She shakes her head. “I’m not sure I can.”
“Try.”
“I already have. We’ve been over this.”
“Explain it again, but this time go deeper.”
“I’m terrified of how much I want you,” she says, not looking at me but out the window at nothing. “Physically, it just scares me. Because I’ve always felt like I’m too much, I told you this. I feel too much, want too much—amtoo much. And with you, I feel everything a million times more intensely, and I don’t know why, I think it’s just something about you, and that scares me shitless, because…because if I open all that up to you, give in to it and show it to you and let you have it, let you haveme, you’ll be getting a version of me no one’s ever had, a wilder, more intense version. And the toned down, scaled back, dimmed version of me I’ve shown every other man I’ve ever been with was too much for them. What does that mean for the fullness of me, the real me you seem to bring out of me?”
“You’re mincing words, Nik.” I reach up and touch her jaw. “Give it to me raw. Unfiltered.”
She just looks at me out of the corner of her eyes for a long, long time, then away again with a hard swallow, a shake of her head, and a huff. “Fine. Sex has never been fulfilling. The best it’s ever been has only been good enough to make me feel like…like I’m only getting a taste of what it should be. What it could be. I exhaust men. I always want more. I want it harder. Slower. Longer. Deeper. I want to be fucked, and I want to be made love to. One, the other, and both at the same time. I want to be held and treated like something precious, and I want to be used and treated like a slut, fucked hard and rough.” She’s spewing her words at me, trying to shock me, shocking herself with the vitriolic truth. “Is that what you want to hear, Chance? That no man I’veeverfucked has been good enough for me? No one’s ever been man enough, big enough, strong enough, gentle enough, sweet enough. I want it all. I want a man who can be a macho jackass alpha who takes me how he wants me and doesn’t ask first, doesn’t ask permission and doesn’t ask if I want it or like it, because heknowswhat I want and how I want it and he knows I’ll like it, knows I can take what he’s giving me. And I also want a man who can be sweet and kind and thoughtful and attentive, who takes care of me like I’m helpless and fragile. That man doesn’t exist, Chance. You’re not that man. No one can be all of that. But yet, that’s what I want. And every man I’ve ever let evencloseto me has let me down becausehe’s…not…that.”
“Keep talking,” I murmur. “I hear you, Nikki.”
She shakes her head. “What else is there to say, Chance? Only that deep down, I…Iwantyou to be that guy. I do. But it’s an impossible, unrealistic expectation, I realize that. I’m holding you and every other man up to what I know is an impossible standard and yet I’m still continually disappointed.”
This an arena where words fail. So, I pull over onto the shoulder, surf churning out the window. Put on the flashers and shove the shifter into neutral and yank the e-brake.
“Chance, what are you—”
I cut her off with a kiss. For a moment, she’s stiff and shocked, unresponsive. Mouth closed. Body tight. I’m patient. I trace her lips with my tongue and slide my hand along her jaw. Up to her nape. She’s got her hair knotted at the back of her head in a wild spray of copper curls—I yank it free and slide the thick stretchy band around my wrist before shoving my hand into her hair. Grip, tighten, pull her closer. Demand her mouth to open with my tongue, even as my other hand cups her jaw and my thumb traces her cheekbone. A low whimper escapes her throat, and her lips part. Her body softens, just a hint. It’s all the opening I need.
I pull her harder against my mouth with her hair, my grip tight enough to control, to remind her of my strength, but not enough to cause pain. My tongue pushes into her mouth, and with another low moan, she opens for me. I taste her. Scour her mouth with my tongue, and her mouth opens, and she instinctively deepens the kiss.
It’s wicked and wild, then, and she’s pushing back at me, her hands now yanking my hair from the loose topknot and delving her fingers through it. She leans into me, kissing me hungrily. When I respond with equal need, she growls, surges against me. The air in the vehicle is suddenly charged with erotic need, hers and mine, chaotic and demanding and crackling between us.
I reach over and pull her toward me. Without breaking the kiss, she slings her leg over the console between us and over me, sliding to straddle me in the driver’s seat, both hands on my face, cupping my bearded jaw. Holding me in place and pressing me back into the seat as if to prevent me from escaping, from denying her the kiss. Her weight settles on my thighs, and I finally allow myself to explore her sweet, lush, curvy body. I run my palms up her thighs and around her to ass, which I cup, grip. She’s mewling into the kiss, suddenly wild, desperate for me, as if our conversation and then my kiss and now my touch have unlocked something in her.
I’m hard, achingly erect. Her shorts are thin, stretchy athletic shorts, and I know she feels it at her core. I feel her, for fuck’s sake. I feel her sex. The heat of it. The tight V against my cock, layers of material between us. Her breasts press against my chest. I tuck a hand under her shirt and roam the hot expanse of her back, over her bra strap, back down. Her hands dive into my hair, fist there, and she clutches at my face and pushes me deeper against the seat, the kiss gone supernova, wild and heated and almost angry. Desperate.
Our teeth knock, tongues war.
She grinds against me, core scraping against my cock, and I groan. I feel her need. She’s soaked with desire. I cansmellher need, and it’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever smelled. She grinds again, angling for maximum contact, and she whimpers into my mouth. I span her hip with my hand, brushing my thumb over the front of her shorts. She tips her hips back, giving me access. Wanting me to touch her. I want to. I want to feel her warmth, want to watch her squirm, want to hear the gasps as she comes for me.
One touch is all it’d take, I think—she’s fucking primed, ready to detonate.
But I made a promise, and so I hold back.
“Chance,” she whispers.
“What?” I whisper back.
She moves her hips, pushing against my thumb where it rests about an inch above where she wants it. “I…”
I twist her hair in a knot in my fist, yank her back for another scorching kiss. Break it after a beat. “You what, Annika?”
Another pivot of her hips. A plea. I know what she’s asking, silently. Any other circumstance, I’d give it to her without hesitation, without making her even say it. I’d give it to her before she even knew she wanted it.
Not now. Not her. She has to break through those barriers herself.
She whimpers. Rolls her hips, seeking relief. “I need…”
“Tell me, Nik. Tell me what you need.” I touch my lips to hers, not a kiss, but a reminder, a tease of a kiss. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”
She rolls her forehead onto mine, gasping. Whimpering. Hips grinding. The friction is delicious, and not enough, and too much. “Please.” It’s a hissed syllable, so quiet I barely hear it.
“Gotta say it, mama. Gotta hear the words. Gotta know what you mean, what you want. Just this once, you gotta gimme the words.”
