Page 43 of Tinsel & Chrome

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 wecan.”

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 feelalive.

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

I lose myself in it. Inhim.

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 wantyou.”

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.”