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CHAPTER EIGHT-FINLEY

The vending machine hums behind me, but all I can hear is my own heartbeat.

Loud.

Erratic.

Desperate.

Koa is right here, and he’s, well, he’s kissing me like a man possessed.

His chest is rising and falling against mine.

But it’s like he’s holding back something dangerous.

His eyes are dark, glittering like obsidian glass. They lock onto mine, our lips still attached, and for a long second neither of us moves.

Then he says, low and rough against my mouth, “You should’ve stayed in the RV.”

I blink up at him. “Why?”

“Because I can’t keep pretending anymore.”

Before I can even gasp, he grabs my wrist— gently, but firmly —and pulls me around the side of the shed.

It’s late. No one else is around. But I’ve never been an exhibitionist.

Still, I can’t deny how much I want him.

My heart is racing and my body aches in places I’ve ignored for too long.

We disappear into the shadowed alcove at the back, out of view but still dangerously exposed.

My back hits the wall, cool and rough against my skin, and then he’s there.

All of him.

One big, unrelenting wall of heat and muscle and purpose pressing into me.

His mouth crashes down on mine and he moans like he’s been starving for it, for me , and he’s finally allowed a taste.

There’s no hesitation.

No slow build.

No teasing.

Just a kiss that feels like a claim.

A brutal, beautiful breaking point.

His lips are rough and hot, his tongue demanding as it sweeps into my mouth, and I meet him with equal force.

Wild, reckless, hungry.

Because God help me, I’m starving, too. For him. Only him.

Something about this man, this towering, tattooed, scowling wall of intensity, lights me up like nothing and no one ever has.

Like I was built for this exact moment.

Maybe even built just for him.

His hands are everywhere, rough palms skimming beneath my thin tank top, dragging over the swell of my breasts, the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips like he’s trying to memorize me.

Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t touch all of me at once.

And I am so here for it.

He palms my ass with both hands and pulls me tight against him, letting me feel exactly what I do to him, hard, thick, and pressed so perfectly against me it steals my breath.

A gasp escapes me, but he swallows it in another punishing kiss, like he can’t get close enough.

Like kissing me is the only thing keeping him alive.

And I can’t stop touching him either.

My fingers glide over the ridges of his abs, up his chest, down his arms— everywhere.

He’s pure muscle, taut and trembling beneath my hands, like he’s barely holding himself back.

I trace the edge of a tattoo on his bicep with one fingertip, wishing we were somewhere with light.

Somewhere I could see all of him. Ask what each design means. Learn his story, ink by ink, breath by breath.

But that thought’s too soft. Too hopeful.

And whatever this is, it can’t be mistaken for a declaration.

I’m not that na?ve.

No, this is heat and friction.

Lust and tension finally snapping like a live wire.

This is two adults, desperately attracted and finally giving in.

That doesn’t mean it’s anything more.

But God, the way he touches me? The way he devours me?

It feels like more.

He groans when I tug him closer.

One of his hands braces beside my head while the other slides down, gripping the soft curve of my thigh and hitching it up over his hip.

I gasp, the friction of his hard body against mine lighting me up like dry kindling.

“Koa—” I breathe, but it comes out more like a whimper.

“I tried,” he growls into my neck, kissing and biting down the column of my throat. “I swore I’d keep my hands off you.”

I scrape my nails across his back in answer, and he shudders.

His hand slips beneath my tank top, fingers spreading wide over my bare skin. He touches me like he’s memorizing me.

Like he’s claimed this moment and everyone after.

And I’ve never felt so damn desirable in my life.

My pussy is aching, throbbing with the need to be filled.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me, Red,” he whispers against my jaw, his voice ragged. “You think this is some harmless flirtation? It’s not. I burn for you.”

My body arches toward him. There’s nothing between us but thin cotton and the weight of everything unsaid.

I can feel the hard length of him, heavy against my stomach, and it sends a wicked thrill through me.

“Fuck, Red,” he growls, licking at my neck. “You feel that?”

“I want you,” I whisper, finally, honestly.

His eyes blaze as he reaches down and slides his hand into my shorts, cupping me over the damp cotton of my underwear.

“Tell me to stop. Right now. I will if you say it.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“You’re soaked,” he growls, lips hovering over mine. “Is that for me, baby?”

I nod, breath caught in my throat.

“Say it.”

“It’s for you,” I gasp. “Only you.”

That’s all it takes.

Koa presses two fingers against me, slipping them beneath the fabric and groaning when he finds how ready I am.

His thumb circles my clit in slow, punishing spirals while he kisses me deep and filthy and hungry.

I grind against his hand, desperate and shaking, and he holds me tighter, murmuring low, filthy encouragement in my ear.

“You’re mine now,” he says against my lips. “You understand? You give me this, Red, and I won’t stop. I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

“Then ruin me,” I whisper.

And he does.

Right there in the back of the shed, while the world spins on, with one of his big hands tucked into my panties, finger fucking me like my life depends on it, and it just might—Koa Jackson proves he owns my body, and I shatter in his arms.

I just hope there’s enough of me left to deal with the breakdown.

Hopefully that won’t be till later.

Much later.