"You feel so fucking good," I groan, thrusting deeper and deeper.
"Fucking take me," she hisses. "I need to feel you explode inside me."
Those words flip a switch in me. My hands are firmly on her hips, using them as an anchor as I continue to pound into her.
Olivia buries her face into my bed, trying to stifle her screams.
Fuck, I'm past the point of no return. I feel her pussy clamp around me again, milking me. I continue to fuck her deeper and harder until I come undone, giving her every drop of my seed.
I stay with her through it, letting the moment settle instead of rushing past it. Her shoulders drop first. Then her breathing starts to slow.
I lie next to her in my bed. That hard, defiant look softens into something quieter, something almost dazed.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
The room feels different now. Heavier. Hotter.
I brush a hand down her side, slow and careful, and she turns her face toward the pillow, still catching her breath.
Fuck, I can't get enough of her.
She turns her face from the pillow just enough to meet my eyes, that post-climax glow making her look softer, more dangerous somehow.
"You don't get to disappear again," she murmurs, voice husky from everything we just did. Her fingers trace lazy circles on my chest, possessive.
I catch her hand, press a kiss to her knuckles. "Not planning on it."
Liar. The old instincts are already twitching. The urge to pull back, keep distance, protect her from the mess that is me. But her touch grounds me. Her scent lingers on my skin. The way she took control tonight flipped something.
She props up on one elbow, hair falling wild over her shoulder. "Good. Because I'm not chasing you anymore."
Words hit hard. Fair. I've made her work for every inch.
"Yeah," I say quietly. "I get that."
Silence stretches, but it's comfortable, charged with possibility. Outside, crickets hum in the Miami night. Dad's TV plays faint through the wall.
She settles against me, head on my chest. My arm wraps around her automatically, hand stroking down her back.
For the first time in forever, the regret stays quiet.
CHAPTER 22
RAUL
…22 years old
I'm buttoning up my shirt, getting ready to work security at Scarlet, when a loud commotion breaks out outside our trailer.
"What the fuck?" I mutter under my breath.
I finish the last button and head for the front door. Before I even make it there, the door swings open and Dad storms in with a few of his "business partners." They're all dressed in suits, like they just stepped out of a wedding or a courthouse, which looks wrong on them. Too clean. Too polished. Nothing like the baggy, half-shifty clothes they usually wear.
That alone puts me on edge.
"What the fuck is going on?" I ask.
"Watch your fucking mouth," Dad snaps, sharp enough to cut. "We have company."
