Page 43 of Unmasked Rivalry
He spins me to face him, and the look on his face hits me like a fist. There is so much in his eyes—rage, hunger, maybe even something deeper, and I realize the only difference between him and the men I’m running from is that he would rip out his own throat before he let anyone hurt me.
“Don’t be scared,” he says, voice ragged. “Ralston will be gone before you know it.”
“I’m not.”
He grins. “Liar.”
He kisses me, slow and careful, and I know it’s not just an act. He lifts me, sets me up on the rickety ledge, hands cupping my thighs. I kiss him back, hungry and desperate, and for once, I don’t care who’s watching.
I do care if I fall off this damn thing, though, so I clutch him a little tighter. He runs his mouth down my neck, nips at my skin, and I gasp his name.
“Fuck me, Knox. Right here.”
He does. Right there on the rail bridge, with the sun in my eyes and the wind in my hair. His cock does wicked things to me, and his fingers bite into my skin as he drives in, no mercy, growling as he finds release. I do, too, blissful fucking release.
After, I press my forehead to his, capturing his lips one more time.
“I have to go back,” I whisper, exhaling. “The world doesn’t stop for me.”
He lifts me off the ledge. “Whatever happens, we end this on our terms. Not his.”
I nod.
When we get back to the farmhouse, he walks me to the porch. It is late afternoon now, and I know I have wasted an entire day, but I don’t care. I turn to say goodbye, but there is a look in his eyes that has my lips parting. He backs me up against the railing, hands trapping my hips, his mouth dangerous and sure against mine.
I pull away, eyes wide. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Maybe,” he murmurs, jerking at my jeans. “I can’t get enough. All I fuckin’ think about is your sweet cunt and how I need to feel it around me. All damn day, you’re in my head.”
I swallow. “I’m going to need surgery if you keep doing this.”
He grins, and then he fucks me again, this time slower, gentler, his body molding against mine, his cock plunging deep, slow, perfect. If I’m being honest, I can’t get enough of him either, and that’s a terrifying thought.
I think I might just love this man.
When he pulls away, kissing me one last time, I watch him ride away and I sigh.
Dammit.
I am in too deep.
THE WEEKEND COMES FARtoo quickly, and I am midway through cleaning when Nia texts.
Club cookout. Tonight. Alcohol. Drunk Karaoke. You in?
I stare at the phone for a second and then grin, responding.
Hell yes, I am in. I am on my way.
I drive up to the clubhouse at dusk. There’s already a heap of shiny bikes out front, more than I’ve seen before, plus a line of trucks and cars running down the ditch. Even from inside my car, I can hear music—bad music—someone’s been put in charge of the playlist, and it’s clearly not a voluntary job.
Nia greets me the second I step through the front gates, lips already gloss-smeared, a red Solo cup clutched in one hand. She shrieks my name, then wraps her arms around my neck. Sable and Mera are behind her, both laughing. I guess she has well and truly started partying.
Inside, half the people are already shitfaced. Someone’s grilling, there is a huge bonfire, and there are half-naked women everywhere. I follow the girls to the bar, noticing him right away. Knox is at the bar, a bottle of Jack in his fist, grinning at something Kael is saying. I watch him for a second, how easy he fits here, how it’s like he was born for this life.
I see his eyes move to me from across the room—dark, hungry, tracking. For a while, I let myself forget what’s going to happen with Ralston, with the farm, with all the parts of my life that feel like I’m trespassing on someone else’s tragedy. I just give Knox a grin and get myself a drink.
Everything blurs together perfectly as the night goes on, us shooting horrible-tasting tequila and singing along to Nia’s karaoke attempts. Kael brings Sable a plate piled with enough hot dogs to feed a minor league baseball team, and we all laugh. I guess he is taking the eating for two thing a little too far.
