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Her answer was a roll of her hips that had my vision sparking white.
I kissed my way down her throat, tasting salt and sweetness. Teeth grazed her pulse. She arched. The world shrank to the slide of skin, the hitch of breath, the gasp when I brushed thepeak of her breast with my thumb. She dragged nails along my shoulders—sharp, pleading.
“Riley,” I growled, voice wrecked.
“Logan. Please.”
I lowered, tasting the coconut glaze on her belly, reveling in the quiver of her muscles. She threaded fingers through my hair, tugging when my tongue swept lower. Her moan fractured the quiet—half-wild, half-wonder. Every sound she gave me seared into memory.
When I couldn’t take any more teasing—couldn’t stand the ache in my veins—I rose over her, foreheads pressed.
“No one’s taking you,” I vowed.
“Prove it.”
I did—slow at first, letting her adjust, letting us breathe. Then harder, deeper, the mattress groaning under the rhythm of desperation. She met every thrust, nails carving crescents into my shoulder blades, breath hitching, breaking into breathless pleas that broke something holy inside me.
Stars burst behind my eyes when she shattered—tightening around me, pulse hammering against my lips where I swallowed her cry. I followed, pouring everything—fear, rage, devotion—into the woman who turned my world right-side up.
We lay tangled in sheets,sweat cooling. My heart finally slowed. She traced a scar along my chest, voice soft. “Does it ever get quiet?”
“Only when you’re on my pillow.”
A shy smile curved her swollen lips. “That was… wow.”
I chuckled. “Technical term.”
She sobered. “What if Caleb tries again?”
“Then we end it on our terms.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t want more blood.”
“There are other ways.” I thought of the thumb drive Trigger lifted from Pride’s truck—financial ledgers, scheme money linking Caleb to dirty freight beyond state lines. “And we’ve got leverage.”
She exhaled, relief and exhaustion mingling. “I’m scared.”
I brushed hair from her temple. “Me too. But fear makes us sharp.”
Outside, engines rumbled—brothers changing shifts. The eastern sky blushed pink.
I kissed her forehead. “Get some rest. War starts at nine.”
She caught my hand. “Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever happens, I’d choose this again.”
Heat surged—but it was the calm kind, the forever kind. “Same, angel.”
She nestled closer. I closed my eyes, heartbeat syncing with hers—two drums preparing for whatever thunder came next.
And if Caleb Whitmore thought last night was his opening salvo, he’d soon learn Fire Skulls played symphonies in a higher caliber.
11
RILEY