June 26th, 95 days post outbreak, Casa de Fruta

The classic red Mustang slid neatly into the parking stall…as if life was still normal and the owner planned on stopping at the restaurant for a meal and maybe checking out the gift shop. Which pissed Rebel off, because come on—this routine behavior set against the backdrop of “whole world dead” was just…disrespectful.

This rest stop off the Pacheco Pass Highway, half-way between the central California coast and the San Joaquin Valley, used to be a bustling place to buy snacks, fruit, or whatever a person might need…and stay the night if necessary, on the way to somewhere else. It used to be a destination unto itself. A place people liked to visit.

Before the end of the world, she’d been there tons of times on her way out of Carmel and onto Yosemite.

But now it was a harsh cluster of silent trees, hot asphalt and empty buildings, all intensely quiet because Rebel was certain there were dead bodies everywhere—hidden in the cars, in the buildings and in the motel. All areas she wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.

This was nothing new. In this reality, corpses were rotting all over the fucking place. Not just millions of them. Billions of them, worldwide.

The engine cut and the parking lot returned to silence.

Rebel watched the car from her hiding spot with her heart thundering in her chest. She bit her lip as a man she’d never met (fuck, fuck, fuck) stepped out of the Mustang with the slow-moving grace of an action star in a big-budget movie.

A man. Young and healthy-looking.

Wow. This was amazing, considering most of the people on the planet were now dead.

Masculinity, dominance and danger radiated from him in waves so potent and loaded with virility, it nearly burnt her retinas.

Rebel watched him anyway.

And watched him some more.

In fact, she watched him like her life depended upon it. Like stalking him was her job and she worked on commission.

Because holy shit, he was just that handsome.

She sucked in a breath and slumped against the dusty, abandoned minivan she hid behind, her heart continuing to claw in her chest. Her breaths sounded loud and harsh to her own ears.

Who the hell was this guy?

That dark T-shirt he wore stretched so perfectly across his tight abs. And those muscular, veiny forearms…they were fantastic.

She was so affected by his megawatt sex appeal; her hand literally trembled as she wiped sweat from her forehead.

I’m a mess. A total, top-notch, number one mess.

Which was just…embarrassing.

Rebel allowed herself one dreamy sigh (just one).

Jeez. If only…

Could it be? Could he actually be a decent human being? Someone who wasn’t bent on rape, theft and destruction?

She exhaled and rolled her eyes. Oh please. The chances of finding a kind, honorable person with whom to chat with at the end of the world were both slim and none.

The chaotic months since Ruyigi Ebola swept the planet, and the resulting deaths of billions of people worldwide due to the viral outbreak, had taught Rebel one true lesson, a lesson that should be written in stone and handed down from Mt. Sinai:

Trust no one.

It was just…she glanced at him again with longing…what if he wasn’t an asshole?

She bit the inside of her cheek.

And how long had it been since she’d seen anyone besides Justin? Justin—her companion, her best friend in this hell-hole situation, her Rock of Gibraltar. She hadn’t seen another man alive besides Justin, since, since…damn, she couldn’t remember—obviously not since before the tail end of the time when everyone was sick, chaos reigned, and the world had turned into a shit pile of dead bodies and eerily quiet towns.

Oh fuck.

She needed to think smart and get her head on straight and not let herself be blinded by this stranger’s good looks and her own raging hormones. Really, she should shoot this man first and ask questions later—because being stuck with a stranger in a parking lot on an empty planet in a terrifying post-apocalyptic setting should take on biblical proportions of panic and alarm.

Right?

She wasn’t stupid. She knew being alone with him at the rest stop meant everything in her tentative world could fold like a house of cards.

A slashing knife.

A crashing fist.

A blood-spattered gunshot.

Her life could end in the blink of an eye.

People weren’t the same anymore. She’d learned that the hard way.

Rebel observed with eyes wide as the guy took a few determined steps away from his sports car, his head turning to examine the vacant parking lot dotted with dusty, discarded vehicles.

Now she was able to get a better look at him. Her breath caught in her throat.

Holy crap, he was a tall, cool drink of water. Her shoulders tensed and her stomach took a sickening nose dive. Was this man an angel or a devil?

Long, blond hair fell to his shoulders, and dark jeans cupped his pelvis and ass in all the right places. His jaw was dark with stubble—the beginning of a kick-ass beard. Colored tats sleeved both of his muscled arms, and some flamed up from the collar of his fitted black T-shirt, licking up his magnificent corded neck.

Her traitorous body instantly flooded with white-hot lust.

Dear God, she was a sucker for a man with tats.

Her fingers curled on the gun in the holster at her back, more out of habit than fear. Surviving the outbreak of Ruyigi, which seemed to have killed almost everyone on the planet, and struggling for survival in an “I Am Legend” type of world would turn anyone into a stone-cold killer. It certainly made her jumpy as hell. Feeling indecisive, Rebel fingered her weapon. Her sex-starved brain started to short-circuit with the possibilities before her; should she shoot this potentially dangerous stranger now, or jump him and fuck his brains out?

Rebel knew the survivors she’d made contact with last week had sent someone to meet her and Justin. She just didn’t know it would be today.

Maybe this man was their spokesperson, so therefore a nice guy and he’d just shown up a day early?

Or maybe he was their enforcer, here to shoot Justin, kidnap her and force her into becoming their unwilling group sex toy.

Either way, the timing sucked.

Justin slept inside the RV they’d traveled to the rest stop in—as he should, seeing it was still the butt crack of dawn. Only Rebel and this stranger, and the birds chirping in the trees, were stupid enough to be awake this early.

Leaving their “home” in Carmel, she and Justin had made it across the Pacheco Pass, arrived yesterday afternoon and parked the lumbering RV in the shade of a huge tree at the back of Casa de Fruta, the rest stop she’d chosen as the official meeting place for first contact with the band of survivors she’d communicated with over the radio.

But that was supposed to happen tomorrow.

She and Justin had arrived early to scope out the place. But waking up this morning and feeling restless because Justin was still asleep, Rebel had decided to roam around the relative safety of this corner of the parking lot while it was still cool outside. She hadn’t gone far, because why would she want to explore the buildings or other cars, which would have nothing but rotting corpses ready to scare the hell outta her?

Then the purr of an unknown vehicle had entered the parking lot and she’d about had a freakin’ heart attack. In this new world Rebel lived in, minus all the people—any machine-made sound like car engines, or any sign of human life, were enough to scare her shitless.

She’d whipped around to find the source: a classic red Mustang pulling off the silent freeway. She raced to crouch behind the nearest car, scared out of her fucking mind.

Now here she was, trapped, separated from her partner who was asleep in the RV and blissfully unaware of the danger she was in. And she was stuck meeting this stranger today. Without backup.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“I know you’re here,” the stranger announced, his speech impossibly deep and sexy as it echoed in the vast, empty space. “I can hear you breathe.”

Her heart stopped. She cupped her hand over her mouth.

Damn. How was that possible?

Boots crunched on asphalt. “I saw you when I pulled in.” His voice inched closer.

Shoot.

Her heart thumped in her chest. A bead of sweat trailed down between her breasts.

She yanked out her gun and clicked the safety off.

“It’s okay,” he said, his intonation both smooth and sultry. “I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk.”

Talk.

Yeah, right. Her jaw clenched. That’s what they all said, right before the raping and beating commenced. No, thank you.

Three months ago, when the virus swept the globe, killing nearly everyone, society had collapsed, turning even her privileged enclave in Malibu into a mob fest. Two men, men she knew, men she’d trusted, broke into her home, tied her up and raped her. One at a time, taking turns. Hot rage rocketed through her blood as she remembered the fear, the physical pain of that betrayal. They’d beaten her and left her for dead, certain the virus would take her, too. But it hadn’t. She’d managed to survive and ended up being one of the lucky few, born with a rare genetic immunity leaving her alive afterwards and completely untouched by the worldwide pandemic.

Her wounds had healed, but her heart and her soul remained damaged. Rebel gripped the gun tighter. No way was she letting that shit happen twice. This time she was ready to do what needed to be done.

The stranger strode around the side of the van. Shit, shit, shit. All six feet something and bad-boy handsome. Up close and personal. Her eyes narrowed and she quickly pointed her gun at the guy’s head, blood and fear pounding through her veins, giving her an additional dose of determination.

“Back off,” she snapped.

Dammit, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

She’d been so excited to meet more survivors, people who were actually alive and not dead. She’d heard their broadcast on the radio Justin had set up in the front room, and spoken to a man named Adam who’d assured her they’d send someone to meet her and Justin at Casa de Fruta. She’d planned the whole thing, even deciding on this meeting point, but Justin was supposed to be here for this meet-up, helping her to scope these people out to make sure this guy was on the up-and-up and not some asshole rapist out for a tap.

The man lifted his hands, palms out, seemingly unconcerned about the Glock she’d shoved in his face.

“Now, darlin’, there’s no need for that,” he drawled. “I’m here to meet you, and anyone else you’re living with, so I can bring you back. You contacted us, remember? You can trust me.”

Who did he think he was kidding? How in the hell could she trust this man?

Her favorite mantra echoed in her head: Never. Trust. Anyone.

Justin was the only man she trusted. Justin, and that was it.

“Maybe you’re not who you say you are,” she shot back, her heart beating like crazy in her ears. Not having Justin with her during this negotiation made this ten times as difficult. It was hard for her to concentrate, what with all the potent virility and manliness standing before her, clouding her judgment.

She watched one blond eyebrow shoot up over the top of his sunglasses. “How can that be? I haven’t even said who I am yet.”

“I’m not alone, I’m with someone,” she announced, and cocked her head in the general direction of their hideout. “He’s in our RV and he’s got a gun trained on you, too,” she lied.

He cursed quietly. “Your man?”

“Yes, he’s my man and he’ll kill you if you touch me,” she lied again, thinking of the man who she knew was snoring on the queen-sized bed in the back of the RV. On the bed he’d won the rights to sleep on last night after a determined round of rock, paper, scissors.

Although Justin would try to kill him if he touched her, that part was true. He was very protective.

“That right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

The man tore off his black sunglasses, revealing stunning blue eyes that looked into hers with unholy intensity. Her heart stuttered in her chest. She lowered the gun slightly.

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaimed, his eyes scanning her face. “I just figured out who you are.”

Her jaw clenched.

Oh, God. Here we go.

Back in the day she used to live for this shit; she’d loved being recognized. Well, sometimes it was a bitch, but mainly she’d always loved meeting up with her fans. But now, not so much. Not that it happened anymore anyway, considering her audience was dead.

“You’re Rebel Case, the movie star, aren’t you?”

Rebel snorted. She wasn’t wearing a speck of make-up and her hair had reverted back to its normal, boring shade of light brown, and yet still, at the end of the world, he knew who she was. Bizarre. “Well, yeah. I was Rebel Case…but that’s over with. Now I’m just Rebel, all right?”

Now I’m nobody.

His eyes continued to scan her face, her body. His gaze felt like a caress, creating warmth where it touched. Jeez. His eyes were beautiful—dark blue, with hints of aqua. She’d never seen anything like it, and that was saying a lot, considering she used to work with some of People’s Sexiest Men. She glanced at his full lips, allowing herself a bit of fantasy, wondering what they’d feel like on hers.

Her nostrils flared. Don’t be stupid. Don’t get distracted. Men like him always seem sexy and nice at first. That’s their game.

She raised the gun again, determined to show him who was boss. “It doesn’t matter who I am. Who I was before the end. I need to know who you are, and you need to convince me that you’re trustworthy, or Justin’s going to shoot you in the head before I get a chance to do it myself.”

He smiled. A slow, spectacular smile, revealing not one, but two dimples she could still catch a glimpse of through the stubble of his growing beard. Oh wow, her stomach swooped and her knees weakened.

“I cannot fucking believe you survived,” he said with emphasis, completely ignoring her tough speech. “Rebel Case. The movie star. Survived the outbreak.” He looked up and shook a knuckled fist at the sky. “This is a goddamn miracle,” he shouted.

Her jaw dropped. He stepped closer. She lowered the gun another millimeter.

His warm gaze met hers. “Finally, God got something right.”

His words hit hard. She lowered her weapon some more and braced a hand against the side of the van. What was it about this man? She was out here armed and dangerous, determined to stand her ground, ready to defend herself, and yet something about him brought forth every feminine instinct in her body, sent all her hormones raging and set her blood on fire.

And despite his rough exterior, his gaze was tender. His eyes were…soft.

He reached out a hand and cupped her face. So gentle. And she let him, leaning into it, craving human contact like fish needing water. She let him touch her as if they knew each other, as if they hadn’t met just minutes ago. Her skin flushed and tingled with each caress. It was the most intimate thing she’d felt in so, so long.

“I saw every one of your movies,” he said with the best Fuck Me voice she’d ever heard.

Uh-oh.

This tugged her back a half-step into reality. Like a hand reaching out, gripping her arm, trying to pull her out of the deep end of the pool she’d just fallen into.

She needed to be careful. She’d heard lines from obsessed fans a zillion times before. It was nothing new, and actually this was the worst pick-up line on the planet considering she’d never been a sex goddess on film. But instead of doing the smart thing, like shooting this guy in the kneecap and running for the RV, she continued to melt at his touch, leaning into his hand.

“I used to watch you,” he continued, his eyes hot and full of sexual promise. “Thinking, wondering …” He stopped.

“What, wondering what?” she gasped. Of course she knew what, but she wanted him to say it. Had to hear it.

“You looked so…”

“Innocent?” She grimaced. She’d played Annie, after all. And everyone’s sister, or the sick and dying girlfriend. She was known the world over as the perfect daughter, girlfriend, sister…placed on a freaking pedestal. She was given those roles because of her big hazel eyes, her smile, her voice…the camera ate it up. She wasn’t sexy Rebel Case. She was darling Rebel Case. The outside never quite matching the truth inside.

“No, sexy. Very sexy. I was wondering what you’d feel like underneath me.”

Immediate warmth pooled between her thighs. She couldn’t believe he’d said that. No one said that. Not even her former lovers.

God, she was such a pushover for this man who was staring at her like he wanted to devour her whole. She shifted on her feet, restless. The area between her thighs felt heavy and…Christ, she was wet already? A perfect candidate for Stockholm syndrome, wasn’t she? She’d known this man for all of—what?—ten minutes now, and she’d lowered her weapon. Ready to give him everything and hand him the keys.

Her body stiffened.

What the fuck?

She’d been raped three months ago. She needed to protect herself and make sure this didn’t happen again. Justin! How dare you leave me alone! I’m so needy for a man’s touch, for a genuine caress. I’m weak. Soooo weak.

She stepped back and shook her head. Moving away from the spell he was weaving. “Nice try,” she snapped, pissed that this guy she didn’t even know had so much power over her. “But I’m immune to Ruyigi Ebola and bullshit artists, too.”

He chuckled, completely unconcerned.

She desperately wanted to give in and run her hands underneath that shirt and up his abs of steel and caress those Captain America pecs, but come on, was it worth her life? And more importantly, was it worth the life of the baby she was carrying?

Because yesterday, she’d discovered she was pregnant.

One day she was stumbling through a tragic post-apocalyptic world, worrying only about herself, wondering why her waist was a little thicker. And why was she throwing up in the mornings? And then the next day she’d peed on a stick and…

Pregnant.

Pregnant at the end. Because of course her rapists hadn’t worn condoms, because why would they?

Her chest tightened again at the life-altering change she’d still barely had time to process.

Rebel took a deep breath. She had to be smart; she had to be careful. This wasn’t only about her anymore. She had to protect the life inside of her.

The stranger’s gorgeous lips curved, he took a step closer, causing his hard body—his chest, his pelvis—to brush against hers, pinning her against the van. Rebel bit her lips to stop a moan of delight from escaping her mouth. Not a shout of anger, a protest for him to get the hell away…no, a moan. Her body hummed with both hunger and need. If anything, the pregnancy was making her hornier than usual, and that was saying a lot, considering she’d always had a healthy appetite for sex. Her breasts practically shouted to be touched, pinched, and sucked.

Her arm was now pinned at her side, her gun pointed down. And…what the hell was wrong with her? She should be terrified to be in this position. The last time a man had touched her had been to hurt her, physically and mentally. And that incident was replaying in her mind in HD.

Why wasn’t she kneeing this potential asshole in the groin? Why were her greedy eyes on his neck? Where the black-lined arc of colorful red and orange tats ran up his skin from underneath the collar of his shirt. Oh God, she wanted to lick him. Right there. Run her tongue along each inked curve. What would he taste like?

She kept glancing at his perfect lips, unable to stop herself from being so damn obvious that she wanted to kiss him.

Yes, she didn’t know his name or where he came from or who he was. But she felt in her heart that he truly wanted her, like she wanted him. Not that she wasn’t keeping every fortification on red alert. But she might let him in, a little. Rebel was willing to allow this man in a crack at the front door, a tiny step inside her carefully constructed wall of mistrust.

A tiny step.

He slapped one hand against the metal siding of the van and leaned in, his forehead brushing against hers.

Her breath hitched. Fear washed through her, and lust—lots and lots of lust. He smelled so good…like dark nights and wet dreams and every single sexual fantasy she’d ever had.

“I’m not here to bullshit you. Hurting you in any way is the last thing on my mind, sweetheart. The very last thing. All I want is to sink in your pussy and watch as you come around my cock.”

Her eyes widened as her body lit up at his explicit language. Oh, hell. She was also a sucker for a man with a dirty mouth. Not that she’d let him actually fuck her. But just hearing him talk about it, wish for it. Hot, hot, hot.

“Put the gun away. I need to touch you before I die from wanting,” he said hoarsely. “I want your lips on my cock as I watch you swallow every last drop of my come.”

She could have an orgasm just hearing him talk. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t kill this man. She was desperate for him.

Desperate.

The gun went into the holster at her back.

He grinned. “Perfect.”

His hand cupped her face and his lips crashed down on hers.

She didn’t hesitate, not a moment’s indecision. She wrapped her arms around his neck, joining him half-way for a hungry kiss—a dizzying, meeting-at-the-end-of-the-world kiss. Their tongues tangled. He tasted wonderful, like a man for all time. Like her man. It was crazy, but she couldn’t stop these strange, possessive feelings from pounding through her.

He kissed her like he was eating her up, like she was his last meal and he was going to feast on her until his last breath.

She was all over him. She couldn’t get enough. It was the whole package—his hard body, his scent, his arms around her. His lips were surprisingly soft and wonderful. She immediately moved as close as she could get, clinging to him, pressing her breasts against his hard chest. He groaned in his throat.

His lips were glorious, his whole mouth, the way his stubble grated against her cheek. She knew she’d get burn marks later and her lips were already swollen and she didn’t care. Rebel threaded her fingers through his fabulous hair, cupping the back of his head to get closer.

It was simply the best kiss ever, and that was saying a lot considering she’d kissed some of People’s Sexiest—

“Baby.” He tore his mouth away, gasping for air. “I need you. Where’s this man of yours so I can take him out?”

Her face heated at his words. She really needed to come clean and let him in, give him that tiny step. “Um, he’s not my man,” she answered honestly. “We’re just friends.”

His eyes narrowed. “You lied to me?”

She hesitated. “Yeah.”

“Thank fuck.”

He pressed her back up against the van, the summer heat bearable in the weak morning light. His pelvis notched between her thighs, and she felt the ridge of his hard, enormous cock behind his jeans. She gasped as a wave of sensation rushed through her.

God, she loved how he took charge.

She usually had rules—rules that involved no PDA, let alone sex in public, which was actually kind of sad because technically that razor edge of almost being caught or watched was the type of porn she liked. But when you were a celebrity, you couldn’t do a damn thing without it showing up on social media. So, she didn’t do anything with men in public. Nothing. But there wasn’t any public anymore, was there? There were no paparazzi who could catch them kissing or see what they were doing. All the people were gone now. In essence, because Justin was asleep in the RV, they were all alone. And she and Justin had already scoped out this corner of the rest stop for dead bodies, making sure it was clean and clear. So, really, the privacy was absolute.

He lowered his head and continued to kiss her, his tongue sliding between her lips. His hands roamed underneath her shirt, slid up her stomach and cupped her bra. He pinched her nipple through the lacy fabric. She moaned into his mouth, light-headed with the blaze of passion that went straight to her core.

Jeez. She couldn’t think straight when he touched her like that. She needed to set some boundaries—fast—or this was going to go somewhere she didn’t want to go and she’d be reaching for her gun again.

Somehow, in the midst of the blinding lust, she managed to temper her emotions, place her palms against his chest and push back.

“I’m not having sex with a stranger,” she stated firmly.

Jesus, her life just continued on its relentless path of roller-coaster madness, didn’t it? One day was never like the last and nothing at all like her old life. But this, this was important, he needed to know where her hard line was. Old Rebel would’ve fucked this guy right now, but Old Rebel hadn’t been raped and beaten by two men. New Rebel needed to think smart. She needed space. Time. Because even while her body was lit beyond all reason, her mind was trying to keep her safe, keeping her on the steady edge of men can be animals logic.

He groaned and leaned forward, placing his forehead against hers again. He took deep gulping breaths. And even just witnessing that, his huge chest rising and falling, the way he was keeping his hands off of her now, it was beautiful. She could tell he was physically trying to take it down a notch, calm his body down.

“I don’t know you, so I don’t trust you yet,” she clarified.

He gave a jerky nod. “I can wait,” he rasped.

His eyes met hers. She looked into those blue eyes, getting lost. She saw neediness, desperation, longing. There was so much of it there, naked for her to view, stamped across his beautiful masculine features. A hint of worry spread in her chest. Was he going to accept her hard line? Or was he was going to bust past it and try to take what he wanted? Her hand started to inch toward her gun. She began to formulate escape routes, of kneeing him in the groin and—

“Let me touch you,” he rasped. “I need to feel you come.”

Her breath hitched. “What? Uh—”

“I can wait for your pussy, your mouth around my cock. I can wait for all of it until we get back to my apartment and I have you spread out on my bed. But I need to feel how wet you are.” He glanced down at the hand that was still on his chest and back up to meet her gaze. “You going to let me finger you to orgasm?”

Well shit, how could she say no to that? Really, how many women, in the history of womanhood, said no to that? A gorgeous man who wanted nothing more than to make her come? She was ready to come just thinking about it.

“Just that? Only that?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I’m going to take care of you.”

She leaned forward and kissed him. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”

Her hands moved down, no longer holding him back, and went under his black T-shirt, roaming over a perfect washboard stomach. His skin was warm and luscious. “You feel so damn good,” she gasped.

His palm moved south and cupped her ass underneath the maxi-skirt she’d pulled on that morning, which turned out to be one of the smartest decisions of her life. Now he had easy access. He bunched up the fabric, exposing her bare legs, and yanked her panties down her thighs—one smooth motion that was basically professional.

“You do, too, sweetheart. Like silk in my hands.”

She kicked the panties off, letting the silky lavender fabric drop onto the dark asphalt. He pushed her skirt up around her waist so he could see everything between her open thighs. Her skin tingled with awareness under his heated gaze.

“Jesus baby, you’re gorgeous. Are you wet for me?” he asked.

She nodded, because, yes, she was embarrassingly wet for this stranger.

“Let me see. Both legs around me, higher, now,” he ordered. She did as instructed, her legs moved up and he lifted them over his hips. He held her up against the van and leaned into her as if they were fucking, but they weren’t. His pants were buckled. His shirt in place.

Rebel watched with rapt fascination as his large, rough fingers, with inked symbols near his knuckles, delved into her wet folds. She could hear the sound of movement in her slick heat. Her breath caught in her throat at how damn good it felt.

“Christ,” he muttered against her ear. “You’re ready for me, ready for my cock, aren’t you, baby?”

“Yes,” she panted. She held on to his bulging biceps, her fingers covering the dense ink. She was unable to speak, which was unusual. Rebel was never at a loss for words.

He grabbed her hand and placed it over the enormous erection pushing from under his jeans. “You want this?”

She whimpered.

Her head tipped back and she squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure. No matter what happened between them, if things went bad, she’d always remember this…this moment of pure bliss.

She’d always loved imagining hooking up with men and engaging in animalistic, primitive humping in odd, “oops we could almost get caught” types of situations. She reveled in it. But today, with this stranger…this was by far the best, the sexiest moment of her life. The edginess, the taboo of the fact that she didn’t even know his name and they were some of the last people on earth.

“Remember that this is what you want. This cock is yours. You’ll get it tonight, in my bed. But right now I’m going to own this orgasm.”

Christ, she was nearly there already and he hadn’t even touched her clit.

“Babe, open your eyes, I need you with me.” She did as he asked and met his gaze, seared with the blue intensity. His palm caressed her ass, then around to the curve of her inner thigh, then back into her core. He found her clit and brushed it lightly. His fingers moved down and dipped into her wetness again, before moving again to her clit, rubbing his finger alongside it.

No one had touched her there with tenderness, with the intention of bringing her pleasure in…she couldn’t remember. Rebel whimpered, actual tears forming in her eyes because it was that goddamn magical.

“Is that how you like it, baby, right there?”

He was moving his finger faster, just a little bit rougher, a tiny move to the left and—

“Yes.”

Oh hell, it was wonderful. He was holding her, fingering her right there in the parking lot. They’d just met. It was so fucking dirty and perfect at the same time.

She was panting. Moaning. Chanting a litany of words: don’t stop, right there, faster, oh my God. It lurked, just out of reach, enormous. She hadn’t touched herself once these last few months since the end and couldn’t believe she was even at a place, in the midst of all this heartache, where she could let go like this and just feel, but she was, and dear God, dear God… And then she wrapped an arm around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss, needing his tongue in her mouth the moment she—

Then it exploded. The goddamn best orgasm of her life. She screamed against his lips, clutching at the hair at the back of his neck. Her body trembled and quaked, her channel pulsed, and she wished like hell his cock had been there for it to hold on to. He held her gently as waves of pleasure rocked her body.

Dazed, she finally blinked and woke up from her fog of bliss. She allowed him to continue to cradle her in his arms, boneless, weightless. A wave of euphoria hit. She hadn’t felt this good, this free, since…she couldn’t remember.

They stopped kissing and stared at each other. Just stared, reverently. Her breathing leveled. She carefully let go of his hair and loosened her death grip, because, holy shit she’d held on a bit too tight.

He continued to stare at her intently, tenderness in his gaze. Their hands roamed, explored. His fingers slid along her cheek, touched her hair and trailed delicately around her ear.

He smiled again, revealing those dimples behind his beard.

She stared at him in awe.

Jesus, he was handsome.

“By the way,” he told her. “My name is Trevor Mason. Get used to saying it, because from now on, you’re screaming my name when you come.