But enough. Enough to make them feel it.
My eyes drift to Cam again. His braces stretch taut over the lean muscles under his shirt, each movement flexing, teasing, a physical torment. My stomach twists, tangled in nerves and something hotter.
Ifthisversion of him makes me weak…
Seeing him geared up, locked in, battle-ready?
I’ll be liquid on the floor.
Hell, just the thought of him armed and lethal has me clenching my thighs like I’m trying to trap the fire before it devours me.
“How are you feeling? Are you ready?”
His voice breaks through my haze, dragging me out of the fantasy I was halfway drowning in.
I look up, and he’s leaning against the doorframe like he owns the fucking air around him.
That shirt clings to his torso like it’s trying to worship him. His lips pressed in a hard line, but his eyes are molten and feral.
Assessing me like he knows exactly what I’ve been thinking.
I want to say;Tie me up, shove me against the wall, and fuck me until I forget my own name.
I want his hands bruising my hips, his mouth on my neck, his voice growling filth into my ear as he ruins me for anyone else—forever.
But instead, I bite the inside of my cheek, rein it in, and say simply, “yes.”
He moves, peeling away from the doorframe like he’s about to devour the space between us. When he leans over me, all grit and heat, my body screams for release—every nerve tuned to him, begging for friction.
“But are you?” I murmur, a taunt wrapped in breath. We both know this man is precision incarnate, but that doesn’t mean I’ll make it easy.
“I’m always ready, trouble.” His voice is gravel and tension, cracking straight through me.
“Not forthis, you’re not.”
I curl my fingers into his belt loops and yank his hips toward mine, rough and direct. Rising to my knees, I hook the back of his neck and crush my mouth to his—wordless, urgent, demanding he feel exactly what he does to me.
My other hand slides over the front of his trousers, fingers stroking the growing hardness beneath.
He twitches against my palm, and I smirk, drunk on control.
It’s probably the longest stretch we’ve had without Kyla barging in, claws at the ready to tear him away.
But this moment is mine.
And I’m taking full advantage.
“Lock the fucking door and get back here, stalker boy—because if I go another damn hour without you inside me, I’m going to wreck the furniture.”
His chuckle rumbles low and dirty. He strides to the door without a second’s hesitation, flicking the lock with the ease of someone who’s made up his mind.
I don’t need interruptions mid-thrust.
Not tonight.
When he returns, he doesn’t speak. He just grabs me by the hips, dragging me down beneath him, face buried in the curve of my neck like he’s hunting every inch of exposed skin.
And I melt—completely.
