She spins around, a crumpled flyer in her hand. Her eyes are flashing, green fire in the dim light.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
“We have nothing to talk about,” she says. “You made your position clear. You have your ticket out. Take it. Go ride bulls in Louisiana. Go be famous. Just get out of my face.”
“I’m not talking about the circuit,” I say, dropping my voice. “I’m talking about us.”
“There’s no ‘us’!”
She throws the flyer at my chest. It bounces off, falling to the floor mat.
“Yes, there is,” I say. I catch her wrist. Her skin is hot, her pulse racing under my thumb. “You feel it. I know you do. I can smell it on you every time you walk into a room.”
She yanks her hand back, but I don’t let go. I step closer, forcing her back against the stack of boxes in the footwell.
“You’re so arrogant,” she spits. “You think every woman wants you just because you’re an Alpha.”
“I thinkyouwant me,” I counter. “And it scares the hell out of you.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” I challenge. “Then why did you run away? Why are you out here hiding instead of in there, celebrating with your friends? Because you can’t stand being near me without wanting to touch me?”
Her breath hitches. She stares at my mouth.
I don’t wait for an answer. I don’t give her time to build another wall.
I kiss her.
It’s not gentle. It’s a collision. A crash of lips and teeth and frustration. She gasps against my mouth, and I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sweeping my tongue inside to taste her.
She freezes for a second, her body rigid against the truck seat. Then, something snaps.
She kisses me back. Her hands come up, tangling in my hair, pulling me down, forcing me closer. She nips at my lower lip, her nails scraping against my scalp.
I groan into her mouth. The sound is primal. My control snaps.
I push her back against the seat. I follow her down, climbing halfway into the cab, my knees hitting the edge of the truck frame. I don’t care. I just need to be closer.
My hand finds her waist. I drag my fingers up her side, tracing the curve of her ribs, the swell of her breast. She arches into my touch, a soft, desperate sound escaping her throat.
“Tell me to stop,” I growl against her mouth. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
“Don’t you dare,” she breathes.
My hand slides down. I cup her ass, pulling her hips flush against mine. She’s soft and yielding and perfect. My cock is so hard it hurts, straining against my jeans, desperate for contact.
I grind against her, letting her feel exactly what she does to me.
She moans, throwing her head back. The movement exposes her neck. I can’t resist. I bite down on the sensitive skin where her neck meets her shoulder. She tastes like rain and wine and pure Saramaria.
“Knox,” she whimpers.
My hand slips around to the front of her jeans. I don’t ask permission. I just undo the button. The zipper hisses down. My hand slides inside, bypassing the lace of her panties.
She’s soaked. Wet and hot and ready.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
