Page 25 of Tinsel & Chrome

Larissa

Tex’s kiss is like gasoline on a smoldering fire—hot, dangerous, and inevitable. His mouth crashes against mine, taking and giving all at once, a heady mix of anger, need, and something else I can’t name. My fingers grip the leather of his cut, pulling him closer even though every inch of him is already pressed against me.

I should stop. I should shove him away before this goes too far. But I can’t.

God help me, I don’t want to.

His hands are on my hips, strong and demanding, fingers digging in like he’s afraid I’ll slip away. I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.

I break the kiss first, my breath coming fast, my lips swollen. He rests his forehead against mine, his dark eyes hooded and fierce. A muscle ticks in his jaw, like he’s fighting himself.

“Larissa,”

he rasps, my name a warning, a plea.

I know what he’s asking. If we go further, there’s no turning back. But we’ve been standing on this edge for years, and I’m tired of pretending the drop doesn’t tempt me.

I slide my hand up his chest, feeling the steady drum of his heart beneath my palm.

“Don’t stop now,”

I whisper.

Something snaps in his eyes, and whatever leash he’s been holding onto frays and burns. He grabs the back of my neck, pulling me into another kiss, slower this time, but no less intense. It’s a claiming, a promise, and it makes heat pool low in my belly.

His lips trail from my mouth to my jaw, then down the column of my neck, where his teeth scrape just enough to make me shudder.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here,”

he mutters against my skin, his breath hot and ragged.

“Then take me somewhere we can.”

He pulls back, eyes locked onto mine, searching. Whatever he sees there makes his mouth curve into that infuriatingly sexy smirk of his.

“You sure you’re ready for this, princess?”

I arch a brow, my voice dry.

“I told you not to call me that.”

He chuckles, low and rough.

“You like it, though.”

I hate that he’s right. But instead of admitting it, I grab his hand and tug him toward the back hallway where the private rooms are. He doesn’t resist, just follows, his eyes dark with promise and something wild.

We barely make it into the room before the door’s kicked shut and I’m pressed against it, his body a solid wall of heat against mine. His hands are everywhere—my hips, my waist, my thighs—like he’s memorizing every inch of me.

And I let him. Because for the first time in months, I feel safe. I feel alive.

His lips crash against mine again, and this time, there’s no hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered need.

I lose myself in it. In him.

His hands slide up under my shirt, rough palms dragging over my ribs until he yanks the fabric over my head and tosses it somewhere behind us.

“Fuck,”

he mutters when he sees the bruises mottling my skin. His gaze burns with fury and something rawer—something feral.

“Don’t stop,”

I whisper, grabbing the front of his cut and pulling him closer.

“I don’t want gentle, Tex. I want you.”

That’s all it takes.

He spins me around, my chest pressed to the cold door, the contrast shocking. His fingers tug my leggings and panties down in one swift, brutal motion, and I let out a breathless curse as the cool air hits my skin.

“I should make this slow,”

he growls against my neck.

“Make you beg for it.”

“Then don’t,”

I pant.

“Just take what’s already yours.”

He growls low, the sound vibrating against my back, and then I hear the distinct sound of his belt unbuckling. The metal clinks, his jeans drop just enough, and then—

God.

His hand slides between my thighs, testing how ready I am. One thick finger glides through slick heat, and he swears viciously under his breath.

“You’re fucking soaked.”

“For you,”

I gasp, grinding back against him.

“Always for you.”

Tex doesn’t hesitate. He fists his cock, lines up at my entrance, and thrusts in hard.

My scream is muffled by the door as he buries himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. There’s no teasing, no hesitation—just thick, deep, and devastating. My nails scrape against the wood as he grips my hips and sets a punishing rhythm, the sound of our bodies colliding filthy in the quiet room.

“You feel like fucking heaven,”

he grits out, slamming into me again.

“So tight, so perfect.”

I moan his name, half a sob, half a plea. “Harder.”

He gives it to me. Every thrust makes my legs shake, the door rattling with each impact. He’s using me like he owns me—and God, I want to be his. The pain, the pleasure, the pressure—it’s everything I didn’t know I needed.

His hand slides up, wraps around my throat just enough to make my breath hitch. “Mine,”

he growls. “Say it.”

“Yes—fuck, yes, Tex—I’m yours,”

I cry out, the orgasm building fast and brutal.

He bends over me, his chest flush to my back, teeth scraping the shell of my ear.

“Then come for me, princess.”

I shatter on a moan, my body locking down around him as white heat explodes behind my eyes. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow—just fucks me through it until his rhythm falters and he groans my name, spilling deep inside me with one final thrust.

We stay there, pressed to the door, panting, trembling, tangled in the kind of release that’s too good to be clean.

When he finally pulls out and turns me around, his eyes are soft. Still hungry. Still dangerous. But soft.

And for a little while, the bruises, the memories, the rage—all of it fades away. But reality creeps back in like a cold draft under the door.

I stare at the ceiling, my fingers brushing over the sheet.

“This changes things, doesn’t it?”

Tex’s hand stills for a moment, then he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look down at me. His dark eyes are serious, the smirk gone.

“Yeah,”

he says quietly. “It does.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying to sort through the chaos in my head.

“Mace is going to lose his shit.”

He lets out a low laugh.

“No doubt. But he’ll get over it.”

I snort.

“You’re awfully confident.”

Tex’s gaze softens, his knuckles brushing my cheek.

“Because I know you’re worth the fallout.”

My chest tightens, the words hitting a place I’ve kept locked up tight. Vulnerability is a dangerous thing, but with Tex, it doesn’t feel so terrifying.

“I don’t need you to fix me,” I murmur.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“Good. Because you’re not broken.”

For a moment, I let myself believe him. Let myself lean into the warmth of his touch and the steady calm of his presence.

But the past has a way of clawing its way back.

A knock at the door shatters the quiet, and Mace’s voice booms from the other side.

“Larissa! Tex! Get your asses out here. We’ve got a problem.”

Tex swears under his breath, rolling out of bed and reaching for his jeans. I sit up, my heart pounding, dread already seeping into my veins.

We’ve got a problem.

With this club, that could mean a hundred different things. And none of them are good.

I pull on my clothes with quick, practiced movements, shoving my feet into my boots. Tex finishes dressing and meets my eyes, the teasing light from earlier replaced by cold, hard determination.

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod, my fingers brushing the bruise on my cheek. Rage simmers low in my belly, a familiar, almost comforting heat.

“Always.”

He opens the door, and the moment we step out into the hallway, I know things are about to get a hell of a lot worse.

And this time, I’m not running.