“Mmm.” She runs her hands up my chest and leans forward until her lips brush my ear. “Getting Shiloh off got me so fucking wet. She’s so pretty when she orgasms, husband. I’ll have to show you sometime.”

“Stop calling me that,” I grind out.

I can hear her smile. “Make me.”

Those two little words snap the last bit of leash holding me back. I pull away from her and yank her to bend over the sink. I undo her pants and shove them to the floor. I don’t care if they get dirty. I don’t give a damn about anything but fucking her until I expel some of the frustration turning me into a goddamned monster. “I ought to have bent you over the bar and fucked you right there.”

“Better have charged for it, then.”

“Always a snappy comeback.” I grip the front of her shirt and jerk it down, baring her breasts. With only the little top thing around her hips, she looks like a sex goddess. It doesn’t matter if we’re in a dingy bar bathroom. Monroe owns this space just like she owns every space she occupies. I can’t blame Shiloh for being drawn to her. I’m right here, in the exact same spot, acting outside of my best interests because of this woman, too.

I grab the back of her neck and bend her forward. She spreads her legs even wider. I can see how wet she is, her pussy pink and glistening. Gods, it’s like she was built to tempt me. It doesn’t matter what I think of this woman. It doesn’t matter that she’s the enemy and I resent this handfasting binding us together

All that matters is that I need to get inside her right this fucking second or I might die.

I wrap a fist around my cock but manage to stop myself. “I don’t have a condom.”

“You’re cute when you’re trying to put your leash back on.” She laughs. “I told you already—I’ve been tested, and I have an IUD. You can do anything you want to me, Broderick Paine. No brakes. No consequences.” She presses against my hold so she can meet my gaze in the mirror. “That scares you shitless, doesn’t it? Nothing holding you to that honorable mask you wear. You can be just as feral as the rest of us.”

“Shut up.”

“Prove me wrong.”

Proving her wrong means crossing half a dozen lines I’ve drawn for myself. Lines I crossed on Lammas night. I’ve been avoiding her solely to resist doing what I’m doing right now. I meet Monroe’s gaze in the mirror, and the victorious expression on her pretty face feels like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head.

I’m playing right into her hands.