Page 22 of Throttle

Tank places the pool stick down and starts making his way toward us, but the man I desire—the man who is glaring at me while advancing—raises a hand to stop him. “I got this, brother.” Throttle’s enraged voice has me wincing, and before I know it, I’m being yanked off the prospect’s lap and into a warm, familiar chest.

“You’re welcome,” Brass mouths to me. What did that mean?

“I’ll fucking deal with you later.” He aims a finger at Brass and then I’m lifted off the ground and upside down.

Oh hell no.

I pound at Throttle’s back. “Put me down!” I yell, being forced to stare at the wooden floor. “Or I’ll kick your ass.”

“I’d love to see you try, my rose.”

This is not a good position right now. His strong shoulders are pressing into my stomach, and I might vomit if he continues. I strike with more force, but it’s like beating a stone wall.

“I’ll put you down once we get to my room.”

Uh, no.

“I am not going back to your room!”

“Oh, yes you are. You’re done tonight. You and this little game.”

Game? He’s the one being childish, thinking he can control me.

We step into the pleasantly scented darkness, and Throttle switches on the light, throwing me onto his bed. To be honest, I'm not as upset about being here as he thinks I am. But I huff out an annoyed breath anyway and get up to argue with him, but the room spins, and I let my body fall back down on his inviting sheets.

I can't resist taking in the scent as I press my face against the cool silk.

“What the hell were you thinking?! I swear to God, Tequila, you’re pissing me off tonight.”

I want to shout. I desire to scream. But I’m extremely drunk and exhausted. And his bed is way too comfy.

As I bend my knee and raise my leg, my dress rides up, allowing Throttle a glimpse at my panties. The lace is so delicate that the air passes through effortlessly. It was accidental, but now that I've done it, I don’t regret it.

He whispers. “Fuck me.”

But all I can do is smile, fueled by an overwhelming surge of confidence. For just a second, I close my eyes, yearning to be lost in his aura, but the bed adjusts. One minute I’m letting myself drift off in the safety of Throttle’s room, the next, he’s touching my bare leg. So light. My body erupts, and I let out an uncontrollable moan of pleasure.

He stops and gazes at me before resuming, running his rough hands up my thigh.

I tilt my head, arching my back toward the ceiling.

Keep going. Please keep going.

The way his calloused and rough palms touch my skin is pure perfection. They’re overworked and harsh and I’m begging him to never stop.

While maintaining eye contact, he touches the inside of my leg. With my breath, hot and heavy, I swear to Jesus I want to burst.

His piercing brown eyes lock onto mine while he unhooks the strap of my shoe and removes it. I understand why women will be Throttle's one-night stand if this is how he undresses them.

He performs the same action with the other high heel. It’s seductive and intimate.

As soon as he’s finished removing the torture chambers off my feet, he snatches my ankles and pulls me closer. My boobs almost smashing against his chest as we share the same breath. My dress is bunched at my waist. If he notices, he doesn’t let on. But just one second later, his jaw twitches in frustration and I yelp when he picks me up and sets me on the floor.

“Hold on to me. I’m going to help you out of this thing, okay?”

Half naked and embarrassed, I should run. Leave this room and never turn back.

My heart races as I rest my head on the curve of his neck. Breathing him in, he traces his fingers up my spine, unzipping my dress and gliding over my bare flesh. Heat from the burning contact ignites throughout me.

---