Page 50 of Desperate Crimes

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“I—I thought you were never coming for me. That you were just gonna let me go, like a dream or a wish that never comes true,” she breathes.

And fuck, that’s it.

That’s the match against the gasoline.

My mouth crashes to her neck, pressing a kiss to the curve where her pulse races beneath skin.

She moans. Her head tips back instinctively and perfect.

I nip. Not hard. Just enough to taste her. To claim her.

Her hands search for me, clutching at my shoulders, then grasping the front of my pants.

“Open them, Princess. Show me what you want.”

She whimpers.

Actually fucking whimpers.

Her fingers tremble against the button like she doesn’t know whether to push me away or pull me closer.

“I told you,” I growl against her throat. “You were always mine.”

And now?

She’s finally starting to believe it.

Chapter Thirteen-Leanna

I’m so wet.

Soaking.

His hands haven’t even touched me where I need them, but my thighs are already slick with arousal.

The silk of the robe clings to my skin, sliding open at my hips, exposing me.

And when his big hands finally settle on my thighs—my bare thighs—I swear I stop breathing.

God, they’re huge. Rough. Strong. They grip like they’ve done it before, like they own me already.

This is what I’ve always wanted.

The heat. The pressure. The weight of a man who doesn’t ask—who just takes.

I can’t see a thing.

The room is drenched in darkness—warm, heavy, and complete—but I feel him.

His presence is unmistakable.

Every breath, every shift of muscle and fabric, broadcasts his hunger like heat rolling off a fire.

He’s kneeling now.

I sense the weight of him settle between my knees, the mattress dipping just slightly under his mass.

I hold still, instinctively keeping my legs together, every nerve in my body alive with tension.

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