Page 54

Now his body radiated heat through his shirt as he took the corners faster than necessary, controlled but urgent. My fingers splayed across his abdomen, feeling every sharp breath, every flex of muscle. The engine vibrated between my legs, and combined with the memory of his face when I'd told him—eyes going black, jaw clenching, that muscle jumping in his cheek—I was already trembling by the time we reached my building.

He killed the engine but didn't move, hands gripping the handlebars white-knuckled tight. "Keys," he said, voice rough as gravel. "Get your keys out now."

"Why?" But I was already digging in my small purse, hands shaking.

"Because once I get off this bike, I'm not stopping until we're inside." He turned his head slightly, and I caught the edge of his profile—all sharp angles and barely leashed control. "Unless you want to give your neighbors a show."

The keys jangled in my trembling fingers. He swung off the bike in one fluid motion, then lifted me off before I could move. My legs wobbled, still vibrating from the ride, and he steadied me with hands that gripped just a little too tight.

"Walk," he commanded, hand on my lower back propelling me forward. "Now."

We made it up the stairs, barely. His hand tangled in my hair at the first landing, pulling me back against his chest. "You think you're cute?" he growled in my ear. "Telling me that right before I had to drive? Feeling you pressed against me the whole ride back, knowing—"

"Inside," I gasped, fumbling with the lock. "Please, just—"

The door finally gave way and we tumbled through. I'd barely gotten it closed before he spun me, pressing me back against the wood with his full weight. The keys clattered somewhere on the floor as his mouth crashed into mine.

This wasn't the careful kiss from our contract negotiations or the tender seal of our agreement. This was wildfire. Desperation. His tongue swept into my mouth, claiming and demanding, while his hands framed my face like I might disappear. I melted into him, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more.

He kissed me like he'd been holding back for years, not days or weeks. Like every controlled moment had been building to thisexplosion. One hand left my face to grip my hip, thumb finding bare skin where the dress had ridden up. The touch was electric, shooting straight through me, and I gasped into his mouth.

"Fuck," he groaned, the curse torn from somewhere deep. His hips pressed forward, pinning me more firmly, and I could feel how affected he was. How much he wanted this. Wanted me.

I rolled my hips against him, seeking friction, and his control cracked. His mouth left mine to trail down my throat, teeth grazing my pulse point. My head fell back against the door with a thunk I didn't feel, too lost in sensation. His name fell from my lips like a prayer, over and over, as he found that spot where neck meets shoulder that made me see stars.

Then suddenly, he pulled back.

The loss of contact was jarring, like being doused with cold water. I blinked up at him, confused and desperate, reaching to pull him back. But he caught my wrists gently, holding them between us.

"Wait." His voice was wrecked, breathing ragged. But his eyes—those intense brown eyes—were clear and focused. "Check-in first."

Check-in. Right. Our protocol. Even through the haze of want, warmth bloomed in my chest. Here he was, hard against my hip, breathing like he'd run a marathon, and he was still following our rules. Still making sure I was okay.

"Where's your head at?" he asked, thumbs stroking over my pulse points.

I blinked at the question, brain trying to come back online. He waited patiently while I gathered my scrambled thoughts, not pushing, just holding my wrists and watching my face.

"Green," I breathed when I could form words. "So green. So very, very green." I tugged against his hold, not to escape but to show him I was present. Aware. "Not little, not even close. I want . . ."

I trailed my gaze down his chest, taking in the way his shirt stretched across muscles, the way his chest rose and fell with barely controlled breathing. When I looked back up, his pupils had blown wide, but he still waited.

"I want you to take control," I said clearly, making sure he heard every word. "Show me what you need. What you've been thinking about since that storage room. Since before."

His eyes darkened to almost black. "You sure? We can slow down—"

"Tyson," I interrupted, putting every ounce of certainty I felt into his name. "I've been sure since you kissed me in that storage room. Maybe since you first walked into my shop with all your careful control and deadly competence."

He studied my face like he was reading a tactical map, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. Whatever he found must have satisfied him because he nodded once, decisive.

"Bedroom." The command in his voice sent electricity down my spine. "Now."

I started to walk, eager to comply, but his hand caught my wrist. The grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm. Unmovable.

"Who said you could walk?"

Before I could process the question, the world tilted. He'd lifted me clean off my feet, tossing me over his shoulder in a fireman's carry like I weighed nothing. I squeaked in surprise, then laughed despite the heat pooling low in my belly.

"Caveman!" I accused, but I was grinning. My hands found purchase on his back, feeling the play of muscle as he moved.