Page 17 of Claimed By Lock

I don't know how long we stand there. Long enough for the shaking to stop. Long enough for my heartbeat to sync with his.

When I pull back, his eyes are hard. Cold. The eyes of the man who made Colt back down with nothing but a look.

"Tell me everything."

I tell him. The open door. Colt in the shadows. The threats about sending a message. The way he grabbed me.

Lock listens without interrupting. When I finish, he's quiet for a long moment.

"He's not going to touch you again."

"Lock—"

"I mean it." He cups my face in his hands. "Whatever it takes. He's not getting near you."

I should argue. Tell him I can handle this myself, that I've been taking care of myself for years.

But I'm so tired of fighting alone.

"Okay," I whisper.

Surprise flickers across his face. "Okay?"

"Okay." The word comes out quiet. Certain. "I'm done pretending I have to handle everything myself." I meet his eyes. "That terrifies me. But I'm doing it anyway."

The hard edges soften, and I see the man underneath — the one who texted me goodnight, who asked permission before he kissed me, who stayed until morning.

"Josie." My name sounds reverent on his lips. "You have no idea what that means."

"Show me."

The kiss starts tender, but I don't want tender. I want to burn. I want to feel something other than the cold dread Colt left in my chest.

I pull Lock closer, fist my hands in his shirt, pour everything into the kiss until tender catches fire. He groans against my mouth and his grip tightens on my hips, andyes— that's what I need. His hands replacing the memory of Colt's.

I push him backward. He goes, letting me steer us down the hall, into the bedroom. When his knees hit the mattress I push again and he sits, looking up at me with those dark eyes. Waiting. Letting me take what I need.

I straddle his lap, my knees sinking into the mattress on either side of him. His hands come up to grip my thighs, steadying me, and even that small touch sends heat flooding through me. I can feel him hard beneath me, straining against his jeans, and I roll my hips just to watch his jaw clench.

"Josie—"

"I need this." I pull my shirt over my head. His eyes drop to my breasts, still in my bra, and his grip on my thighs tightens. "I need to feel you. I need to feelsomethingthat isn't fear."

He reaches up and unhooks my bra with one hand. It falls away and then his mouth is on me, hot and wet, and I arch into him with a moan. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him against me while his tongue circles my nipple.

I'm grinding against him now, chasing friction through too many layers of fabric. He's making these low sounds against my skin, hungry and desperate, and knowing I'm doing that to him — that I'm making him lose that legendary control — makes me even wetter.

"Off," I gasp, tugging at his shirt. "I need — everything off."

We break apart long enough to strip. Shirts, jeans, underwear — all of it gone in a tangle of urgent hands. Then I'm back in his lap, skin against skin, and the feel of his cock pressed between us makes us both groan.

I reach between us and wrap my hand around him. He hisses through his teeth, his hips jerking up into my grip. I stroke him slowly, watching his face — the way his eyes flutter closed, the way his throat works when he swallows.

"Keep that up and this ends before it starts."

"Good." I stroke him again, twist my wrist at the top. "I want you desperate. I want you as wrecked as I am."

His eyes snap open. Something dark and hungry flares in them.