Page 25

The nickname sends warmth curling low in my belly. I should hate how easily he affects me. Instead, I lean into it, just a little. “And I think you’re good at cornering women in empty rooms, Switch.”

A slow, dangerous smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. The first real one I’ve seen directed at me like this. It transforms his whole face—makes the hard lines soften just enough to remind me he’s a man, not just an officer I have to obey. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs. His hand comes up, bracing on my hip and caging me in place, the warmth of his palm seeps into my skin. “The kind of danger that gets men killed. Leaving nothing but decay and rot for those that survive.”

“Or the kind that helps take down clubs who deserve it and sleeps soundly at night knowing they’re gone,” I counter. I keep my voice strong and steady despite the heat I feel rolling off his body. “I don’t regret a fucking thing. You voted aye. You could’ve shut it down.”

“I did it for Lennox. And because something in my gut said you weren’t lying about wanting out.” His eyes trace the fading bruise along my jaw. “But now I know exactly how deep you were. Nicholas’s old lady. Jesus, Tatum.” The way he says my name—almost possessively—makes my thighs press together.

“I’m not his anymore,” I snap at him.

Corbin’s hand lifts, thumb ghosting my split lip without contact. “He’ll come looking.”

“I know.” I keep my voice even and my eyes locked on his.

“When he does, you come to me first. Not Lennox. Not Fuse. Me.” His tone leaves little room for argument.

So, instead, I simply say one word. “Why?”

“Because I’m the one who’s going to be watching your every move for the next six weeks.” His voice drops even lower. “And because the thought of him putting his hands on you again makes me want to put a bullet between his eyes.”

I swallow, pulse thundering in my ears. “Careful, Switch,” I say, trying for lightness even as heat pools between my legs. “That almost sounded like you care.”

His smirk returns, sharper this time. “Don’t push it, Prospect. I still haven’t decided if I want to fuck you or throttle you.”

The words hang between us, electric. My nipples tighten against my tank top. I know he notices—he doesn’t even try to hide the way his gaze flicks down.

“Both could be fun,” I murmur, keeping my voice low, thighs pressed together tightly despite the need for friction.

Corbin’s eyes darken. His other hand wraps around my neck, not tight enough to do any real damage, but enough to steal my breath. For a second, I think he’s going to close the distance and kiss me. Instead, his breath ghosts over my lips. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Spitfire.”

I stare at his lips, memorizing every line, unable to tear my eyes away. “Story of my life.” I feel the energy between us, and I know he does, too. He says this is a dangerous game, but he never said he doesn’t want to play it with me.

“Fuck it,” he mutters. His mouth crashes into mine—hard, desperate, claiming. I moan into the kiss, gripping his shirt as his tongue demands entry. He tastes like sin and barely restrained control. His grip tightens, pulling me flush against him. I feel how hard he already is. He breaks the kiss just enough to growl against my lips, “Tell me to stop.”

I don’t.

Giving a small shake of my head, I grab his shirt and pull him closer, letting him feel my hips pressed firmly against his. “Don’t you dare.”

Corbin curses low. His hand slides under my tank top, rough palm skating up my ribs to cup my breast, thumb circling my nipple until I gasp. The other hand stays at my throat possessively. He kisses me again, deeper, while his fingers slide down my stomach and work my jeans open. When he slips inside my panties and finds me soaked, he groans. “Fuck, baby. This wet for me already?”

“Been like this since you crowded me against the table,” I sass back while he circles my clit with practiced pressure, sinking two thick fingers inside me. I cry out, hips jerking. He pumps them slow at first, curling just right, thumb relentless on my clit. The table edge digs into my ass as he works me higher, mouth on my neck, sucking a mark I know I’ll wear tomorrow.

I don’t fucking care. Let them see.

I’m panting, grinding against his hand. “Corbin—fuck⁠—”

He lifts me onto the table, stepping between my thighs. His fingers find my clit again, teasing in tight circles, gathering my wetness. He pulls them away, slowly sticking them in his mouth and licking them clean. A groan escapes him. The sight instantly makes me ache.

“Oh, fu–Corbin.” The sound is muffled as he pulls me to him and I taste myself on his tongue.

My hand finds his cock through his jeans, stroking the hard length and discovering the surprise of metal rungs beneath the fabric.

Oh, that’s fucking hot.

I rub against him, chasing more friction while he spears me with two fingers again, thumb working my clit perfectly. His hips piston forward, fucking my hand through the denim as I stroke him harder. The pressure builds fast. My walls start to pulse around his fingers. “Come for me, Spitfire,” he orders against my ear, voice deep and wrecked. “Let me feel it.”

The command tips me over. Pleasure crashes through me hard—my walls clenching around his fingers, thighs shaking as I come with a broken moan as he seals his lips against mine again to swallow the sound as I soak his hand. He keeps stroking me through it, drawing it out until I’m trembling. His breathing turns ragged against my neck. His hips jerk once, twice—then he stiffens with a low, guttural groan. Warmth pulses against my palm as he comes in his pants, grinding into me like he can’t stop. The realization sends another aftershock rippling through me.

For a long second, we stay locked together, breathing hard. He slowly pulls his hand free, eyes dark with satisfaction and surprise. I let out a shaky laugh, still catching my breath. “Didn’t expect you to lose control like that, Switch.”