Page 169 of Blood & Throttle

She tosses her bag down, strips out of her jacket, and pulls her hair back into a messy knot at the base of her neck. Her tank rides up slightly with the movement, exposing the curve of her waist, my name on her hip and the faded bruise near her ribs.

I watch. I always fucking watch.

“Something on your mind, Carter?” she murmurs without turning.

“Always.”

She pivots slowly, eyeing me over her shoulder with that smug little curve to her mouth. “You gonna keep standing there like a stalker, or say what you’re thinking? Or—wait, does brooding make your dick hard?”

I take a step closer. Then another.

“Careful, stray,” I mutter, voice tight. “You’re pushing it.”

She doesn’t flinch. Just tips her head like she’s weighing her next shot. “Pushing what? Your patience or your hard-on? Pretty sure I’ve got both on a tight leash.”

My jaw ticks.

She grins.

One more step and her back hits the edge of the rustedsink, barely clinging to the wall. I crowd her in, close enough to feel her breath shift. Close enough to snap.

“You make me weak,” I say, voice low, rough. “And strong. All at once. It’s fucked.”

Her breath catches, just slightly. But she doesn’t look away. Doesn’t move. She holds steady, like she’s daring me to crack. Like shewantsme to.

I reach up, grip her jaw, tilting her face toward mine. My fingers press in, firm, dominant. Her lips part, breath hitching, but she doesn’t break.

Instead, she smirks again. “What’s it gonna be then, Reaper?” she murmurs. “You gonna kill me, or fuck me till I scream?”

I lean in until my mouth brushes her ear.

“I don’t know what the hell it is about you,” I growl, “but I know this—every time I look at you, I want to ruin you. Slowly. Completely. And when I’m done, you’ll beg me to do it again.”

She exhales a shaky breath, then smiles and fuck, I know I’ve already lost.

Her eyes flash. Then she kisses me.

Hard. Fast. Like she’s saying goodbye with her mouth. Like she’s not sure she’ll get another chance.

I shove her back against the rusted sink, metal groaning beneath her weight, bolts creaking like they might snap. Doesn’t matter. If it breaks, it breaks. She’s already clawing at my shirt, dragging it up over my head like she’s starving. I get hers off in one sharp tug, lips crashing against hers as my hands slide down her body—rough, hungry, possessive.

“Riot,” she gasps between kisses, eyes glazed, chest heaving.

“Sin, shut up,” I growl, voice dark and low.

Her shorts are already halfway down her thighs when I sinkto my knees on the cracked tile. I grip her hips, drag her underwear down with them, and toss both to the floor like they’ve offended me. Her legs are trembling. Her thighs slick and her scent hits me hard.

I don’t waste time.

I bury my face between her legs and feast like I’ve fucking earned it.

Her back arches against the cold sink. Her fingers slam into the metal edge, knuckles white as she moans—raw, loud, and broken. I grip her thighs, holding them wide, keeping her locked open for me. My tongue moves like I own her. Every flick, every press, every drag meant to drive her closer to the edge.

She whimpers. “Fuck, Carter—”

I grunt in response and double down, sucking her clit into my mouth and tonguing it mercilessly until she’s shaking. Her heel slams into the wall behind me. She’s close. She’s always so fucking responsive—tight, wild, and wrecked for me.

I fucking love it.