Page 10 of Mountain Beast

My movements slow, and the music shifts to something… Sultry. Hot.

As if he can feel my speculative stare, Briggs straightens. His shoulders seem to grow broader as an aura of tension radiates from him.

There's a man who knows how to be bad.

A man who doesn’t give a fuck what people think about him.

He must have tagged along with Davie, Cormac, Deacon, and Connor. That's the only explanation for the man’s brooding presence, since this is definitely not his scene.

Wholesome fun. Small town celebrations.

According to Davie, who had invited me to join them weeks ago, Suitor’s Crossing is always celebrating something—a marked contrast from High Ridge. I don’t know what exactly this street dance is celebrating, but I’m here for it. Living for the freedom of dancing however I want in a crowd of people.

Spying Cormac and Davie five feet away, dancing in their own little world, I decide to approach the scowling grump who I can’t get out of my head. We haven’t seen each other since that night at the salvage yard, but with Davie and my gossiping patients, he’s never far from my mind.

Adrenaline pumps in my veins, hyping up my courage, as I cross the crowded street.

“Surprised to see you here,” I tease once we’re within hearing range over the loud music emanating from speakers neatly hidden in planters on the sidewalk.

He harrumphs and crosses his arms, causing the muscles in his forearms to bulge beneath the rolled sleeves of his button down.

Jeez, what is it about a man's forearms that's so fucking hot?

You think everything about this man is hot, my inner schoolmarm reprimands.

Despite his non-response, I push on, “You don't seem happy, though.”

“And what? You’re offering to do something about that?” Briggs taunts.

My eyes narrow. Once again, lust swirls with annoyance.

He thinks he knows me. Thinks I'm the goody-two-shoes my parents created me to be. Thinks I'm too stuck up to let go and be spontaneous.

“What if I am?”

His brows furrow as he studies my belligerent stance. His dark gaze lingers on my chest—still heaving with exertion from all the dancing and the wet heat of summer—then the exposed skin of my thighs beneath my shorts.

“Careful, valkyrie, you don't know what game you're playing.”

My jaw clenches at his lofty tone.

“Oh, really?” I grab his thick wrist, ignoring the strong thrum of his pulse beneath my fingertips, and drag him down the sidewalk, until we can dip into a shadowed alley away from an audience.

I may want to be bad, but I’m not fucking stupid.

Exhibitionism is hot in theory but detrimental to my reputation in reality.

Shoving Briggs against a brick wall, my hands flex on his broad chest. “Maybe it's you who doesn't know what you're getting into.”

My fingers trail lower over his firm abdomen and stop on the button of his jeans. So far, he's gone along with my bold ploy, letting me tug and push like I'm strong enough to move a mountain like him if he chose not to budge.

“By all means, explain it to me.” His arms lift in the air in a careless shrug. Doubt rings through the night—smug doubt—and it tips me over the edge.

“Why don’t I show you, instead?” Sinking to my knees, I undo his jeans with purposeful snaps and the careful draw of his zipper. “Actions speak louder than words, right?”

And, apparently, my actions dictate that I suck his dick in a public space where anyone can walk by and see me on my knees for the town’s bad boy.

Good girl, who?