Page 62 of Hades

My head snapped toward him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I didn’t go home. I stayed on your porch.”

“Why?” The word came out breathless. Stupid. I hated how much I wanted his answer to matter.

“Because I wasn’t leaving until I talked to you. Made you understand what the fuck was happening here.”

“And what exactly do you think is happening here?” My pulse thrummed in my throat. I believed in second chances when the situation required it. Ghosting someone after making them come in their kitchen and promising them a date wasn’t one of those situations.

Sure, there could have been an emergency, and no, he didn’t have my phone number. But it had been a week without a single word. Hell, he could have mailed a fucking letter and it would’ve arrived sooner than him showing up yesterday.

“I’m claiming you,” he said, as if that explained everything.

I knew what he meant. I’d read the books. I’d done the research before moving next door to a motorcycle club. Claiming meant ownership. Possession. It meant I would belong to him in a way that went beyond dating or fucking. It meant protection and territory and violence if anyone touched what was his.

It meant I would be his.

“And do I have a say in this claiming?”

“Nope.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. His arrogance was astounding, but it was also sexy as hell. The confidence. The certainty. The way he looked at me like I was already his and he was just waiting for me to catch up. I shook my head and stood.

“Sorry, Brock, I don’t want to be claimed,” I said as I stepped onto the porch and reached for the door.

He moved faster than I thought a man his size could. In seconds, my coffee cup clattered to the floor and my back was pressed against the wall, his lips on mine. Ceramic shattered. Coffee splashed across the wood. I didn’t care.

Everything else disappeared.

Every thought, every protest, every doubt that what I’d felt last time was merely a biological reaction—it all fell away as his tongue traced the seam of my lips. His teeth nipped my lower lip as he sought entrance. I tried to deny him, but damn, this man knew how to kiss.

He tasted like coffee and something darker. Something that made my pussy clench and my nipples harden. Something that made me want to climb him like a tree and let him fuck me right here against the side of my house where anyone could see.

His hands fisted in my skirt as he pulled it up, exposing my legs. The morning air hit my thighs, cool and shocking. His knee nudged between my legs and his fingers grazed the edge of my panties, tickling my ass, drawing a whimper from my throat. The sound was pathetic. Needy. I hated it and craved more of it at the same time.

“The way your body reacts to my touch has my dick weeping for a taste.” His teeth pinched my earlobe after he whispered those dirty words. My hands gripped his shoulders while he kissed a trail down my jaw to my neck. His tongue blazed a path down my throat to my collarbone, and further, until he was dipping into my cleavage.

My fingers dug into his leather cut. The material was rough under my palms. Real. Solid. Something to anchor me while my world tilted and spun.

He pulled down the neck of my shirt, exposing my braless breast, and sucked my nipple into his mouth. The wet heat made me gasp. Made my back arch. Made me forget every reason I had to push him away. He caught my leg as I hooked it around his hip, desperate to get closer. My body was on fire. Red and orange flashed behind my closed eyelids. Colors more beautiful, more vibrant than any sunrise I’d ever seen.

He lifted me off the porch, pinning me against the side of the house as my legs wrapped around his waist. The wood scraped against my back. Rough. Painful. Perfect. My moans grew louder with every touch. Cerberus pawed at the door, desperate to protect me from what must have sounded like pain.

But I wasn’t being hurt.

I was being claimed.

Possessed.

Owned.

Brock ripped my panties away and swallowed my gasp with a kiss so scorching that nothing else mattered but the feel of his fingers sliding inside me. The fabric tore. The elastic snapped against my hip. The sting was nothing compared to the pleasure of him pushing inside me.

“So fucking wet for me, my queen.”

There it was again. My queen. Like it rolled easily off his lips. Like he’d been calling me that his entire life. Like I’d always belonged to him and he was just now coming to collect what was his.

“Your body is telling me it wants to be claimed, Lettie. It wants to be ravished and conquered.”