Page 59 of Desperate Actions

“Good,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist, a slow, soothing movement that does nothing to calm me down.

Then—his next words?

They destroy me.

“Because you’re mine now, Pixie.”

His voice dips lower, dark, absolute.

“And I have every intention of taking care of you for the rest of my life.”

I go still.

The world tilts, shifts, realigns itself around those words.

Mine.

Rest of my life.

Sammy Ramirez just said that to me.

I feel breathless.

Turned on.

Completely wrecked.

Did I say all that out loud?

I must have.

Because Sammy hums, a deep, rumbly sound, one that goes straight to my core, melts me from the inside out.

And I swear my body reacts to him like a live wire, my nipples tightening, a distinct, undeniable slickness pooling between my thighs.

“Fuck,” he moans, low and raw, his fingers dragging my chair closer to his.

Before I can process what’s happening, he cups the back of my neck, fingers threading into my damp hair, tilting my face up so I have no choice but to look at him.

His hazel eyes burn into mine, molten and hungry.

“I can’t resist you when you look at me like that,” he whispers, his breath warm against my lips, his body heat swallowing me whole.

I shiver.

“Then don’t,” I breathe.

His chest rises sharply, his control cracking apart.

I see it.

I feel it.

The moment he loses the battle with himself.

Need unfurls inside me, slow and hot and all-consuming, and I swear I tremble like a newborn lamb in his arms.

Then—finally, finally—he lowers his head and claims my mouth.

---