Page 31 of The Fire We Crave

And it’s everything I ever read about.

It’s angry yet filled with the kind of passion that sweeps you up and knocks you over into the tumble of a huge wave of emotion.

My treacherous body capitulates to every small movement.

His lips stroke my mouth; I open.

His hands wrap around my waist; I throw mine around his neck.

I struggle to see anything beyond the way he feels against me.

When I step up against him, his cock lengthens and hardens against my stomach. His whole body envelops me, showing just how disparate our size difference is.

He doesn’t ask. He takes. But I’m wholeheartedly a willing participant. If anything, I want more. Every part of my body meets Smoke. If he began to strip my clothes to take me on the parched ground, I’d let him.

“Quinn,” he mutters against my lips as his hands roam my body, familiarizing themselves with my shape.

I’m gentle where he’s injured, but I slide my hand beneath his cut, and I’m immersed in the scent of leather and tobacco and him.

“Shit. No,” Smoke says suddenly, lightly gripping my wrists before pushing me away from him.

The shift in his expression from need to disgust churns my stomach.

“I’m sorry,” I say, almost on autopilot, even though I’m not a hundred percent sure what I’m sorry for.

Hell, I’m not even sure how I fell headfirst into that kiss.

Smoke shakes his head. “Not your fault. Just—we can’t do that again.”

Unable to come up with anything else to say, I blurt one word: “Okay.”

Four letters that do absolutely nothing to convey the storm raging inside me right now.

“Okay,” he repeats.

But as I watch him stride into the house, ignoring the glass Shane left on the step, I know the fragile truce we were building is broken. And I wonder if we’ll ever truly be okay again.

9

SMOKE

“Ifucking hate being inside,” I complain as we hit Denver’s city limits in Catfish’s truck two days later.

Catfish dips his head to look up at the clear blue sky. “I hear you. Being caged isn’t my preferred method of transport. And it’s usually this time of year when I start getting that feeling of counting down the number of great riding days left in the year.”

The windows are down, some nasty rock is playing, and I’d rather be anywhere than cooped up in this truck, no matter how tricked out it is.

He picked me up outside the medical center where I had my dressing changed. While I was there, I missed three more calls from my boss, who has now reverted to brutally direct texts.

Michael:Where the fuck are you? Call in now.

Michael:Don’t make me discipline you for this bullshit too.

Michael:You can’t ignore this shit.

The truth is, I can. And I fully intend to. What are they going to do? Arrest me for not showing up to work?

“The nurse said I might be able to get rid of the dressing at the next appointment.”

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