My body is limp as Shaw carries me through the house and up the stairs. I barely get to enjoy the strength of his hold or the flex of his muscles as he takes them two by two and slams the door to my bedroom shut with his foot. My blood still buzzes delectably with the effects of the orgasm he gave me less than thirty seconds ago when he drops me onto the twisted, unmade sheets of my bed.

He looks nowhere but at me when he unapologetically husks, “I need to be inside you, Willow.”

He tears at his tie until it’s hanging loosely around his neck. He rips the buttons on his dress shirt apart with vicious jerks. He shucks his dress pants with efficiency and, having thrown everything haphazardly over the edge of my dresser, stands before me in nothing but his tight, sexy-as-sin navy boxer briefs. When he reaches inside and strokes himself, my whole body liquefies.

Holy shit, he is a male specimen to behold. Swagger. Presence. Looks. Cut lines. Sway. A calm edge that’s innate not learned. He has it all. And he’s eyeing me as if I’m the queen he needs to secure his kingship, his rightful place on the throne. As if I’m his next and only breath.

I swallow a thick knot of desire as he eats every inch of my still-clothed body alive. With every pass he makes my nerve endings flare. My skin feels more sensitive.

“Lose the clothes. All of them.”

Oh, how I want to smart back. Make demands of my own. Like, finish the sentence you left hanging outside. You take risks every day. Take one now. Put your heart on the line, because mine is already there, waiting. I want to believe it was love and jealousy warring in his eyes instead of crazed possessiveness.

“I’m waiting,” he tells me, his voice piqued.

By the way his brows almost kiss his hairline, I’d say I’m waving red at the bull by disobeying. I should do as he asks—I want to even—but that little internal war I battle when he orders me around starts raging, and it wins instead. The need to push him so he’ll pull me along screams so loud I can’t ignore it any more than I’ve been unable to help falling in love with him.

This is what we do, who we are. Why we work.

I lever on my elbows and with a straight face start pressing buttons. “You can’t just walk in here, act like a jerk, and boss me around like you own me, expecting me to strip on command.”

The gradual smile that tilts his lips up is nothing short of wicked sins and promises made.

“I had other plans for you, Goldilocks, like a good spanking until your ass was so red you couldn’t sit for the rest of the day, but I think that clever mouth of yours needs something to keep it busy for a while instead.”

God of all the Gods. He makes me burn.

I go hot everywhere. Blistering flames of iniquity lick my skin, sweetly caressing every inch of it, arousing each nerve ending. Coaxing the dormant vixen out to play his dirty games.

He knew exactly what I was doing and he one-upped me. He also knows he has me exactly where he wants me when I don’t respond.

“This is how it’s going to go, Willow,” he says while dragging his underwear down his muscular legs. When he straightens back up, his cock stands tall and proud, the tip beading with need. “Eyes up here,” he barks, and I have a hard time breaking my stare from his hand’s slow up-and-down caress as if he has no care in the world but driving me out of my fucking mind. Which he’s doing splendidly.

“Willow.” His voice is low, commanding. Irresistible.

I cut my eyes up to his and catch fire at the voracity lining his face. His need is urgent and acute. He’s not playing around. And I love it. God, how I love it.

“You’re going to take off those fucking short shorts and show me how wet that pussy is right now.”

I am. He’s right. My hands are already pushing them down.

“You’re going to lose the shirt, the bra, and that sassy mouth and suck my cock until I’m good and ready to sink it home and fuck you until there is no other thought but how good I feel filling and stretching you.”

Oh yeah. My shirt is over my head. My bra is unclasped, falling down my arms behind me.

Remembering how I sucked him and left him hanging in the hotel room on Thursday night makes my stomach flip. I want to take him in my mouth. Drive him to his knees with lust. Finish him off until he loses every ounce of that cocky self-control he clings to. I squeeze my thighs together to hide the moisture now coating them. Shaw doesn’t miss this because that devilish grin of his turns smug and cunning.

“On your back.”

I obey, my snark lost with my clothes, wanting everything he just guaranteed.

He swings me around so I’m sideways on the bed, grabs a pillow, and tucks it under my hips. He sets my feet on the edge of the mattress and presses my knees open. They lay wide, an exhibit for his viewing pleasure. He takes a step back and lets his eyes run the length of me until I feel thoroughly exposed but incredibly worshipped.

By the time his gaze slams back into mine, my entire body vibrates with raw electricity. Please, please, fucking please is perched on my lips, ready to free-fall. He reaches out and draws a single finger through the heavy dampness between my legs before he dips just the tip of it inside and all that comes out instead is a long, broken mess of a moan.

“Fuck, so ready for me,” he whispers, more to himself than to me.

My hips involuntarily tilt in open invitation, needing so much more than Shaw’s giving me but he is already on the bed, crawling up my body. Dipping between my legs, I jolt at the first touch of his tongue against already swollen tissues. An appreciative manly groan rumbles from him as he tastes me far too briefly before laving his way straight up the center of me. He drifts to the left for a nibble around my nipple, then tastes the tender flesh behind one ear before swirling his tongue in the hollow of my throat. I’m barely breathing as he erotically bites his way across my shoulder and down the ticklish innermost part of my arm before rising above me like a deity. He exudes power and sex appeal, raw and pure.

Burning gaze on me, he places his knees on either side of my head. I moan when he circles his thick length and sweeps his thumb over the tip, wiping away the drops of pre-come that have formed. He runs himself over my lips repeatedly until I open wide, silently urging him to end his merciless teasing. He torments me with his display of dominance until I’m nothing but sharp need. And when he slips his cock inside on a ragged rush of air, I feel all the power he held shift to me.

“My God, you look so right beneath me, your lips wrapped around my dick like that.” He praises me through gritted teeth, making the energy in me pulse and surge. I curl my fingers into the sheets, resisting the urge to grab him by the base and go to town.

Feral eyes latched to mine, he twines his fingers through my hair and leisurely pushes in and out of my mouth. His free hand comes to my throat, gently circling it, holding me the way he wants so he can drive as far in as I can handle.

He searches my face for fear or hesitancy, especially when the ends of his nails slightly pinch into my tender flesh. Only finding compliance, he pushes farther every time until he starts hitting the back of my throat. I never miss a beat, trying to relax my muscles, though I’ve never given head quite like this before.

The way his eyes darken at my submission is positively heady. “Oh yes, beautiful. Just like that. Suck me just like that.”

Thrusting slow and steady and oh so deep, he swells with each pass. He tests how far he can push me, sinking low enough that I feel my throat bulge under his hand at one point. I only encourage him to do it again.

“Men would wage wars over this mouth,” he tells me, his composure slipping faster than a mudslide.

Ecstasy tugs at his eyelids. He fights against it, but I fight him harder. With only my mouth and sheer grit to make him unravel above me, I flick his slit each time he pulls out. I massage him with the flat of my tongue and scrape ever so lightly with my teeth on every descent back in.

“You’re trying to make me come,” he accuses in that growly tenor that means he’s on the verge of losing it.

I can’t smile because my mouth is busy, just as he wanted, but I know the rest of my face must show it because his fingers clench, stinging my scalp. “If you want me to come down your throat, Willow, then I want something back.”

Oh, you’ll get something, all right, Drive By. A mind-melting orgasm that will disintegrate your will and crumble your dominion.

“Agreed?” he asks, but it’s breathy and hoarse. It fills me with pride to know I’m doing this to him. That I can get him to cave to his wants, giving me mine instead. I hollow my cheeks until I feel them rubbing against him as his thrusts start to pick up pace.

“Oh shit. Fuuuck.” His surges are coming faster and with far less finesse. His fingers around my neck grip hard and I gag. He lets up, only for a moment. “Blink twice if that’s a yes,” he croaks.

In five seconds he’s mine, whether I agree or not. But I find I don’t care what he wants. What he asks. All I care about is ruining him for anyone else but me. I need his mastery. I need the way he gets me, breathes me in as if I’m his air, his life. I want the way he’s looking at me now, as if he loves me, to be another pocket of time stolen for my memory banks.

So I blink twice…and that does it.

Every muscle he has tenses and I watch his resolve crumple under the force of mine.

He comes.

Hot.

Hard.

So thick, so much, so fast I can hardly keep up.

I never stop studying him as he lets himself go completely. The strain around his lips and eyes is painful. Breathtaking. He’s utterly beautiful, yet even in this most vulnerable state he still looks formidable and commanding. It’s easy to see how he rules both his world and now mine. I bask in the power shift a little longer, knowing it will be short-lived. Understanding I’m okay with that, too.

Struggling to catch his breath, he still pulses slightly, is still so damn hard I’m convinced he could go again right now. And when the gaze that grabs me and holds me hostage every single time latches on to me again, I melt under it.

I want everything I see in it to be true. Oh, how I want that.

“Hey,” he says sweetly, cupping my cheek before withdrawing.

“Hey,” I give back, wondering how stretched my mouth looks.

“Did I hurt you?” He uses his thumb to wipe around the edges of my lips. I feel saliva, likely mixed with him, smear under it. His gaze falls to my throat, which didn’t feel sore until this very moment. Not that I’ll let him know that.

I try my hardest to make my voice sound normal when I respond, “Not hardly. I mean, you are squeezing the very air from my lungs with your bulky weight, but no biggie.”

He moves so fast it’s comical. It was true—somewhat—but I would have drawn in shallow wisps of air through a bruised neck all day if it meant I got to see more of this softer side of him he rarely shows. I start to laugh when he runs his hands over my body, inspecting me for injuries. When he sees I was only messing with him, his eyes sparkle right before his fingers dig into my sides. He tickles me until I’m squealing and begging him to stop.

“Tell me you’re sorry for scaring me like that.”

“I’m not, I’m not,” I keep crying over and again.

“So many punishments coming, Goldilocks,” he whispers in my ear at one point. “You’re just digging yourself in deeper with every lie.”

I love this carefree side of him, but finally I can’t take any more and I give. “I’m sorry!” I yell.

I’m breathless, still gasping for fresh air when he stretches out beside me. He’s panting and we both lie still for a second, catching our wind. Then he slides his arm underneath my limp body and tucks me in close.

“You’re very ticklish.”

“You’re very mean,” I say, poking him in the chest. He quickly grabs my hand, trapping it between his. He places it against his heart, palm down, his on top to hold it in place. The gesture is sweet and unexpected, especially after he just fucked me like a man exorcising demons. It makes my eyes prick.

“So I didn’t hurt you, then, right?”

I tip my head up. He’s waiting expectantly. His concern is genuine and unnecessary, but for some reason, it only endears him to me more. He loves me. I know he does. He may not be able to say it, but I see it. I feel it. He’s as scared to put sound to it as I am.

“It was incredible,” I tell him honestly.

One side of his lip curls, just a little. At first I think it’s his signature cocky move, but I quickly realize it’s not. It’s relief. My words seem to knead and soothe his muscles as he slowly relaxes. Blowing out a short breath, he whispers, “Good.”

There’s no way I could suppress my grin, even if I wanted to. I’m over the moon in the middle of the day. The sunshine Reid stole is back and it’s warm and balmy. I’m sure I’m glowing.

And as much as I hate to dampen it, I’m wondering what the hell he’s doing here. It’s not even 2:00 in the afternoon. He told me last night he had a full day, especially since he took three days in a row out of his schedule to focus exclusively on me.

I push up to my elbow, resting my cheek in my palm. He’s watching me with avid interest. Drawing little circles around the hard planes of his chest, I try for lighthearted when I ask, “So, Drive By…playing hooky again? This is becoming a nasty habit.”

His face instantly darkens, as if a thundercloud suddenly swept in.

“Not that I’m complaining,” I add quickly, leaning in so our lips barely graze. “A girl could get used to afternoon delights like this.”

I realize that he’s been here for nearly forty-five minutes, and two orgasms later, I’ve yet to have his mouth on mine. Before he can respond, I remedy that.

Setting my lips to his, our kiss starts out tentative, me doing most of the work. He’s stiff, resistant even, but I won’t let him deny me this. Clamping his lower lip between my teeth, I bite down and pull back, opening him up to me. He tastes of authority with a hint of desperation.

But the second our tongues touch he takes the kiss over.

Then I’m on my back, my head between his strong hands. Firm lips press to mine, his tongue frantic, searching. His length is hardening against my belly so fast I start to ache. He’s dominating and controlling and my whole being sighs at the feeling of warmth flooding through it.

I start to writhe under him, trying to position him where I need, when he breaks our lip lock and leans back. I reach up for him out of instinct, but he holds me still and I know it’s time to make good on the promise I made only minutes ago. My heartbeat, which had already soared, reluctantly comes back down. He parts his lips, readying to say something, but before the question is even out of his mouth, I know what it is.

“What was he doing here?”

I almost want to laugh at the way he never says Reid’s name, but the thing he doesn’t understand—because I haven’t told him—is the way I felt about Reid pales in comparison to how I feel about him. He has nothing to worry about, though if I were in his shoes I’m sure I’d feel the same way.

“Are we going to have this conversation with you restraining me?”

“Do we need to?”

“Shaw.” I sigh. “It’s not what you think.”

“Isn’t it? Because I’m pretty fucking sure it’s exactly what I think.”

“Which is?”

His lips thin out and when he talks again, his exhales feel like sharp, angry arrows when they fall on me. “Cut the shit, Willow. I want to know why he was here and I want to know now.”

I can’t help it. It’s the wrong thing to do because I see how fast his thread is unraveling, but he looks so dark and serious and I’ve never dealt with such an overpowering presence like his…that a giggle escapes. First one. Then another. The stormier his face becomes, the harder I laugh.

“Answer the question,” he demands.

I roar with laughter. His hold on my wrists tightens in warning, which has the opposite effect he wanted.

“I—” I gulp air, trying to calm myself. I can’t.

“What is so goddamn funny?”

“You,” I manage to wail through fits of giggles.

Shaking his head, he growls, “God, you are one frustrating woman.”

It takes me another few seconds but I eventually pull together some measure of composure. “You only find me frustrating because I don’t bend over backward for you like everyone else.”

He regards me for a few beats. “You’re so wrong, Willow.” He says that with such gravity, I feel weighted down. Dipping low, he runs his nose lightly along my cheek. Placing his lips against my ear, his simple sentence about does me in. “That’s what I find fascinating about you.”

Goo.

I feel like a mound of sticky goo.

Turning my head slightly, I place my lips to his cheek and rest them there for a few moments. “You’re right. He does want me back,” I confess softly, knowing it will make him angry, but also knowing I can’t keep it from him either. He’s not blind. Or stupid. He remains perfectly still as I continue. “But I don’t want him back. Even if I wasn’t with you, there was a reason we didn’t make it. That reason hasn’t changed.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“Yes. I made it very clear I am with you.”

“It makes me crazed,” he mumbles against my neck, laying wet kisses along my collarbone.

“I know,” I breathe. I want to apologize, but I’m not sorry. Not in the slightest. I’m glad he’s jealous. Casual leaves no room for crazy.

“Willow.” My name is thick and textured with longing. “I don’t want to lose you or what we have.”

My heart surges, pushing against my breastbone in the most deliciously painful way. It’s not in Shaw’s personality to be so insecure.

Crazed. I’ll take it.

Wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders I run my nails along his roped back muscles, enjoying the flex and sway of each one. “You won’t.” I add, “I know you don’t want to hear it but if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be together right now.”

I expect him to deny it. To tell me he would have found a way for us to be together regardless of Reid’s involvement, but he doesn’t. And I love him even more for being honest instead of trying to feed me a line.

“I know. I fucking hate it and rejoice in it at the same time.”

He moves restlessly on top of me, kisses turning hungry and feverish. His lips roam liberally, sucking and licking and nipping until I’m edgy and out of my mind with need. Deft fingers pluck at my nipples and play between my thighs, testing my readiness briefly before he’s back on me. Spreading my legs. Pushing inside. Driving us both up fast.

We are wordless, nearly soundless, our bodies moving in perfect synchronization until we both reach the crest and peak together. As his hazy gaze struggles to remain glued to mine while we navigate our passage through pleasure, I know there is no gray area between us. Everything is crystal clear.

I am his.

He is mine.

There is an us.

It’s love, without a doubt, no matter if we say it or not.

What started out as a job, a way to earn enough money to care for my ill mother has completely changed my life in ways I wasn’t expecting.

All weekend I questioned myself and what I was doing. I doubted me. I doubted him. I doubted we had a real future ahead of us. I let others feed it. Because how can a foundation cemented in lies and deceit not eventually crack under the power of them? But after this afternoon, I don’t doubt anymore. We’ve turned this into something far, far more. Somehow over the past two months, we’ve both unconsciously been laying new groundwork, this one layered in truth and honesty.

Now I just have to figure out how to navigate this foreign territory I’ve found myself in because as much as I want us to work, I know stripping down to the bare bone will be the hardest challenge I’ve ever faced.