He looks at me questioningly. But I smile, squeeze his hand. “It’s okay,” I say again. “I want to feel you, the real you.” He takes a step closer, strokes my cheek, lowers himself over me slowly, hesitantly. “Now, Lander,” I whisper. “I want you inside me now.”

It’s as if my whisper has sparked a wildfire. Immediately he enters me forcefully, pressing deep inside me as I arch my back and clutch his shoulders, feeling his skin against mine. Nothing’s keeping us apart. Nothing’s dividing us. I kiss his neck, my hands sliding down his back as he puts my leg over his shoulder and thrusts even deeper.

“You feel . . . perfect, this is perfect,” he breathes, lowering his mouth to mine. I respond by gently biting his lower lip, letting him know that given the chance I would devour him.

He pulls my other leg up so they are now both hovering over my head and again he thrusts inside me, even deeper now than before, the friction driving me wild, making me cry out.

In this moment there is no plan. There is no revenge.

There’s just Lander.

And as he thrusts again, his eyes penetrating me with an equivalent force, I realize that in this moment that’s all I want.

I don’t even blush as I call out his name; I react with unadulterated pleasure when he calls out mine. I feel him pulsing inside me as he comes.

As he eases away, bringing my legs down to the leather, his breathing uneven and labored, I whisper his name again. “Lander.” My eyes slide away, almost too tired to focus, my body spent. His jacket is on the floor now, having fallen at some point during our revelry. Peeking out of one pocket is the drawing of the biker . . . along with another drawing.

It’s a drawing of me.

chapter eleven

I didn’t wear my ring tonight, which was careless. It makes sneaking into his office all the more precarious. Of course, my focus needs to be on gathering information I can use against the Gables . . .

. . . but what I really want to look at is that drawing.