Page 35 of Branded Betrayal

Now they look at me like he’s starving. Like he wants to devour me and punish me and claim me all at once. They’re dark, intense, and so full of need they make my knees weak.

I hate that when he gets close my body responds like it’s been yearning for his touch for the past six years.

I reach for the Pink Panther before I can talk myself out of it.

This is pathetic. I should be thinking about Tyler, the sweet, attentive guy who’s emotionally available and interested and not actively trying to ruin my life.

But when I close my eyes and let my hand drift lower, it’s not Tyler I see.

It’s freaking Blaze.

Blaze backing me against the barn wall, his hand fisting my hair the way it used to, tugging my head back so he can trail his lips down my throat.

But this man in my mind isn’t Blaze from six years ago. It’s the man he’s become . . . rough, demanding, and unapologetic about what he wants.

His other hand slides under my pajama top, his calloused fingers sliding over my breast, flicking the nipple. He doesn’t ask permission. He just takes like he already owns it. Owns me.

“I missed you.” His deep growl hums against my neck, the tingles shooting straight to my core. “Thought about you every damn day, Savvie. Did you think about me?”

I turn on the vibrator, and the low buzz breaks the silence in my bedroom.

“Yes,” I rasp. In my head, it’s his fingers sliding between my thighs, grazing my wet slit.

“Christ, Savannah.” His breath is ragged. “You’re so wet for me. I knew you were still mine.”

“I’m not.” I breathe, even as my hips arch into the sensation. “I never was.”

“Liar.” His teeth latch onto my earlobe. “Your body knows exactly who it belongs to.”

And he’s right, my fantasy Blaze, because my body does know. He’s known since I was eighteen years old that he could unravel me with a look, a touch, a single word.

My breath hitches, the Pink Panther pressing against my clit. I thrust against the vibrations. The fantasy shifts from the barn to my childhood bedroom, where he’s pressing me down into the mattress, his hard body grinding against me, holding me tight.

“Look at me,” he says. “I want you to see who’s making you feel this way. I want you to remember everything.”

Like I could forget.

Like six years was enough to erase the memory of his hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, the way he used to growl my name as he came.

Except in my fantasy, there’s nothing gentle about it.

His kiss is demanding, almost punishing. His grip on my hip is tight enough to leave a bruise. His voice rumbles through me when he says, “Mine. You’ll always be mine. No matter how far you run.”

Even in my mind, his possessiveness should piss me off, make me shove him away and tell him he doesn’t own me.

But I don’t hate it. A deep shudder rocks me to my core, pushing me to the edge.

I love it. And while it may get me hot, it also scares the hell out of me.

A moan slips through my lips as I fuck myself with the vibrator, imagining it’s his thick cock plundering me.

“That’s it, baby. Let go. Show me.”

A rush of pleasure consumes me, and fuck my life, I can’t help myself from screaming his name.

Jagged breaths catch in my throat as I lie there, staring at my ceiling.

Dammit.