He tipped up her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I need to hear it.”
“I’m sure.”
His lips kicked up. “I warn you, I like a rough ride.”
Of course he did. She knew it. She’d known it the second she’d laid eyes on him. “Me too.”
Something shifted in him. He went from being marginally polite and tentative to intense and predatory in a heartbeat. “As long as we both understand.”
She nodded—not trusting her voice to respond—and yanked open her door.
He was right behind her as she led the way into her ratty motel room. For the first time, she wished Deep Ellum had a nicer place. The bedspread and the drapes were faded, the wallpaper peeling and the furniture chipped. But shit, it was perfect for what she had in mind tonight. A hard, hot fuck.
To hell with Marcus and his story. All she wanted was this man in her bed, crawling all over her body. Now.
Apparently, he was of the same mind.
Before she’d even closed the door behind him, he turned her around, plastered her against it and let the force of his body slam it shut. He framed her face in his hands and stared at her for a moment, but only for a moment, and then he kissed her. Hard. Furiously. It was a savage melding of mouths, a hungry passion. His heat surrounded her, sank through to her bones. His scent made her brain short circuit. Thoughts of him on her, in her, howled through like a ruthless forest fire, burning the edges of her restraint.
She tugged at his jacket and he shrugged it off. And then she yanked on the hem of his shirt. Anything, anything to get her hand against his heat. He whipped the tee off and her breath stalled. Holy God. He was beautiful. A vast panoply of rippled muscle, tanned skin and hard flesh.
She flattened her palm on his belly and curled her fingers, sinking her nails into the muscle and sinew. He growled and took hold of the vee of her Bone Daddy tee shirt and ripped it off. Ripped it fucking off. Daryl would be pissed but Roni didn’t even care. Because then Steve took her lace-covered breasts in his hands and raked his hard thumb over the nubs of her nipples, sending scalding sensation thorough her. She arched her hips against his, though they were already fused. His cock bit into her belly and she loved it.
His mouth roved over her cheek, her neck, her shoulder and then he licked her collarbone along its length.
She fumbled for his belt buckle, but before she could figure out how to unfasten it, he spun her around and walked her to the bed.
There would be no conversation here. There would be no negotiations or chatter. Just fucking. Hot, hard and savage.
He tossed her onto the bed and then, holding her gaze, untied his leathers, unbuckled his belt, undid his jeans and, toeing off his boots, pulled it all off until he stood before her in nothing but a pair of black briefs.
Her mouth watered.
He bent and retrieved something from his jeans; he held it up so she could see, and then he tossed the foil packet onto the bedside table. Thank God one of them had a smidgen of sanity left.
But he didn’t leap on her, or on the bed. He stood there, mostly naked, arms crossed, looking too tempting for words, and frowned at her.
“Strip.”
Holy fuck. That word. That tone. What little blood she had left feeding her brain dropped like a stone to her clit. It pounded a delicious tattoo, pulsing with every beat of her heart.
Yeah, it had been a long time. Too long. But she’d never, never, been this horny.
Scrambling like a crazed squirrel, she ripped off her jeans and her panties and started working her bra. Her fingers trembled, so she had some trouble, but she finally slipped it all off. She sat on the edge of the bed and peeped up at him.
His eyes were locked on her breasts. His throat worked. But then he tore his gaze to her face and his lips quirked. He stepped closer, and closer still, until his groin was nearly in her face. “Now me,” he said, but when she lifted her hands to peel the cotton from his body, he shook a finger. “Ah, ah, ah. Teeth.”
She couldn’t hold back a smile. So he liked teeth, did he? So did she.