Son of a bitch.

I growl, pulling back from the fucking door and rubbing my head. Fuckin’ walked right into that one. This girl…fuck.

Trouble. Five foot, seven inches and I’d wager about one-hundred-twenty pounds of sweet. Fucking. Trouble. And not even just the fun kinda trouble either. Nah, she’s “ruin my whole day, fuck up my whole shit” kind of trouble.

So why are you fucking hard right now?

And I am. Fuck if I even know why, what with my head with an imprint of the damn wood grain of the bathroom door still on it. Maybe it’s the challenge. Maybe it’s knowing this little filly can be tamed — cause I have done it — but that it ain’t gonna be easy. Maybe it’s that sass and that attitude.

Cause let me tell you, if you thought either those signs would keep me away from her? If you’d thought her smacking my goddamn head on the doorframe, or hell, putting a fucking shotgun in my face would throw me off?

Oh, you’d be way wrong. Way the fuck wrong. Like I said, maybe I just like a challenge. Maybe it just ain’t as much fun if I’m not holding on tight and riding as hard as I can.

The bathroom door swings open, and she comes waltzing out, smirking at me like she “got” me. But she’s wrong. Cause it’s me that’s got her. I mean, literally, seeing as she’s chained to my damn wrist.

And yet, it just might be that she does have me — like she’s got this damn spell on me or something. I’m trying to block it out and tell myself to stop being such a fuckin’ pussy about. I’m trying to tell myself that one drunk romp in the back of my truck after a night of tequila and bar fights is just exactly that — a one-time drunken fling.

And maybe it would be, except that that drunken fling is now locked to me. Attached to me. Near me, constantly. She breezes past me, and I swear, I can smell the scent of her skin, or her hair or something. Whatever it is, it wafts over me, and suddenly, it’s like I’m going full caveman. It’s something primal that tugs at the core of me, like the scent of her triggers all sorts of memories from last night.

And instantly, I’m hard.

Not just hard either, I mean fucking throbbing, pulsing, aching against my jeans, my balls boiling with cum between my thighs kind of hard. She waltzes past me, that fiery red hair tumbling down her shoulders, that sassy glint in her eyes, and that little smug look on her pouty lips.

And instantly, I fucking want her.

It’s like pheromones or some shit, because instantly, any other thought in my head fucking evaporates, and all I want is another taste. I want her moaning for me again, spreading those pretty thighs and wrapping them around my hips as I sink into her hot little cunt. I want that pussy riding my chin, her sweet girl-cum dripping across my tongue until I’m drunk off of her.

And since it was dark last night? Well, I wanna know if those carpets match the drapes. I want to know if that soft little strip of hair above her pussy is as fiery hot as what’s tumbling down around her face.

Fuck, I don’t even know her name. I still don’t even know her name. And she doesn’t know mine. Maybe that’s part of what’s making it so hot — this nameless Bonnie and Clyde thing we’ve got going on. She brushes past me, the scent of her hooks into my fucking soul, and suddenly, I’m not holding back anymore.

She gasps as I whirl, yanking my arm and making her tumble back into me. She falls into my arms, her eyes wide as I pull her close.

“Just what in the hell do you think you’re—”

“This.”

My lips crush to hers, and it’s like jumping into fire. Instantly, it all comes back — the taste of her mouth, the feel of those lips on mine, the way she tries to keep it inside but moans anyways. I kiss her hard and fierce, pushing her back until we crash into the wall behind her.

And that’s when she finally breaks away, gasping as she shoves me back.

“You arrogant ass!”

Oh, she’s trying to be indignant, and act all flustered. But she’s doing a shit job of selling, and I’m not buying. Not when I see that green fire roaring in her eyes. Not when I see the way her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, like she’s tasting the kiss she just broke away from. I see the heat in her face, and the way her body warms — the way she subconsciously arches towards me as her eyes lock right on mine.

“We gonna pretend both of us weren’t just dying for that to happen again, or can we just skip the bullshit and go right to the part where I do that again?”

“Kiss me again and just see what happens,” she whispers fiercely.

“You daring me to find out?”

She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip, swallowing.

“Cause sweetheart, I’m a betting man, and if we’re putting a wager on this, I’m going to say that me kissing you again is gonna mean two things. One, you getting dripping wet — and I mean more than we both know you already are.”

Her jaw drops, and I can see she’s about to say something, but I stop her, moving closer and pressing my body against hers. She gasps quietly, but she doesn’t push me back. No, I see the fire roaring in her eyes, and the raw lust written all over her face, and I know.

…I know she’s already mine.

“And two?” she whispers.

I raise a brow.

“You said kissing me again is going to mean two things,” she says, her voice husky and rough with her barely contained desire.

I grin slowly, my jaw tight and my cock pulsing against my jeans.

“Well two is that once I do, there ain’t no power on earth that’s gonna get me to stop kissing you.” Our eyes blaze into each other's, our pulses racing, and our bodies slowly pressing together harder.

“You still want to dare me, princess?” I growl lowly. “You still want to see if I—”

Her lips sear to mine, her whimper drowning in the kiss as we come crashing together all over again.

Hard.