“Do you trust me?”

She laughs low and rich with a suggestive smirk and a sparkle in her eye. “After what I just let you do to me, you’re going to ask me if I trust you?”

Goddamn.

It’s only been a few hours, but her comment has visuals of our prebreakfast sexcapade coming back in full HD color. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat another Thanksgiving dinner on that kitchen table without thinking of eating sweet Haddie out. Facedown, ass up, hands ordered to stay gripped on the edge or I’d stop the flick of my tongue on her clit. Her body writhing, her mouth moaning, and that sweeter-than-sin taste of hers hitting my tongue as she bucked beneath my grip on her hips as she came with a scream of my name.

And then she said a single word, More.

I meet her eyes as we exit the truck, and I know she’s thinking the same thing right now. How I pulled her to the edge of the table, then slammed into that tight, pulsing pussy of hers as she was still riding out her orgasm. And holy fucking hell. Just incredible. The feel of her, skin on skin, is just something I don’t think I can ever contemplate doing without now.

My dick hardens at the thought again, how taking my time never crossed my mind because I was only thinking about the endgame this time around, knowing she’d already got hers. The visual of pounding into her from behind hits me again, wetting my thumb and pushing it against her tight rim of resisting muscles. How she squirmed beneath my touch, her mouth crying out, “Yes. God, yes, Becks. Do it. I’ll come.” Her words the only consent I needed to push my thumb into her perfect fucking ass and mimic the movement of my dick in her pussy.

I close my eyes behind my sunglasses for a second, reliving the sound of her scream as she came so hard, her legs gave out, her every muscle tightening around my thumb and cock until I couldn’t hold back any longer and lost myself to her as well.

My God. Just when I thought she couldn’t top the night before, she went and raised the bar again.

If it gets much higher, I’m going to wish I was a damn pole-vaulter.

“Becks?”

Her voice pulls me from the pistons trying to spark in my mind because hell if she’s not the only fuel I need to fire up my engine right now.

“Hmm.” The hum deep in my throat makes clear to her just what I’m thinking about. “You bring up this morning, and I might just think I need to do it again.”

“Is that a promise?” she asks with a flash of a wicked grin as she saunters to the back of my truck, where the tailgate is down. She quirks an eyebrow at me as she bends over and leans her chest on it, her body bent at the waist, her ass sticking out, tempting me like no fucking tomorrow.

“Christ, baby, I don’t think you want to play with this fire.” I walk slowly toward her, wanting to take what she’s offering, except I know just around the corner are a few of the crew, waiting for us to get started.

She wiggles her ass at me as I come up behind her and trail a finger up and down the seam of her jeans shorts. I hear her suck in her breath, see her hips still before she presses backward into my hand. I withdraw my touch and step back—I’d take her right here, right now, but I’m not really ready to let any of the guys see her like this, give them real-life visuals to go along with the thoughts I know they’re going to be thinking when they meet her face-to-face.

She turns around when I step back, and angles her head at me. “You know what they say about playing with fire, right?” She leans into me and taunts my lips with hers. The fucking sugar to try to sweeten me up.

Damn tease.

“You get burned?” I answer, eyebrows raised, trying to figure out where she’s headed with this because I sure as hell know this isn’t the answer she’s looking for. My answer’s typical and Haddie’s is anything but typical.

“Hmm.” She hums against my lips. “Yes, but that just means you need to get your hose wet to put out the flame.” She brushes her body up against mine again, and hell, if she does that one more time, this whole idea at the track is going to get thrown out the damn window so I can go play firefighter.

Because this hose sure as fuck is getting wet again.

“I like the sound of that,” I murmur before I slip my tongue between her teasing lips, a three-alarm fire already lit within.

“Hey, Daniels! We doing this, or you going to pussyfoot around all day, wasting our time?” Smitty calls to my back, his voice echoing off the concrete walls of the infield near pit row.

Seriously? He always has the worst damn timing.

I raise my hand in the air, middle finger brandishing my hello wave to him. His laugh carries over to where we stand. “Maybe later, dear, but right now we’ve got the car primed and prepped, so get your ass over here.”

“Coming,” I yell back to him, my eyes locked on Haddie’s.

“Promise,” she whispers to me with an impish gleam in her eyes and a little wiggle of her body so that her tits rub against me one last time before she steps back.

I can’t help but grin even wider because how fucking lucky am I to be standing here with a woman who would make a quip like that? Twisting an innocent response into a dirty thought. Talk about one hell of a turn-on.

And hell if I’m one to break a promise.

Or a rule.

We hold each other’s gaze a moment longer, and I love seeing her eyes full of feistiness when so much of the time we’ve spent together they’ve been conflicted, guarded, sad. I don’t know what it’s going to take, but I want to keep that look there permanently.

“No worries there, sweet Haddie,” I tell her as we turn hand in hand and head toward the pits. “I’ll make that fire of yours rage and then use my hose to put it out in a blaze of glory. It would be my pleasure.”

Little does she know I’m talking about a helluva lot more than just sex.



Chapter 23

I can’t keep myself from smiling, and it feels normal for the first time in forever. I don’t know how Becks knew his idea would help, but somehow I feel revived again.

Who would have thought strapping on a helmet, getting behind the wheel of an old stock car, and zooming around the track would be so invigorating? And it wasn’t just the adrenaline that refreshed me. It was the ability to control my destiny.

I mean I know I was going only a quarter of the speed Colton goes when he flies around the track, but I didn’t care. The notion that how fast I go, if I hit the wall or not, I could stay out there all day long if I wanted to, except for stopping for gas, let me feel like I was in control of my own life.

And the moment my mind started to wander, I’d push the gas pedal a little harder, go a little faster so that I had to concentrate on living and not on dying.

What a concept.

Becks walks me up the sidewalk to the front door, his hand in mine, and I realize I’m not ready to let him go just yet. I mean, this morning when he found me looking out the window, the tears in my eyes were from a potent mixture of the fear of tomorrows mixed with the comforting knowledge that I am trying to let him in … for today at least. I had one foot planted firmly and one foot out the door, waiting for the first sign it was time to bail.

And now? Now I feel like one foot is still firmly rooted while the other is in the air, suspended, as my heart urges me to plant it down permanently beside its partner.

And all in a span of forty-eight hours.

What is he doing to me?

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I’m cockstruck by him, but that’s just not possible. Hell yes, his bedroom prowess is fine as fuck, but there’s something more here—and as much as it scares me, it’s also really alluring. It holds promise for possibilities that just might be on the horizon.

But what the hell do I know? Tomorrow I could be hit by a Mack Truck, as Rylee so nicely suggested.

Or be diagnosed with cancer.

I shrug the thought away. It has no place in the here and now after the incredible past thirty-some-odd hours with Becks.

Oh my God. I actually know the hours, have figured them out subconsciously. I really am cockstruck. Fuck me. Hmm—yes, please, but I force myself to pull my mind from its comfortable place in the gutter and focus on how this just isn’t possible.

As much as I like my alphas, I always make sure that the sex is so stellar that even though they think they are in control, I can reduce them to whimpers if I hold out on sex to get what I want. And now look at me. Standing here next to Beckett Daniels—Mr. Slow and Steady—and I’m cockstruck, dick-whipped, legs-spread-wide-served-up-on-a-platter, whatever way you want to say it.

Did the fat lady sing?

And before I can scour the neighborhood to see where she’s hiding, Becks tugs on my hand and pulls me into him as we near the front door. I lean against the solidity of his chest as he wraps his arms around me. Then I close my eyes and absorb the comfort of his nearness because we are light-years away from where we were yesterday morning when we were in this exact same position bristling with sexual tension.

The funny thing is that we’ve all but devoured each other, and yet I feel that want and need ten times stronger now.

He presses a kiss to the top of my head as we hold each other tight. “Thanks for going with me to the farmhouse.” The timbre of his words vibrates from his lips on the crown of my head down through my chest pressed against his, leaving me to feel like he’s a part of me somehow.

“For going?” I tease. “I believe I wasn’t given an option since you were so intent on calling my bluff.”