Page 31 of Property of Legend

“You want rough?”I growl.

“Always,” she breathes, and crashes her mouth to mine.

We hit the mattress like a damn thunderstorm.Teeth, tongues, hands, heat.She wraps her legs around me, nails digging into my back like she’s trying to carve her name into my skin.I tear that T-shirt clean off her, don't care whose it was.It wasn’t mine.She’s not mine.She’s willin’.

There’s sweat and bourbon and fury between us.Her mouth tastes like rebellion.Her body knows mine too well.She moves like she’s got something to prove, and hell, maybe I do too.

But when I’m buried deep in her, when she’s gasping my name and clawing for more, I close my eyes…

And see Sophie.

Not Becki.

Green eyes, softer voice, the way she looked at me before she walked back into her house this morning.

I curse under my breath and press harder, faster, like I can drive her out of me.I should’ve followed Sophie to her bed up in her high tower.Given her what I’m givin’ Becki, whether she wanted it or not.

Becki moans loud, pulls me tighter, but it’s not enough.Not even close.

I’m in raw, and it doesn’t help.I pull out, not fixin’ to put a baby in her.She flips to her knees, showing me her pink puckered hole.I take the invitation.One hand on the back of her neck, I glide my cock into her tight ass.I grab her hips rough, like I’m tryin’ to anchor myself to anything but the memory of Sophie’s touch.

Becki moans my name, but it sounds hollow.It ain’t her fault.It ain’t her name I want on my lips.

It’s over quick, desperate, and mean.Her body shakes under mine, and I drop beside her, chest heaving.

She curls into me like we’re lovers.We ain’t.

I stare at the ceiling, jaw locked tight.

What the hell am I doin’?

“You okay?”she asks, voice softer now, almost human.

“Yeah,” I lie.

She doesn’t push.

After a minute, her breath evens out.She’s asleep or pretending to be.Doesn’t matter.

I slip out from under her, grab my jeans off the floor, and slide out the door with the bottle in hand.

Outside, the fresh air hits me like a punch.Cool.Quiet.Unforgiving.

I light a cigarette and lean against the railing of the old jailhouse-turned-clubhouse.Smoke curls around my face, bourbon in my blood.

Across the hills, Paradise Fall.

I wonder if Sophie’s waking up.

I take another drag, exhale slow, and mutter to the wind, “She ain’t yours.”

But my heart doesn’t listen.

Chapter 16

Sophie

The racetrack pulses with energy, the kind that crackles under your skin and makes your lungs forget how to breathe.Horses snort and paw at the ground like they’re keyed up on the same nerves twisting through my stomach.Jockeys hustle around like caffeinated bees, and trainers bark orders like the whole damn Derby depends on volume.And maybe it does.

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