Page 36 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

It’s her. Again.

All wide eyes and flowing hair, looking like my dirtiest fantasy gift-wrapped and delivered to my door.

Irritation and desire flare hot in my gut, each warring for dominance, and I make myself recall everything that's gone wrong in the last twelve hours.

The sloppy rescue. Her sprawling across my bed like she belonged there and leaving her damn scent everywhere. The shattered vase and godawful mess I had to clean up. Her snarky tongue. Her touch. The raging lust that refuses to settle.

What fresh hell has she brought to my doorstep now?

A soft knock replaces the doorbell. As if she knows I’m standing right here, separated by mere inches of wood.

My jaw clenches as I throw the door open in a flash and yank her in, kicking it shut before whoever else she’s brought can follow.

Luna squeals as she crashes into me, her hands plastered on my chest. And if I thought her touch burned earlier, this is so much worse. My fantasy roars back to life with devastating clarity.

But it’s the sight of her primly dressed in a blazer that hits me the hardest. A white cami peeks out beneath the tailored black fabric, stretching over her full breasts, and something primal in me wants to tear the blazer off her even as another part wants to keep her in it.

I trap her against the nearest wall, caging her in with my palms on either side of her head. Water drips from my hair onto her upturned face, and the sight of those droplets trailing down her throat makes my mouth water.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing coming back—”

The words die on my lips as I see the unbridled lust in her eyes. The way her gaze drops from my neck and traces the rivulets of water down my chest and then lower. She gasps, a blush staining her cheeks as she licks her lips.

I’m acutely aware of my state—practically naked, still hard as a fucking rock, and now pressed against the very woman I was just fantasizing about violating in every way possible.

The universe must have a dark and twisted sense of humor.

13

Luna

His scent hits me first—that intoxicating aroma from his pillow last night, only stronger now. Then his heat follows, enveloping me like a cocoon.

For the third time in less than a day, I’m surrounded by Rocky. And each time, he ups the ante. Right now, he’s pretty much x-rated, hitting all my senses at once.

Angry green eyes lock onto mine, framed by spiky lashes. Two lines appear between his thick brows, as if forbidding further exploration. But that erratic pulse at the base of his neck calls to me, and from there, it’s a free fall into temptation.

My eyes widen as they trace the tight relief of his inked torso, and my tongue darts out to wet my suddenly parched lips. Heat creeps up my neck as I catch sight of the white towel hanging incongruously low around his hips and the large bulge beneath it.

“My eyes are all the way up here, princess,” he snaps, voice tinged with irritation and a raw edge that makes my stomach flip.

I yank my gaze up, not quite meeting his, as stinging heat rushes to my cheeks.

Yep, I deserved that.

“How many goons did you bring with you?” He asks when he finally has my attention.

I shake my head. “I came here alone.”

His brows furrow in disbelief. “Sure you did.”

“I swear, Rocky. It’s just me.”

He moves back to the door with fluid grace, then jerks it open. Finding an empty corridor, he steps back into the room and his shoulders relax marginally.

“You want to tell me why you’ve come back?” He loosens the metal beads around his fist, slipping them over his neck as he returns to block my path. Everything about his bristling stance screams“fuck off.”

Too bad. I have nowhere to go.

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