Page 10 of Ranger's Secret

Then her voice cuts through the quiet.

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna leave me out here?”

I stop. Smirk.

Turn.

She’s half-dressed, her leggings pulled on, bra barely covering her tits, her shirt clutched in one trembling hand.

I stalk back.

She freezes.

I grip her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “You really think this is over, kitten?”

With my other hand, I tug down the cup of her bra. Her tit spills free. I don’t touch it. Not yet. I don’t have to. She arches into my hand, starving for more.

I lower my head, dragging the edge of my beard down her throat. Over her chest. I pause at her nipple.

Then I bare my teeth and scrape them over that tight, sensitive peak.

She gasps and shudders. Her whole body coming alive under mine.

Then I pull back and slap her tit.

She yelps, but it’s not pain. It’s need. Her body bucks into mine, her hips catching against my thigh like she can’t help it. A moan escapes her lips, and she tries to bite it back.

“I hate you,” she says, breathless.

I slap her tit again, this time harder. Her nipple jerks under the force and she cries out, the sound wrecked and ruined and needy.

“Mmm,” I say, dragging my knuckles down her ribs. “I like how you show hate, kitten.”

I lean in, my mouth brushing her ear.

“For the next two weeks, you’re mine. And before it’s over, you’ll be screaming it.”

Then I release her. Step back. Turn away, leaving her half-dressed, shaking, and wrecked.

Exactly how I want her.

3

DELANEY

Jagger is soaked into my skin like a secret I can't wash away.

And I don't want to wash it away. That's the part I hate the most.

A piece of me, the deeply shameful piece, wanted him to find me tonight. I can admit that now, standing here, wet and exposed, and furious at myself. I knew skinny dipping was risky.

Maybe I even wanted the risk.

God, I'm such a hypocrite. Another way I've been lying to myself for eleven months. That kiss rattled me to my core. I've avoided Jagger, sure, in real life. But not in my fantasies. Not in my bed at two in the morning when I slide a pillow between my thighs and grind against it, imagining him turning me around in that bathroom, pulling up my dress, and taking me right there against the sink.

The guilt eats at me every single time.

Because Maya is my best friend. When Jagger helped us move in freshman year, I couldn't help but flush at the sight of him. There was something there, that unspoken electricity you see in movies but assume isn't real. Except it was real. It was like a movie, all right.A horror movie.

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