Page 95 of California Wild

“I’m yours,” she whispered. Raw. True.

His mouth crashed over hers—savage and perfect—and then he gave it to her. All of it. Him.

“I’m holding you to that,” he growled against her lips, each thrust sharper, meaner, deeper. “Forever.”

The world shattered.

There was nothing left but heat and pressure, skin on skin, the slap of water and slick tile and the ragged sound of their breath tangled together.

Jesse’s body pressed her higher, pinned her tighter, controlled her completely. His hands gripped her thighs, her hips, her ass—holding her in place, locking her to him as if he needed her anchored just to keep from flying apart.

Her spine arched against the glass, forehead knocking back, steam swirling around them like a spell. She could barely breathe. Could barely think.

But he wasn’t stopping.

He was relentless. His rhythm brutal. His body a weapon, crafted to destroy her in the best fucking way. He knew every nerve ending. Every gasp. Every tremble. He knew the exact angle to hit that made her whimper, the exact snap of his hips that made her vision go white.

And he used it.

Used her.

Her nails clawed at his back, scraping down the muscle, needing something to hold onto, anything that would ground her in a moment that felt like falling off a cliff.

Jesse adjusted his grip. Changed the angle.

And she shattered.

“Jesse—”

Her voice broke on his name, pure wreckage spilling from her lips.

He smirked, breath ragged. “That’s it. Come for me, Hayley. Come now.”

His voice was pure sin—gravel and sex and control—and she couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t even slow it.

The wave slammed into her, hard and fast and fucking unforgiving, tearing through her like fire, like light, like him.

She fell apart in his arms, breath gone, thoughts gone, her whole world narrowed to the sharp, perfect thrust of his hips and the hoarse, ruined groan he let out when he followed her.

Jesse’s body locked against hers, his face buried in her neck, a deep, primal sound rumbling in his chest as he came, hard, shaking with the force of it.

His arms were still holding her. Crushing her.

Keeping her safe even while he wrecked her.

And in the thick, humid aftermath, when their breath still hadn’t returned and their skin was still fused by heat and sweat and steam, Hayley felt the weight of it—

What it meant.

What it had always meant.

Jesse Navarro didn’t just fuck.

He claimed.

And she’d let him. Again. Always.

Because here, in his arms, she wasn’t Dead Run Riot.

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