Page 9

M y pulse is running wild.

Sammy Ramirez just picked me up and carried me out of the club in front of everyone we know.

I have no idea what to do.

No idea what this means.

He doesn’t speak.

He just holds me. His body is solid and unchallenged.

Like he has every right to do this.

Like he has every intention of keeping me right here.

He’s so close, so warm, that I can smell his cologne—spicy and deep, with hints of spice and something distinctly male.

Wow.

It’s incredible.

He is incredible.

So protective. So hot.

I know this isn’t a normal response.

I know, logically, that he probably did something terrible to those men in the alley.

And I should care.

I should be horrified.

But instead?

I’m so turned on I can’t think.

“Slide down,” he growls, and finally, finally, I find the nerve to lift my gaze to his.

Holy. Shit.

His hazel eyes are a storm— a wild, untamed mix of forest green and gold fire, burning through me, stripping me down to nothing but heat and want.

He hums low in his throat, and taps a single finger against my hip.

“Get in, Pixie.”

I blink, breaking from the trance of him, and see the waiting limo.

Without thinking, I obey.

I slide down the length of his body, every hard, unyielding inch of him brushing against my softer frame, and step inside. I swear I hear him whisper ‘good girl’, but I’m not sure.

Sammy is right behind me, though. Once seated, I hear him give the driver orders to take us back to the hotel.

I should say something.

Anything.

But I don’t.

Not until we stop at a red light.

Vegas traffic is just as bad as Manhattan’s, and the delay only adds to the tension crackling between us.

Sammy stares straight ahead, but his jaw is locked tight. His fists are clenched like he’s still fighting something inside himself.

I can’t stand it.

My hand moves before my brain fully registers the action.

I reach out and touch him—just a whisper of a caress over his tight, tense knuckles.

“Sammy.”

He growls my name, low and rough, and then he turns to me so fast I startle.

And then— he moves.

One second, I’m sitting beside him, breath caught in my throat.

The next, he drags me onto his lap, his arms steel bands locking me in place.

I gasp, hands splaying against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under my palms.

His fiery gaze pins me there, locking me in. Daring me to look away.

I don’t.

And I swear, I hear him whisper ‘fuck it’ right before he crushes his mouth to mine.

And just like that, the world vanishes.

I’m somewhere between heaven and disbelief.

Is this real?

Is this actually happening?

I can’t process it.

Can’t think past the heat of his lips, the rough scrape of his stubble, the way his hands tilt my face just right, holding me steady as he devours me.

Then—he groans, and the sound wrecks me.

His fingers tighten, anchoring me to him.

“You taste so damn good, Pixie.”

He kisses me again, deeper this time, like he’s been starving for this.

Like he’s been waiting just as long as I have.

My pussy reacts. I feel moisture pooling between my legs and an ache starts to build.

His lips move to my jaw, to my neck, dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses along my heated skin.

“Just like I knew you would. Watermelon and sugar.”

What? I do?

I barely have time to process that before one of his hands moves lower, dragging down my body, palm lingering over my curves.

I go rigid.

Not because I don’t want it.

Because I do.

God, I do.

But in this position, I’m hunched slightly forward, and I know what that means.

I know I have rolls, soft bits, extra things other girls don’t normally have.

I try to brace myself, to keep from pressing too much against him.

And just like that, he knows.

His kisses slow, but they don’t stop.

Thank fuck .

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs against my skin.

I blink. “Do what?”

His lips brush my ear, his voice nothing but gravel and heat.

“You don’t have to hold yourself so stiff, Pixie. I love your body. I wanna feel it on mine.”

My breath shudders out of me.

“You do?” I ask, and God help me, I sound exactly like the green-as-grass virgin I am.

He chuckles, but it’s dark, low, laced with hunger.

“Can’t you feel that I do?”

Then he flexes his hips.

And I feel it.

The hard, thick press of his arousal, nestled firmly against my ass.

I freeze.

His brows pull together, his hands tightening on my waist.

“What is it? Why do you look so scared? That guy won’t ever bother you again, Pixie. I made sure of it.”

“Oh, it’s not that?—”

He exhales sharply, his grip shifting. “Aella, I know what you saw was violent. That I was violent. But I swear I will never hurt you.”

I shake my head. “It’s not that either.”

His jaw tics. “Then what?”

I hesitate.

Because this is it.

This is my most secret truth, the thing I’ve never told anyone.

And now, with Sammy Ramirez’s hands on me, his lips still warm on my skin, it feels impossible to say out loud.

But he waits.

Patiently.

His voice drops, soft, coaxing—but still edged in command.

“Tell me, Pixie.”

He shifts, his lips brushing my temple.

And I swoon.

“Tell me, and I’ll help.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

And then, in a whisper, because I am too embarrassed to say it out loud, I admit the truth.

“Well, I just, um?—”

I pause for a deep inhale.

“I never, you know , with a guy.”

What are you doing, Aella?

What the actual hell are you doing?

Sammy Ramirez is holding me, his hands locked around my waist, his body heat and muscle and dangerous intent pressed firmly against mine.

And I just handed him my deepest secret on a silver platter.

His entire body stiffens.

He pulls back just enough to see my face, his hazel eyes burning into mine.

“You’re a virgin,” he says.

Not a question.

A statement.

The kind of statement that drags across my skin like rough velvet, the weight of it sinking into my bones.

I nod, my pulse pounding in my ears.

His jaw flexes, his grip tightening.

“You been saving yourself for someone special, Aella?”

I nod again, my heart a drumbeat of pure adrenaline.

His gaze darkens, something shifting behind it.

Something dangerous.

Something devastating.

“Why are you telling me?”

His voice is low, thick with something I can’t name.

I feel it in the way his chest moves, the tension rippling through him, the way his fingers flex on my waist like he’s barely holding himself back.

I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue, summoning every last shred of courage I have.

Because if I don’t say this now, I never will.

“Because I’ve been saving myself for you.”

Silence.

Thick.

Unrelenting.

Silence. And it is loud.

A single beat of pure, unfiltered tension fills the entire cabin before his lips open.

“Stop the fucking limo.”

His voice is a growl, rough and final, as he slams his palm against the intercom button.

The car jerks, coming to an abrupt halt, the air between us electric, volatile, dangerous.

I go rigid, frozen solid.

Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life?