Page 72 of Blood & Throttle

“Wrong,” he growls. “You’re not here toplaywith me, Stray. You’re here because Iallowit.”

My thighs clench around nothing. Fuck.

There’s a buzz under my skin that lights up every time he says that name.Stray. Like I’m something wild he caught but hasn’t decided whether to keep or break.

“I don’t take orders,” I whisper, lips barely brushing his.

He squeezes just a little harder, jaw tight, chest rising and falling with restraint he’s two seconds from losing.

“Youwill.”

He crashes into me then, lips hard and fast, hands gripping my hips like he’s staking his claim. My back slams into the wall, and I gasp into his mouth, nails digging into his shirt just tohang on.

His thigh forces between mine, and I grind down on instinct.

“You walk out again,” he snarls against my throat, dragging his mouth along the skin just beneath my ear, “and I’ll chain you to this fucking wall. Let the crew hear you scream while I fuck every ounce of defiance out of you.”

I moan, sharp and involuntary, and he grins against my skin.

“There it is,” he breathes. “You mouth off all day, but one touch and you melt.”

“You’re not that good,” I pant.

He yanks my hair back and forces me to look at him. “Liar.”

And fuck me, maybe I am.

Because the truth is—when Riot touches me, Iburn.

His hands are rough, calloused from rides and fights and a lifetime of damage. His body? All heat and sharp edges. Built to crush. Built to destroy. And right now, every inch of him is focused onme.

My heart’s hammering.

My body’s betraying me.

And I still can’t stop.

“Go ahead then,” I hiss. “Show me.”

His smirk is pure sin.

“Oh, I will,” he says darkly, his hand tightening around my throat as he starts backing me toward the bed. “You want to fight me like you’re not already mine?” he growls. “Fine. I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.”

And then I’moff the ground.

He lifts me like I weigh nothing—one arm under my thighs, the other still around my throat—and slams me harder against the wall so hard the drywall cracks.

My head falls back with a gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. He’severywhere—heat, muscle, and anger caged in skin. His biceps flex as he holds me up, his body wedged between my thighs, cock already grinding hard against my core through denim and cotton.

“You think I won’t fuck you right here?” he snarls, dragging his mouth along my jaw. “Up against this wall while every piece of shit in the building listens?”

“Do it,” I pant, breathless and burning. “Or are you all talk?”

He bares his teeth.

Then heripsmy underwear clean off.

I yelp at the sound—at the feeling—legs instinctively locking tighter around him.