Page 44 of Ranger's Justice

His fingers hook under my chin, forcing me to look at him. His touch isn’t rough, but it’s firm—commanding. “You listen to me, Marlow.” His voice: low, deadly, inexpressible. “This isn’t on you.”

I shake my head, my throat tightening. “Rush…”

“I mean it.” His grip on my chin tightens just slightly, keeping my eyes locked on his. “You think I don’t get it? You think I haven’t carried that kind of guilt before? Wishing I’d gotten there sooner, wishing I’d seen what was right in front of me?” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “That line of thinking would've driven me mad long ago.”

His thumb strokes over my jaw, rough, calloused, a reminder of the kind of man he is—one who fights, one who protects. One who feels.

I exhale; my anger wavering under the steady weight of him. “Then how do you stop it?” My voice is barely above a whisper.

Rush is silent for a moment. Then he steps even closer, until his heat is pressing into me, until his scent—leather and smoke and something dark—wraps around me. “You don’t,” he murmurs. “You just find something stronger to hold on to.”

Something stronger.

I don’t know if it’s the way his voice drops, the way the world narrows to just him, or the way I can feel every breath he takes. But suddenly, the emotions I’ve been trying to control snap loose.

I grab his shirt, fist it in my hands, pulling him closer before I even realize what I’m doing. “I hate that you make sense,” I whisper.

Rush lets out a low, rough chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, well, I hate that you make me feel things I shouldn’t.”

Then he kisses me.

It’s not soft. It’s not gentle. It’s hard, desperate, fueled by something deeper than lust—something that feels a hell of a lot like need.

I don’t hesitate. I kiss him back just as fiercely, just as wildly, my nails digging into his chest as I push into him. I need this. I need him. I need something to hold on to, something that makes me forget, something that drowns out the noise in my head.

Rush growls against my mouth, his hands sliding down my back, gripping my hips, pulling me flush against him. The second I feel him—hot, solid, ready—a shudder rolls through me.

He backs me against the counter, pinning me there, his mouth dragging down my throat, his teeth scraping just enough to make my breath hitch. “You need an anchor?” he mutters, his voice rough, dangerous. “You need something stronger?” His fingers grip my waist, hard enough to leave bruises. “Then let me be that.”

I gasp, my head tipping back, giving him access to whatever he wants. His hands slide under my shirt, yanking it over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

“You’re still fighting me,” he murmurs, dragging his lips down to the swell of my breast, nipping at my skin through my bra. “Still trying to keep control.” He tugs at the fabric with his teeth, his hands moving to my jeans, popping the button free in one swift motion. “But that’s not what you need right now, is it?”

I barely manage a breathless, “No.”

Rush pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his pupils blown, his wolf barely caged beneath the surface. “Then stop thinking, Cassidy.” His voice is dark, commanding. “Let go.”

Then he lifts me onto the counter, spreading my thighs, stepping between them, and takes exactly what we both need.

Rush doesn’t hesitate. The second I let go, the second I give in, he’s all over me. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me open, pulling me against him like he can’t get close enough. His mouth is on mine again, rough, desperate, dominating.

I should push back, fight for control, but I don’t. For the first time, I relinquish control. I want to feel. I want to drown in this, in him, in the fire raging between us.

He rips my jeans down my legs, dragging my panties with them, the fabric barely hitting the floor before his hands are on me again, fingers digging into my hips as he pulls me to the very edge of the counter. His body is solid between my thighs, his heat searing into me, his scent overwhelming my senses.

“Rush,” I gasp as he trails his lips down my throat, his stubble scraping against my skin, sending a delicious shiver straight through me.

His hands tighten, his grip possessive, demanding. “You need me to remind you who’s in charge here?” His voice is gravel, dark and thick with promise.

I nod, because I do.

A growl rumbles in his chest. “Words, Cassidy.”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t waste another second. His belt clinks almost inaudibly as he yanks down his jeans, pressing his cock against my entrance.

I don’t even have time to brace myself before he thrusts inside me, filling me in one deep, unrelenting stroke.

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