Page 113 of Earning Her Trust

“So come with me,” she said simply and turned to face him. “Shadow me all you want at the festival. But I’m going, Owen. I need to do this.”

He held her gaze for a long, tense moment, and she could almost see the calculations running behind those storm-gray eyes—threat assessments, escape routes, worst-case scenarios. Owen’s mind never stopped working, never stopped planning for disaster. She captured his jaw between her hands and stood on her toes to kiss him. He resisted for a heartbeat before relaxing under her hands and taking the kiss deeper.

Her body sparked to life, dampness flooding between her thighs. She knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to distract her. She allowed herself to indulge in the kiss, but when he tugged at the hem of her shirt, she planted her hands on his chest.

“Owen.”

His eyes, dark with desire, met hers.

“I need to do this,” she said again.

He sighed and let her go. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But we do it my way. No splitting up, no wandering off alone, no lingering in isolated areas.”

“Yes, sir,” she said and saluted him.

He scowled, but she didn’t miss the twitch of his erection in his pants. “Keep sassing me, Fury. See what happens.”

Heat flashed through her. “Promises, promises.”

He closed the distance between them in one fluid step. His hand tangled in her hair, tugging just hard enough to tilt her face up to his. The kiss wasn’t gentle this time—it was possession, demand, raw need poured into the press of his lips against hers.

She gasped, and he took advantage, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as his free hand slid beneath her shirt to palm her breast. His thumb brushed over her nipple, and it hardened instantly against the rough pad of his finger.

“Owen,” she breathed against his mouth, but he was already walking her backward until her spine met the cabin wall. The rough wood caught at her shirt as he pressed against her, the hard length of him evident through his jeans.

“Still sassing me?” he murmured, his lips trailing down her throat to the spot that made her knees weak. His teeth grazed her skin, and she shuddered.

“We’re outside,” she managed, even as her body arched into his touch. “Anyone could?—”

“See?” he finished, his hand already working at the button of her jeans. “Good. Then they’ll know exactly who you belong to.”

The possessiveness in his voice should have annoyed her. Instead, it sent liquid heat pooling between her thighs. He slid his hand into her underwear, his fingers finding her already slick and ready.

“Christ, Fury,” he groaned against her neck. “You’re soaked.”

“Your fault,” she gasped as his fingers circled her clit with maddening precision. Her hips bucked against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction.

“Mine,” he agreed, his voice rough with need. “All mine.”

He withdrew his hand, and she nearly whimpered at the loss of contact. But he was already turning her to face the wall, his body a solid wall of heat at her back. She heard the rasp of his zipper, felt his hands tugging her jeans and underwear down just far enough to expose her to the cool morning air.

“Hands on the wall,” he commanded, and she obeyed, splaying her palms against the weathered wood. Her breath came in short pants, anticipation coiling tight in her belly as she heard the rip of a condom package.

His fingers returned to her center, testing, teasing, making sure she was ready. Then the blunt head of his cock pressed against her entrance, and she pushed back, taking him in one slow, delicious slide.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.

Naomi bit her lip to keep from crying out as he began to move, each thrust driving deeper than the last. The angle was perfect, hitting spots inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids. One of his hands slid around to find her clit again, circling in tight, knowing strokes that had her climbing toward release with embarrassing speed.

“That’s it,” he murmured in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Let go for me.”

The dual sensations—his cock filling her, his fingers working her clit—were too much. She came with a strangled cry, her inner walls clenching around him as pleasure crashed through her in waves.

He didn’t slow, didn’t stop, driving into her with controlled power as she shuddered through the aftershocks. His rhythmfaltered only when she deliberately tightened around him, and he cursed under his breath.

“Not yet,” he growled, his hand leaving her hip to tangle in her hair again, tugging her head back so he could see her face. “I want to watch you come again.”

His fingers resumed their relentless circles on her oversensitive clit, and impossibly, she felt herself building toward another peak. This time, when she came, she couldn’t hold back the cry that tore from her throat. Owen followed her over the edge with a guttural groan, his hips jerking against hers as he emptied himself inside her.