Page 108 of Too Safe

“Yeah?” He squeezes my throat slightly, and my eyes shoot open to land on Decker.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“Show me,” he challenges with another caress along the column of my throat. “My room. Now.”

“Pantry?” I counter, breathless and so worked up I’m not sure I can make it up the stairs.

“No way, Hot Girl. We need a bed for what I want to do to you.”

He releases me and stalks off the deck and out of sight.

I stand there, stunned, my hand instinctively gripping my throat to replicate the heat of his skin pressed to mine.

I blink once, then again, willing Decker to look away. Wishing it was less obvious what I’m about to do.

But he never drops my gaze.

His eyes bore into me still when I turn and follow Locke into the house.

The door is cracked open for me, but I knock softly anyway.

His scent overwhelms me within seconds of entering the space. Fresh mint and sugar cane: clean, sweet, and so deliciously Locke.

My desire surges at the sight of him. He’s already removed his shirt, because he knows damn well what tats do to me. Joke’s on him, though, if he thinks I need some sort of preamble to what’s about to happen. I already drenched my panties when he was touching me as Decker looked on.

“You came,” he rasps, rising from the bed.

“Not yet,” I tease, sauntering closer.

He laughs, and it’s the most joyful sound. His presence alone makes me feel lighter—like his very essence has the power to unlock this carefree, playful side of me I rarely feel safe enough to access.

Locke wraps his arms around me and brushes the gentlest of kisses over my lips. The barely there connection is enough to make me shudder. “You will. I told you that first night I wasn’t anywhere done with you. Time to make good on that promise.”

Big hands cup my ass, then we’re moving. He carries me to the bed but doesn’t let me go right away. Instead, he shifts me in his arms as he peppers kisses up and down my neck.

“What do you want?” he asks, his voice low and dripping with desire. There’s no question he’s into this, but those simple words have a meaning far deeper than they convey on the surface.

“I want you,” I assert, acknowledging my reciprocated desire because I know he needs the verbal affirmation. And in case I’m not making myself abundantly clear, I clench my thighs around his waist and rub my core against him.

He pulls back, watching me with hooded eyes.

“Say it again.”

I pushed him away. Hard. Then I held him at arm’s length for weeks. Given what I know about his past and his upbringing…

I cup his face with both hands and look him in the eye.

“I want you, Nicholas Lockewood. I want you so bad I ache. I want you buried deep inside me. I want you to make me forget my own name.”

“Fuck yeah.” He lowers me onto his bed and follows me down. “What are you gonna scream when I make you come, Hot Girl?” He sits back on his knees and works his way out of his pants while I eye fuck him to within an inch of his life.

His gauges and eyebrow piercing. The tats. He’s my every punk-rock fantasy come to life. Hard and jaded on the outside but so damn sweet underneath it all.

“Nicky,” I guess.

His eyes blow out. He looks absolutely feral.

Pushing down his boxer briefs, he reveals his gorgeous cock, hard and leaking at the tip below the glimmer of his pubic piercing. He fists himself and regards me on his bed, grinning the most devilish grin.

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