Page 79 of That Moment
She doesn’t even notice the way the words cut; she’s too busy smiling up at me like she already knows how this ends.
I shake my head once. “You think that’s rough?” Her brows lift like she’s challenging me. “You don’t know rough yet, sweetheart.”
That wipes the smirk clean off her face. Her breath catches, pupils wide, and I feel the shift. “Come back to my place,” I growl. It’s not a request.
For half a second, she just stares, like she’s weighing what it’ll cost her to say yes. Then she nods once, slowly. “Okay.”
I search her face, half-expecting her to laugh, to change her mind, to remind me this is supposed to be casual. She doesn’t. She just looks at me steadily, hand still resting against my zipper, daring me to follow through.
“Okay,” I echo, quieter this time.
Neither of us moves. The bay hums with fluorescent light, the air thick with oil, sweat, and whatever we’ve just set in motion. When I finally step back, it’s only because if I don’t, we’ll end up right here again.
Chapter 13
Adrienne
The ceiling fan clicks a lazy rhythm overhead, stirring cool air over my skin that still feels overheated and used. I’m on my stomach, cheek turned to his side, drifting in that sweet, heavy place between sleep and satisfaction. Every breath reminds me of where his mouth has been. My thighs ache. My nipples pull tight when the sheet brushes them. I can feel the fingerprints he left on my hips like tiny, pulsing hearts.
Scotty runs a fingertip down my spine, slow and absent, like he’s tracing a favorite road he could drive with his eyes closed. He toys with a strand of my hair, tucks it behind my ear, then does it again just to feel it slide through his fingers.
“You alive?” he rumbles, voice scratched raw from too much groaning and not enough sleep.
“Barely.” My words are muffled by the pillow. “You murdered me. Tell my Aunt Celeste that she’ll need to come out of retirement. I will be out due to death by excessive… enthusiasm.”
He huffs a laugh that shakes the mattress. “You weren’t complaining when you were on your knees in the hallway.” He drags his hand over my bare ass cheek, lowering his voice, “Whatwas it that you said to me? Please, baby, let me taste you.” His voice is practically a growl at this point, “You were begging to suck my cock.”
I smile into the sheet, blushing because he’s right and he knows it. I was shameless, and I’m not even embarrassed because the man deserves every bit of praise he gets for his magic cock. “You deserved it after what you did to me on that kitchen table.”
His laugh rumbles against my back, low and satisfied. “Yeah, I guess I did toss you up there, didn’t I?”
“Mhmm.” I twist enough to glance at him over my shoulder. “You kept saying you were gonna devour me.”
He grins, unrepentant. “Couldn’t help myself. You looked too damn good with that still freshly fucked look on your face from the garage. All I could think about was spreading you out on that table and making a mess of you. Having you drip down my chin.”
My breath catches. “You succeeded,” I whisper, heat curling between my thighs at the memory.
The image flashes in my mind, the sound of the table creaking beneath us, the scrape of wood under my bare back, his rough hands gripping my thighs wide. The way his voice broke when he slid into me, deep and hard, muttering something about how tight I felt. Every thrust had been desperate, hungry, like he couldn’t get close enough even though he was already buried inside me.
And then, when he’d pulled out, dragging me off the edge just to watch me drop to my knees for him…God. The hallway. His fist tangled in my hair. The taste of him. His ragged voice growled my name like a curse. He didn’t just come undone; he completely surrendered.
Even now, hours later, my body clenches remembering it.
“I swear you’ve ruined me,” I murmur, half-teasing, half-dazed.
He smirks, brushing a knuckle along my jaw. “Didn’t hear you complaining when you were begging for seconds, baby. It wasn’t just my fault.”
“Maybe I was just being polite.”
“Polite doesn’t sound like you screaming my name loud enough to scare the neighbors.”
I try not to grin, but fail completely. “Fine. You’re right. I wasn’t polite.” I pause, eyes tracing his face. His hair is messy, the scrape of stubble shadowing his jaw, that cocky little smirk that still somehow manages to look boyish.
His hand moves, slow and deliberate, sliding beneath the sheet like he’s following the same memory I am. His fingertips drag down my spine, pausing at the dip of my lower back, then lower still.
His hand slides lower, leisurely, and lands warm and wide on my ass. His thumb circles where he marked me earlier, and I swear my bones liquefy. He gives a soft pat. Not rough. Possessive in a way that feels like a secret.
“You okay?” he asks, quieter.
