Page 25 of Kings of Sherwood

I don’t think. I react.

I throw my elbow back toward his ribs, but he catches it mid-air, traps me tighter. I’m tangled in him, breathless and sweat-slick, my body burning with heat, frustration, and something more.

Something else.

Something that snaps loose inside me.

Not fear. Not even anger.

Just raw need. Electric and all-consuming.

And the power responds—surging up from my spine like a spark up a fuse. It crackles through my skin in a sudden, involuntary pulse. LJ jerks against me like he’s been shocked.

That’s all the window I need.

I twist again, legs scissoring his midsection, rolling us, flipping him onto his back. Now I’m straddling him, hair wild, chest heaving, hand pressed to the hollow of his throat.

Not choking. Just there.

His eyes blaze. He looks...stunned. Proud, even.

But not down for long.

His lips curve. Slow. Dangerous.

And then he moves: hooks my legs, rolls, pins. Like he was never really out of control at all.

In a heartbeat, I’m underneath him again—wrists pinned, chest to chest, his hips caging mine, our mouths this close.

Again.Again, this close, and yet—

It’s too much—his voice, his weight, the friction where we’re pressed together—

I gasp, rolling my hips, arching into him without thinking. “Please, LJ.”

His eyes darken. For a second, I think he might break.

But he leans in, barely brushing his lips against my cheek.

“Not. Until. You win.”

Then he pushes off me. Walks away, silent and hard and smug, while I lie wrecked, wanting, on the mat.

Chapter Six

Rob

Idon’t know what I’m expecting to hear over this scanner, but so far, I ain’t hearing shit.

Unit 2-11, responding to a disturbance at the Get-N-Go. Possible intoxicated subject attempting to pet the ice machine.

Copy that, 2-11. Does he appear armed?

Negative. Just loud. Keeps yelling ‘You’re my only cold friend.’

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

I keep the thing tucked against the far wall, half-covered by a stack of old gear manuals and a fleece blanket that doesn’t fool anyone. The hum’s constant—white noise, barely there—but when the tone changes, I know it before the speaker even kicks in. It’s an older Uniden base, modded for trunked systems, hooked up to ProScan running twenty-four seven to log all the time stamps and frequencies at Tuck’s insistence and a patchy antenna line I ran through the window frame myself last spring. The signal’s better in the dead of night, less interference from all the bullshit power surges in town, but it’ll come through most hours of the day if you’re willing to strain.

---