Page 33 of The Best Shot

“Yaz,” he rasped.

“Yes. Now.”

He kissed down my neck, his hand at the button of my pants, dragging them impatiently down my legs. I clawed at his belt, yanked it open, shoved everything down just enough. He was already hard, already leaking when I got my hand around him.

“Condom,” I gasped.

He handed it over. I ripped it open and rolled it down his length, hands steady even if I wasn’t.

Hale didn’t waste time. He grabbed my ass and lifted me, pinning me to the door. I wrapped my legs around his waist, ankles locked behind his back.

The first thrust stole the breath out of me.

“Hale.”

He swallowed the sound with his mouth and fucked me like a man possessed. Hard, deep, punishing strokes that made the door rattle in its frame. My back scraped against the metal with every slam of his hips. Skin slapped loud and wet. Sweat slicked between us. His dick stretched me so good I couldn’t think, just feel every thick inch of him dragging in and out.

The handle rattled once.

“Occupied,” he barked, never breaking pace, voice gravel-rough.

Whoever it was moved on.

“Hale,” I whimpered.

He kissed me then, almost sweetly, then slowed. The change in pace was worse. Meaner. He held me there and dragged pleasure out of me with grinding strokes that made my whole body shake.

“Take as long as you like, darlin’,” he rasped against my neck. “I got you.”

His hand slipped between us. Fingers found my clit, rough circles that built instead of chased, pressure that lingered just long enough to make me twitch under it.

I couldn’t get away from it. Couldn’t outrun it.

I came hard, pussy clenching and fluttering around his dick, biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming the whole damn bar down.

He groaned low, thrust twice more, erratic, then locked deep. He pulsed inside me as he came, breath shattering against my skin.

We stayed like that, panting, trembling, his forehead pressed to mine.

The handle jiggled again, pulling the outside world back in.

He set me down carefully. My knees wobbled.

We fumbled clothes back into place, all sticky fingers and crooked zippers and the metallic tang of sex in the air. In the mirror, my reflection looked wrecked and reckless. Eyes too bright, lips puffy.

“Yasmine—”

“Thank you,” I said. It sounded wrong the second it left my mouth.

His face changed.

“This is…” I swallowed. “We’re good. Right?”

“We’re always good,” he said after a beat, careful with the words, like I was something wild deciding whether to run.

I nodded, unlocked the door before he could say more and stepped out.

The hallway felt colder. I walked through the bar without looking at the booth. Outside, the night air slapped my face, and I welcomed the sting.