Page 126 of Specter Bred

I inhaled deeply, making it clear I could scent every spike.

“Imagining you straddling Farm Boy, grinding him into the mattress, soaking his face…” My mouth twitched. “My imagination isn’t cutting it anymore.”

Hayes stared at me like he couldn’t decide whether I was fucking with him. After a moment, he managed, “You’re serious, sir?”

“Do I look like I’m joking, Hayes?”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out, so I turned my attention to Maeve.

“I’ve pictured it enough.” I held her gaze. “Now I want to see what I’ve been missing.”

The heat in the room spiked again as I looked between them.

“Take your shirts off.”

Hayes froze.

Archer’s eyes narrowed. “I said I like a fight. Not being bossed around.”

A grin pulled at my mouth.

“And I told you, you won’t get submission from me.”

Her stare sharpened.

“That’s what Farm Boy’s for.” I nodded toward Hayes. “Boss him around. Make his life fucking miserable. He seems to enjoy it.”

“Unfortunately, sir,” Hayes muttered.

I ignored him and stepped toward Archer.

“But me?” I stopped directly in front of her. “You can fight me all you want, Teacup. Hell, I’m counting on it.”

I lowered myself into a crouch, bringing us eye to eye.

“But don’t confuse fighting me with outranking me.”

That wiped some of the challenge from her expression.

“I’m still your unit leader.” I let the reminder sit between us. “Which means when I give an order, you follow it.”

Her chin lifted stubbornly, exactly what I expected.

I leaned in slightly. “And I just gave you one. I’m waiting."

Archer’s eyes flashed with challenge, that instinct to push back warring against the heat thickening in the room. I could see the fight and the want written all over her, pulling her in opposite directions as she battled between resisting me and giving in.

Beside us, Hayes sighed, resigned. He’d accepted his place at the bottom of our damn food chain. Without another word, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and dragged it over his head, tossing it aside.

My attention shifted to him, taking in a body built differently from my own. Where my muscles were hard, cut, and sharply defined from years of brutal conditioning, Hayes was thicker through the chest and shoulders, his strength packed beneath a softer layer that made him look more like the farm boy I kept accusing him of being.

A light trail of chest hair disappeared beneath his waistband, while sun-bleached freckles scattered across his shoulders and upper arms. The same sun had left his chest faintly burned, pink showing beneath the tan of his neck and arms.

He was strong, no question about it. Just not carved into hard edges the way I was.

Hayes caught me looking and glanced down at himself. “Everything up to standard, sir?”

“You’ll have to ask Archer. Men aren’t my type.”