Page 49 of Carnival’s Playground

When we finally break apart, both of us are gasping, our foreheads resting together in the cold night.

She tugs lightly at my jacket. "Come on. Take me back to my trailer. I'm not spending another minute of this night alone."

I lock my fingers tight through hers. "Lead the way, spitfire."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CARNIVAL

The heavy aluminum door of Avery's trailer clicks shut behind us, and the noise of the carnival, the idling cruisers, and the October wind vanish entirely. The cramped space is warm, filled with the soft, amber glow of the little orange jack-o'-lantern string lights she has pinned along the window frame. Avery drops her radio onto the narrow laminate counter and turns around to face me. Her platinum hair is a wild mess around her face, her cheeks are flushed from the cold, and she has a dark smudge of grease along the graceful line of her throat. She looks completely exhausted, completely fierce, and so goddamn gorgeous it makes my chest ache with a violent, possessive hunger.

"You're staring, biker." She crosses her arms over her chest.

I close the distance between us in two slow strides. "I'm looking at my woman."

She reaches up, her small hands catching the heavy lapels of my leather jacket, slowly pushing the denim off my broad shoulders until it drops heavily to the floorboards.

"I've been wanting to do this since the second day you showed up in Grimwood Crossing." Her green eyes are dark and unblinking.

I rest my hands on the warm curves of her hips. "What took you so long, spitfire?"

"You were too busy being an arrogant asshole." The soft curve of her mouth gives her away completely.

"Fair point." I slide my hands up her back, tangling my fingers into her thick, bleached hair, and tilting her mouth up to meet mine.

This kiss isn't rushed. It's slow, deep, and devastatingly thorough, claiming every soft contour of her lips. She lets out a low, breathless whimper against my mouth, arching her body flush against my chest, her hands sliding up my neck to grip my shoulders with fierce, unyielding hunger. I reach down, catching the hem of her flannel shirt, and pull it up over her head in one smooth motion. She reaches behind her back without breaking eye contact, unhooking her black lace bra and tossing it onto the counter beside the radio. The amber light from the window paints the smooth, pale curve of her breasts in warm gold. I stand there for three long seconds, my breath locking hard in my lungs.

"Wyatt." Her chin lifts with that proud, defiant edge I love.

"You're a goddamn masterpiece, Avery." I take off my thermal shirt and toss it aside.

Her fingers immediately reach out, spreading flat against the thick scar tissue and heavy ink covering my chest, her touch burning like an open flame against my skin. She traces the jagged line of the eagle tattoo running along my left ribs with gentle curiosity. "Where did you get this one?"

"Lubbock. First season I worked on the independent carnival circuit alone."

She presses a soft, lingering kiss right over the center of the ink. The sheer tenderness of the gesture rips through my defenses faster than any fist ever could. I reach for the brass button of her denim jeans just as her fingers find the buckle of my heavy leather belt. We look at each other, both of us working at the denim simultaneously, and a low, wicked laugh rumbles in my throat.

"Together." Her eyes lock on mine.

"Always." We shove her jeans down her legs, kicking them aside into the narrow hallway. When I reach down to yank my heavy combat boots off, my left heel catches on the narrow bunk frame, making me stumble half a step while Avery sits on the edge of the mattress, biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

I toss the boot across the floor. "Don't you say a single word, spitfire."

"I didn't say anything, tough guy." Her green eyes dance with wicked amusement.

I strip off my jeans, step between her parted knees, and push her gently back against the mattress. Her body sinks into the soft blankets, her platinum hair fanning across the pillow like spun silk. I settle my weight over her, bracing myself on my forearms, and press my mouth against the sensitive hollow beneath her ear. She tilts her head back with a sharp gasp, her hands sliding down my back, her nails digging into my shoulder blades as I begin laying a slow, deliberate map of kisses down her body.

I kiss the warm line of her collarbone, the soft swell of her breasts, tasting the salt of her skin and the sweet vanilla scent of her hair. My mouth tracks lower, moving over the flat curve of her ribs, down across her trembling stomach, until she's writhing beneath me, her hips lifting instinctively to meet my touch.

"Wyatt, please." Her fingers tangle into my dark hair, trying to anchor herself.

I hook my thumbs into the waistband of her black panties, sliding the silk down her slender thighs and tossing them onto the floor. I part her knees, dropping kisses along the soft, pale skin of her inner thighs until she's shivering violently beneath me.

When I dip my mouth between her thighs to taste her, she lets out a loud, ragged cry that echoes off the trailer walls. Her hands grip the sheets in tight fists as I use my tongue and lips to worship every sensitive fold of her body, learning every sound, every hitch in her breath, every shudder of her hips. She tastes like sweet heat and pure desire, driving me completely wild.

"Wyatt! Oh God, Wyatt!" Her hips roll up against my mouth in a desperate, pleading rhythm.

I keep the pressure steady, ruthless, and deep, stroking her with my fingers while my mouth brings her closer and closer to the edge. Her thighs clamp tight around my shoulders, her whole body tightening like a drawn bowstring before she completely shatters beneath me.