Page 85 of Torched Spades

“Johnny,” I protest, but there’s no real force behind it. I don’t stop him as he backs me against the open car door, when he presses his muscular frame against me, or when his hand slides up the outside of my thigh. Instead, I close my eyes, groaning as his fingers push my skirt up, then dip inward. “There are cameras everywhere. Someone will see us.”

He lets out a low chuckle, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “Trust me. They won’t be a problem.”

Opening my eyes, I blink up at him. “What does that…?” But the question dies on my tongue, and I sigh my surrender. “Forget it. I probably don’t want to know.”

“We’re just two people having a conversation, Doc,” he croons, his fingers tracing the drenched lace denying access to the place I need him the most. “But I want you to know that right here, right now, you’re in control. I want to take your mind somewhere else, but the power is in your hands, Becca. If you don’t want it, just shake your head, and I’ll walk away.”

I should. God, I know I should, but the offer he’s laid at my feet is too tempting to pass up. This man, this dominant hero-laced devil, is defying his own nature to give me something no one ever has…

A voice.

So instead of shaking my head, I tip it back. Johnny’s lips are on my neck immediately, kissing, licking, and sucking, the stubble on his chin scratching deliciously against my skin as his fingers slip beneath my panties. I gasp, then moan as he sinks two fingers inside my pussy while grinding the heel of his palm against my clit.

That’s all it takes.

Two thrusts and one hard press sends me careening over the edge, far away from rules, lines, expectations…

And bullets and blades.

Chapter Twenty-Six

JOHNNY

I pull in my driveway,barely parking the Impala before I’m kicking the door open and barreling toward my house. The fact I can still smell Becca on my skin is the only thing keeping me sane right now.

Her face.

Her beautiful fucking face.

I had every intention of walking into her office today and confronting her about her overnight stay at Ledger’s place. Then she turned around, sending my thirst for blood through the roof.

Someone touched her.

Someone hit her.

Someone put their hands on my Becca.

But that someone isn’t a nameless, faceless man. I know who the fuck he is, and no man will ever suffer the way this motherfucker is about to.

Taking the front steps two at a time, I shove my key in the door then storm through it. The whole house is dark, but I don’t need light to find what I’m looking for.

I’m just pissed I didn’t have it on me earlier.

Every move I make is precise as I slice through the living room and into my bedroom. Yanking the nightstand drawer open, I pull out my Glock 19. With Becca’s words booming in my head and her tears still staining my shirt, I release the magazine and toss it inside before retrieving a fully loaded one. Shoving it inside the grip, I slam my palm against the base and lock it into place.

Clipping my holster to my belt, I make my way toward the front door, my hand filled with revenge and my mind filled with murder. I’m only a few feet away from the front door when I hear a click to my right, and light spills across the room. Immediately, I swing my gun toward the couch, my finger curled around the trigger only to find Owen staring down the barrel with his head cocked and eyebrows arched.

“Where do you think you’re going with that?” he says flatly.

“How the fuck did you get in my house?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.”

I scowl.Invasive bastard.

When I don’t answer, he nods at the gun still aimed at his face. “Going somewhere?”

Lowering my arm, I shove the Glock into its holster. “Hell. Care to join me?”