Drake fumbled for his wallet, then grabbed a bunch of cash and threw it at the driver, dragging her out in the same instant. She heard the driver’s gasp of surprise and appreciation and then he was pulling out of the driveway and, in typical Boston driver fashion, pulling into traffic without looking.

She jumped into Drake’s arms. He held her easily, his hands cupping her bottom, and she nibbled his lower lip. “I think you tipped him ’bout a thousand percent,” she teased.

“Ask me if I give a fuck,” he growled back, reaching up and tearing her shirt from the neck down.

Chapter 8

They didn’t make it to the bedroom. They didn’t even make it to the front steps. Instead, he took her in the lilac bushes, and to the end of her days, she would associate that scent with Drake’s urgency.

“This is insane,” she panted, helping him tear out of his coat, his shirt, his pants. “We don’t even know each other.”

“I know you.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say.” Except she felt as if she knew him, too. Independent and proud and kind and gentle, but a hard man when he had to be. A velvet fist when circumstances demanded it.

He tore off her panties and then gently parted her. She was slippery, and he groaned when his fingers slid through her, into her, and while his fingers were busy stroking and parting the slick folds between her legs, his thumb was on her clit, gently rubbing, and his lips were on her sore nipple, licking and kissing.

“Later,” she groaned. Oh, Christ, had she ever wanted anyone this badly? Had anyone? “Later for that stuff. Fuck me, before I go out of my mind.”

He left her nipple after one last kiss, caught her hand and brought it between them, and she curled her fingers around his enormous length. He throbbed beneath her touch, and she could feel his slippery tip. She ran her thumb over it, and he shuddered in her arms.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“You’re so small, I don’t want to—”

“Yes.” She wriggled beneath him and licked her lower lip. “I’m small and you’re big, and it’s going to hurt just right. Now stop talking and…fuck…me.”

He obliged, parting her and surging forward, filling her up, forcing her to open for him. And still he came forward, pushing, thrusting, until she thought she would soon feel him in the back of her throat.

He withdrew, and in the waning light of the moon, she could see the sweat on his brow, the way his eyes were shining, almost glinting. Then he surged forward, shoved forward, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and shrieked into the night air.