Page 110 of Lawless Rivals

My hands fist into his jacket, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away, the heat of his body burning straight through the cold.

There’s no desire to argue, only a fiery ache for what he’s offering. The need for his hands on my skin again, and the hunger for something I know has already ruined me.

Instead, I focus on the pressure of his mouth, the way he takes control with a demanding pace, and I match it with the same energy.

A shout from a stable hand to his mate breaks the moment before it reaches boiling point.

Saint pulls back, and cool air brushes my lips as we both struggle to catch our breath. He bows his head and rakes a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face.

His chest rises, falls, once, twice, control slotting back into place with every breath.

My fists uncurl from his shirt, and I force myself to move sideways. “Stop messing with my head, Saint.”

“Is that what ya think I’m doing?” he says, catching my wrist to stop me from walking away.

His gaze finds mine again, darker now; whatever he’s holding back is sitting closer to the surface than ever before.

He drags me into the barn toward the staff room, the door already half open as he kicks it wider and pulls me inside with him.

When the door slams shut behind us, my pulse thunders in my ears, the ache burning low and tight. The faint scent of coffee mixes with the raw, masculine heat rolling off Saint in waves.

I try to steady my breathing. “This is pointless.”

The words come out weaker than planned, my body on high alert.

Those dark green eyes lock onto mine, wilder now, the last threads of control fraying fast. Instead of answering, he crowds me against the wall.

His hand is on my throat in the next heartbeat—large, rough, possessive—tilting my chin up with firm pressure.

“This is all I can think about,” he says, voice husky and low. “Me…touching ya.”

Then his mouth crashes over mine.

The kiss is filthier the second time round—his lips wet, hungry with no restraint left. His tongue pushes deep, stroking mine in hot, demanding slides that make me whimper into his mouth.

He tastes like tobacco and danger, and I’m drowning in it, my hands fisting his jacket as my pelvis jerks into him.

His other hand jumps to the zipper of my jeans, teasing it lower before he slides inside, straight to where I’m soaked and throbbing.

Two thick fingers drag through my slick folds, spreading me open.

A deep, guttural grunt rumbles from his chest.

“Jesus Christ…” His voice is gritty and deep. “You want me too, Keira. And this fucking tension needs an outlet.”

Heat explodes across my skin. I’m so turned on I can barely speak. His grip on my throat tightens just enough to keep me right there, eyes on his.

He leans in, lips brushing my ear, breath hot and ragged. “Spread your thighs for me. Admit how badly ya need it.”

When I obey, he angles his wrist and slides two fingers inside me. He curls and strokes while his thumb grinds tight circles over my swollen clit.

I cry out, hips jerking wildly against his hand. “Saint—oh fuck⁠—”

“That’s it. Moan my name while I finger-fuck ya.” The heel of his palm rubs against my throbbing clit. “I should have done this to you in Ma’s kitchen. Claimed ya as mine so no one else could say another fucking word about it.”

“I’ll never be yours,” I whisper in a ragged breath.

“Then what are you right now?”