Page 5 of Let it Ignite
He groans. A low, guttural sound that makes my core clench. His fingers flex, gripping me, kneading me, and my back arches instinctively.
Then—just as fast—I let go. Drop his wrist. Pull away.
The truck slows for a stoplight, and I can feel his eyes on me, heavy and burning. I stare straight ahead, breath tight in my chest, but the air between us is a thick coil of heat and unsaid things. I can feel the heat of him where he touched me, the way my skin still tingles where his palm cupped my breast. I shift slightly in my seat, thighs rubbing together, seeking any kind of friction to ease the ache. It's useless. That ache is embedded now—deep, pulsing, needy.
I steal a glance at him. He's not breathing easy either. His chest rises and falls like he's run a damn mile. One hand white-knuckled on the wheel. The other twitching in his lap like he doesn't know what to do with it now that it’s touched me.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe it’s trauma. But maybe it’s something more twisted. Something more real. Because right now, with my whole world reduced to ash, I feel more alive than I have in months.
“I’ve never done that before,” I whisper, needing to fill the silence. “Touched someone like that. Not even close.”
His head turns slowly, eyes like flint, locking on mine. "Yeah?"
I nod. “Mama kept me on a short leash. No boys. No kissing. No touching. Said men would eat me alive.”
His jaw flexes. Hard. "They would’ve. Because you’re sweet. Easy to ruin.”
He says it like a warning. Like a promise. Like he’s not sure which side of that line he’s standing on.
“Would you?” I ask. “Ruin me?”
His knuckles whiten. He doesn’t answer. Not with words. But the look he gives me—feral, hungry, possessive—says everything.
The light turns green. The truck rolls forward.
And I sit there trembling, knowing something just shifted between us. Knowing he’s not just thinking about touching me again. He’s deciding when. His hand lingers for a second. Then it falls away too. I sit there, flushed, panting, my heart thudding against my ribs.
Neither of us say anything.
But the air between us is charged, heavy with something dangerous. And when his eyes flick back to me at the next light, they’re darker. Hotter. Like he’s already imagined what it would be like to strip that dress from my body.
And now?
Now he’s just deciding how soon he’s going to make it happen.
I look out the window, not knowing where we’re headed, not even caring. I should probably ask. I should be more cautious. But something in me already trusts him, already believes that wherever he's taking me, I’ll be safe. Or maybe not safe exactly—maybe the opposite of safe. Maybe I want danger, just this once. Maybe I want to know what it feels like to be undone by a man who looks like he’s been forged in fire.
I wonder what his place looks like. Is it neat? Messy? Does he live alone? Will he offer me the couch—or pin me to his mattress before I can blink? The thoughts twist inside me, hot and wild, tangling with the low throb between my legs.
Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’ve lost it somewhere in the smoke and sirens and ruined dreams. But right now, I’m not scared of him. I’m scared of how much I want him.
Because he didn’t just rescue me from a fire.
He might’ve started a new one inside me.
Chapter 3
Byron
I pull into the driveway, headlights sweeping across the porch. It’s just an old ranch-style house with weathered wood and creaking steps. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s solid. Like me. Like what she needs right now.
I kill the engine, but I don’t move.
My fingers are still locked on the steering wheel, knuckles tight, blood humming in my ears. I can still feel her. The weight of her breast in my palm, the hard little point of her nipple against my calloused skin. Her scent, her breath, her quiet gasp that shot straight to my gut and detonated there.
Fuck.
My cock is still hard. So hard it aches. The bunker pants do nothing to ease the pressure, and every muscle in my body is coiled tight, one breath away from snapping. I glance at her and she’s watching me. Wide-eyed. Flushed. Lips parted like she can still feel my hand on her.
