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That’s not just hard.

That’s steel and sin wrapped in denim.

His cock jumps beneath my palm and my pussy clenches on air in response. Like his dick has some magical direct line to my long neglected libido.

“Feel that?” he growls, teeth clenched.

I nod because yeah, I fucking feel that. I would have to be dead not to.

“That’s for you, Arliss. Always for you.”

My fingers curl, instinctively pressing deeper, and his body shudders.

“This is insane,” I whisper.

“I know. If you don’t want this, you better tell me now.”

“What if I don’t want you to stop?”

“Then get in the truck,” he says, voice like thunderclouds and gasoline. “But know this, I’m not gentle. I’m not careful. And I don’t do halfway.”

I don’t answer.

I can’t.

My body is already moving.

Because everything he is describing? All that rough and tumble he is promising me with his words and that flash of whiskey in his eyes?

I want it.

I want it all.

I grab the handle, but before I can even lift a foot, he’s behind me, his hands huge and firm around my hips.

“I got you,” he murmurs, and the way he says it?

Like a promise.

Like a prayer.

Well, it makes something inside me crack wide open.

He lifts me effortlessly, my body sliding against his, and my breath hitches as he presses his lips to my neck, teeth grazing just enough to make me moan.

“You smell so goddamn good,” he growls, kissing the spot he just nipped like he’s claiming it.

Then he sets me gently on the seat, eyes stormy with need, but still waiting for me.

I don’t look away. I need to show him I am ready for this. That I want it.

Want him.

“Buckle up, Mo Chroí,” he rasps.

And I do.

Because I know. This ride? It’s gonna change everything.