A beautiful woman I care about…

“Lanie, what did you think you’d find there?” he asked when I said not one word.

I pulled in breath, opened my mouth and closed it.

Hop’s mouth got tight, then it loosened so he could declare, “Babe, you wanna find me, you want more of me, you know where I am. You do not go lookin’ for rough trade in hopes of getting back what you gave up. I’ll tell you now, I do not have a replacement. There’s only one me. You want it, you find,” he jerked his thumb at his chest, leaning toward me and concluded, “me.”

I blinked. My lungs stopped burning as my eyes started flaming, not in despair but in fury as I stared at him.

Then I asked, “You think I was out looking for your replacement?”

“You ever been to that bar before?” he asked back.

“No,” I answered. “But I was most certainly not out looking for your replacement.”

“What were you lookin’ for then, babe?”

This was, alas, an interesting question.

“Not your replacement,” I snapped, my tone sharp to hide my sudden uncertainty.

“Christ, we’re back to your bullshit,” he clipped, scowling at me.

“You’re very arrogant, Hopper Kincaid,” I told him, my tone now so sharp it was cutting, and there was no hidden uncertainty.

“Yeah, well, man gets that way when a woman that looks like you comes as hard as I can make you come and, when you lose my dick, you go out searchin’ for more of what you lost. Stupid shit is that you looked in the wrong place when you know exactly where to find me.”

He could not be serious.

“Okay, tell me you didn’t say that,” I invited.

“You heard what I said, Lanie, and, gotta tell you, not a word of it I’d take back because you and I both know every word is true,” he returned.

“Okay, don’t take it back. Instead, take me back to my car,” I demanded.

“Five beers, three shots of vodka says you are not gettin’ behind a wheel tonight,” he shot back.

Oh dear. He’d been paying a good deal of attention.

Time for a new tactic.

I pulled my purse off my arm, starting to dig through it, declaring, “Right, then I’ll get a taxi.”

Suddenly my purse was yanked out of my hand and I was staring at Hop digging through it. He pulled out my phone, shoved it in his pocket, then tossed my bag across the room where it landed with a bounce on the ratty easy chair that was mostly covered in dirty clothes as well as his leather cut.

I stared at my purse then I stared at his face, then I looked at his jeans pocket before I looked back at him, lifting my hand, palm up.

“Give me my phone,” I ordered.

“You want it, go for it,” he goaded.

I crossed my arms on my chest, murmuring, “Oh, I see.”

“You don’t see shit,” he ground out.

My brows lifted. “I don’t?”

“No, babe, so goddamned blind, purposefully, you’re stumblin’, bumpin’ into shit, but barrelin’ ahead anyway, bound for a world of hurt.”

That was way too close to the bone so I ignored it, uncrossed my arms and lifted my hand his way again.

“Hopper, give me my phone.”

“You’re sleepin’ here tonight.”

I planted my hands on my hips, leaned in and hissed, “Told you, I see. I know what you’re doing.”

“You don’t know shit either.”

“I know this is bullshit,” I fired at him.

“Well, you got one thing right,” he fired back.

Gah! He had an answer for everything. He was so annoying!

I took a calming breath that didn’t calm me before I snapped. “Give me my phone.”

“No.”

“Hop, give me my damn phone!”

He ignored me. “You sleep in one of my tees. The ones here are all dirty but don’t matter. Even dirty, they’re better than what you’re wearin’,” he stated as he flipped a hand out and up, indicating me.

Backed into a corner, I decided to get nasty.

“I’ve been around you a lot, Hop. I’ve seen you. I’ve seen what you like. This,” I swept a hand down my front, “is the way you like it.”

Nasty was not—and I knew it, I’d learned that lesson before—the way to go.

I learned it again then when, one second, he was three feet away. The next, he was right on me, hand in the back of my hair, arm wrapped around my back, his face in my face, lips nearly on mine.

“Yeah, I liked skank,” he bit off. “Liked the taste. Wild, free, and easy. Went back for more. Repeatedly. But that was before I had my mouth between the legs of a lady. You get that, you don’t go back.”

Oh no. The area between the legs where he’d had his mouth got wet at his words and it didn’t help he was so close; my breaths were mingling with his, my breasts were brushing his chest, and my mind was centering on the fact that I knew what it felt like, my breasts bared, his chest the same, and my nipples brushing against his chest hair.

At the memory, my breaths got shallow but faster and those nipples swelled.

He either felt or sensed my reaction and I knew this because his hand in my hair fisted, his lips moved so they grazed mine, and the mood of the room shifted so immensely it was a wonder we didn’t rock with it.

In response to all that, my breaths got shallower and my legs started trembling so much I had to lift a hand and curl my fingers in the side of his tee.

“Three weeks,” he growled. “I go to bed, lie there and think of you. Wake up, you’re the first thing on my mind.”

Oh God.

I liked that.

Oh God.

I couldn’t like it.

I tried to wipe his words from my brain but he went on, “Tell me you don’t feel that.”

I shook my head, short, sharp, and his fist in my hair tightened.

No pain.

Control.

Possession.

I liked that, too.

Yes, when we hit Chaos, I hit trouble.

My knees started to get weak and I lifted my other hand to curl into the other side of his tee.

“You feel it,” he whispered against my lips. “You do the same, lady. You go to bed thinkin’ of me, wake up with me on your mind. You do the exact, fuckin’ same.”

I closed my eyes.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I opened my eyes.

“Tell me,” he demanded. “You do the same.”

“No,” I breathed.

He held my eyes.

Then I felt the tip of his tongue sweep my lower lip.

Without my permission, my body swayed into his, pressing deep, and my eyes closed again.

“Liar,” he whispered.

He was right. I was lying.

I felt the same. I did the same. I went to bed thinking of him. I woke up, he was the first thing on my mind. Further, throughout the day, he slid into my brain constantly to torment me.

I had to end this.

I had to shut him up.

In order to do that, for some insane reason, I kissed him.

Not surprisingly, he kissed me back.

His kiss was better and my whole body thought so, especially my mouth, which moaned into his and my arms, which wrapped around his neck.

Seconds later I was on my back in the bed, Hop’s mouth still on mine, his tongue in my mouth.

Needing his taste, craving it for weeks, not having it, my tongue forced its way into his mouth.

Just as I remembered, he tasted great.

Spicy.

Manly.

Intoxicating.

Then his mouth and tongue were on my neck and my shirt was torn open, flimsy little pearl buttons giving up the fight easy, the ones that didn’t popped right off. Hop’s head moved as his fingers curled into the cup of my bra and yanked it down.

I gasped.

His mouth closed on my nipple.

My back arched, forcing it deeper.

Hop accepted the invitation and sucked hard.

My fingers slid into his long hair, my head went back and a low moan escaped the back of my throat.

This was good, so, so good to have back, what I needed, the only thing that filled the void in me.

He paid delicious and long-lasting attention to one nipple, then yanked the cup at the other side of my bra down and paid the same attention to that nipple.

Panting, moaning and squirming, even as I held his head to me, I begged, “My turn, honey.”

Hop lifted his head then his torso and he was on his knees in the bed, straddling me.

I knifed up as he yanked off his tee. Hands and mouth moving on him, his belly, his sides, his pecs, his nipples, my tongue sliding up that dense line of hair to the valley at his pecs and then it veered off to the side and my lips closed over his nipple.

Hop cupped the back of my head with his hand as his hips moved forward and he pressed his crotch against my breasts.

With his hardness against me, understandably, I lost interest in his nipple and went for his belt buckle. Scrambling to get my knees under me for better balance and maneuverability, I barely got them where I wanted them before Hop’s fingers curled into the hem of my skirt and yanked it up. Then his fingers went in and slid down, right into my panties.

I dropped my head to his pec and slid my hands up to curl around the side of his neck as his finger hit the spot and swirled.

God, God.

The best.

He pressed his face in my neck and muttered, “You’re wet. Ready. Not your mouth, baby, your pussy. Get your panties off.”

I nodded, my forehead rolling on his chest, and moved back. I pulled my skirt up at the sides, feeling his eyes on me but I was concentrating. I yanked my panties down, dropped to a hip and peeled them along my legs, over my ankles, and tossed them away.

Back to my knees I went and saw he had his jeans tugged just to his hips, and he was rolling on a condom.