Page 6 of Give It a Day (Song-Smith #1)

“You said love was a fairy tale, and that you’ll let me make your life a living hell, but now you expect me to play the role of a doting wife?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Fair point, little bird. But know this—you play with fire and you might just get burned. I’m not some saint who’ll let his wife parade around with other men.

” He moves closer, his presence intimidating me a bit, but I won’t admit it.

It’s just he’s taller, bigger, and crowding over me in the backseat of this car.

His words make me think some more. Like I could ever even find someone who’d be interested in me in that way—a danger magnet—let alone having the time to go on proper dates and get to know someone.

I’ve been too busy running our family’s empire, operating in the shadows and hiding the real me.

For far too long. An exhausting amount of time.

Maybe, this is the moment I realize I need to step back and not go through the shitty situations my parents put me through. This situation included.

So I plead as a last-ditch effort. “One more time, Damon. Please consider letting me go.”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, something vulnerable flashes in his eyes.

It feels like looking into a mirror. He and I are both from criminal families.

We know this world well. Maybe, just maybe, he understands where I’m coming from.

But then his cold, calculating mask slips back into place, making his eyes look as dark as storm clouds promising thunder and rain.

“I can’t,” he says, his voice deep and steady. “It’s not just about business. Not anymore.”

“What…?” I whisper, looking at him in complete confusion and utter denial of what he’s implying. “You can’t be serious this time.”

He moves even closer, his tall frame towering over me in the backseat we’re both huddled in. His cold eyes burn with a surprising sort of intensity. It’s even more mesmerizing. He’s even more mesmerizing. Something happens between my thighs that makes my heart hammer.

Then his voice is dangerously gravelly when he says, “I’m more serious than I’ve ever been in my life, Kayla. I want you.”

My brows deepen, my eyes widening at him. “You can’t mean that, Damon. We just met.” I try to use reason to get through to this man, even though, hand to god, my pussy is dripping wet from the way he’s looking at me. Lightning in a bottle. Ready to strike.

“And yet, here we are,” he counters. “We may have only met, but something clicked. And I’m not going to woo you with sweet words, Kayla.”

“I can see that, Damon…” I glower at him, at least I hope, or am I subconsciously giving him fuck-me eyes? “But listen, let me go, okay? I’ll set you up with one of the girls I know. She’d love your whole”—I gesture at his face and body—“mister meanie light BDSM broody vi bes.”

His smirk turns into a full-blown smile, the first genuine one I’ve seen on his face, and damn, does it look hella good on him. “Oh, really?” He chuckles, placing his hands on the car door behind me, caging me in. “And what makes you think I’m into that?”

I make a face at him, pretty much asking ‘Really?’ while I roll my eyes. “Look at you. Your whole look screams must spank a girl .”

He lets out a deep, throaty laugh that sends shivers down my spine. “Is that so?” he asks, his voice dropping lower as he leans in closer, trapping me, and fuck’s sake, I’m letting him. “And what makes you think you won’t be the one getting spanked, Kayla?”

His eyes gleam dangerously. There’s a silent promise there, making me shiver wildly.

Definitely for bad reasons, this time. Very, very bad reasons, all of them making me squirm and aware of the aching warmth and dripping wetness between my thighs, getting worse and worse.

It’s too obvious to ignore at this point.

But I’m determined to do my damnedest. My mind is desperately trying to fight back, not wanting to be caged in, but the rest of my body is dancing to Damon’s tune.

“I’ll find a way out of this wedding, Damon.” I glare at him, grinding my teeth again, mostly frustrated that my body is giving in to his very effective fuck-me eyes and enticing words, so irritatingly seductive, as if he knows all the right buttons to press to get me riled up.

“Keep telling yourself that, Kayla.” He mockingly smiles. “But mark my words, the more you resist, the more determined I’ll become. You’re like a red flag to a bull.”

Goddamn it, he’s right. Apparently, this little tug-of-war we’ve unintentionally been doing makes him want me more. How ridiculous.

Admittedly, I’m wet as torturous hell.

“Listen, Damon, I’m not here to kinkshame you”—because that would mean kinkshaming myself—“Whatever turns you on, turns you on. But I’m not your girl, okay? I hate being told what to do, especially if it’s forcing me to, you know, marry someone I don’t know.”

He huffs out a short laugh. “You hate being told what to do, huh? That’s interesting, because I love telling people what to do. Especially you, Kayla. You have a stubborn little spirit that I find absolutely captivating.”

“I appreciate your honesty, but it’s kinda crossing into overshare territory.” Like I’m one to talk.

I pout. Damn, I wanted to frown. But I’m staring warily at him since I’m pretty much telling him to stop saying things that are making me blush and feel things that I’m not having fun learning about myself. Apparently, this is doing it for me too. I know I have kinks, but dubious consent? Girl .

But can you blame me? Maybe . In my defense, Damon is a thousand times hotter than the biker I shared a bed with last night. I think anything Damon will do at this point would make me swoon.

Speaking of which, his eyes darken as they trail over my face, noticeably lingering on my lips, which I instinctively bite.

“Am I making you uncomfortable, little bird?” he asks in a low whisper. “Because you look uncomfortable, lying beneath me…” He trails off, taking his time to glance down my body and back up to my face.

“Yeah, uncomfortable is definitely a good word for whatever I’m feeling.” I look up at him. Even in the backseat of this car—which I hope is his because I might be squirting on it soon—he’s looking so damn succulent. Emphasis on suck.

He leans in slightly closer, his breath tickling my ear.

“Uncomfortable? Or scared? Perhaps even interested ?” When I don’t respond, he taunts me, “Come on, Kayla, don’t spoil the fun now.

Which feeling is it? Your pupils are dilated, and you keep biting that luscious lower lip of yours.

” He traces his finger along my cheekbone, and my eyes flutter closed before I get a grip and glare at him.

Damn you for making me wetter just from your finger touching my cheekbone, Damon!

“Release your hold of me, handsome demon…” I end up whispering that very smooth, very sexy line. I’m obviously being sarcastic. He has to know how hot he is and what he’s doing to me, right?

He ignores my sarcastic demand, his finger continuing its path down my neck, making my breath catch. “Kayla, tell me… Which emotion is winning right now? Fear or interest?”

My eyelids lower themselves, and I’m inwardly panicking as my body does its own thing and arches toward Damon. My mouth opens and sounds come out of it, as if it’s out of my own volition. “Interest.”

His hand wraps around the curve of my neck, surprisingly gentle, pulling me closer until our faces are only a few inches apart.

“Interest…” His eyes flick down to my lips again, making me bite my bottom lip in anticipation, in growing desire, in complete and utter need .

“Say, in kissing me, for instance?” He swallows the space between our faces, making the air crackle with what I can only describe as tension.

Fuck me right here, right now tension. The shivers down my spine spread a blood rush throughout my body.

I want him. I want him.

I. Want. Him .

This is really going to happen, from running away—which was a big fail—to wanting to kiss and ride this incredibly irresistible and infuriatingly handsome man.

Being lonely and busy makes for a terrible combination because I stay still, lips parted a bit, waiting for him to make the next move or to keep saying naughty things that make me want him more and more.

His lips hover just above mine, barely grazing them, almost making me whimper. “Tell me to stop, Kayla,” he whispers almost right against my mouth, his fingers tightening around the back of my neck. “Because I’m about a moment away from taking what I want.”

There’s something in my throat—heavy and dry—when I even think of the word ‘stop’.

It won’t come out of me, no words will, while I stare into his eyes, all stormy and mesmerizing.

He has me captive with his eyes alone, add his handsomeness to it, and then his body, too—it’s a recipe for disaster.

It’s me, I’m disaster, because everything he’s doing is wildly working for me.

The moment passes, so he takes what he wants.

With a low groan, his lips finally press against mine in a bruising kiss.

His hand around my neck keeps me still, his other arm wrapping around my waist to pull me against him.

He kisses me like he’s starving for it. Is it because he’s never tasted anything better in his life?

Because fuck, that’s what he tastes like to me.

And the warmth spreads throughout my body again, my heart beating so fast.

My body goes pliant in his dominant grip, and I moan against his lips, savoring the feel and taste of him. His soft lips, a hint of mint. His subtle cologne making my head swim. All in an electric way.

Even though words don’t come out of my tightening throat—like something’s stuck in there—it lets out more and more moans, spilling from my lips, vibrating against his, which are crushing mine, taking my breath away.