name.
Christ, what the fuck am I doing? I don’t know, but it’s like a dam has unleashed inside me and I can’t stop.
"I've been watching you for three days," I tell her, my voice a low rumble near her ear. "The way you move. The way you smile at customers. The way you touch those books like they're precious. Been imagining those delicate hands on me instead."
She stiffens in my arms, but doesn't pull away. "Mr. Hale—Butch—this isn't?—"
"Isn't what? Professional?" I laugh again. "Sweetheart, professional went out the window the minute I laid eyes on you. You think any man looks at you and thinks about business? They don't. They think about ruining you."
The words hang in the air between us. Her breathing has quickened, her body trembling slightly against mine.
"But they'd ruin you wrong," I continue, my control slipping with each word. "They'd be gentle when you need rough. Careful when you need to be claimed. None of them would know how to handle something as perfect as you."
Lightning flashes again, thunder following almost immediately. The storm is directly overhead now. She jumps at the sound, pressing back against me instinctively. My cock strains painfully against my jeans.
"I'd ruin you right," I whisper against her skin. "So thoroughly you'd never look at another man again. So completely you'd feel me for days afterward. Every book you picked up, every customer you smiled at, you'd be thinking of me and what I did to you."
Her pulse flutters visibly at her throat. I want to put my mouth there, feel her life force under my tongue.
"You're saying terrible things," she manages, but her voice catches on the words.
My hand slides up to rest just below her breast. "Tell me to stop then."
She doesn't. The silence stretches between us, filled only with the sound of rain and her quick breaths.
"That's what I thought." My lips ghost against her neck, not quite a kiss. "From the second I walked into this store, you've been mine, Julia. You just didn’t know it yet."
The storm rages outside, but the real tempest is building inside me—a primal need to claim, to mark, topossess. To make sure that when dawn breaks and the waters recede, nothing between us will ever be the same.
She's mine, and by morning, she'll understand exactly what that means.
four
. . .
Julia
His heartbeat poundsagainst my back, steady and strong while mine races like a frightened rabbit's. I'm practically sitting in Butch's lap, his massive arms caging me in this armchair that suddenly feels too small for one person, let alone two. His words echo in my ears—terrible, filthy promises about ruining me. The worst part isn't that he said them. The worst part is the liquid heat pooling between my legs in response.
I should move. Should establish some professional distance between us. But the storm rages outside, and something equally powerful holds me in place—curiosity? Fear? Desire? I don't even know anymore.
"You're shaking," he observes, his breath warm against my neck.
"I'm cold," I lie.
