“Your honesty is becoming.” And rare. The woman is fucking incredible. Does she know that? See that? Does she have any idea that she is knocking me on my ass just as surprisingly too?

It’s sudden and unexpected, but Christ, does it feel so fucking good that I’ve tried not to question or label or anything it. We’re just in the beginning of whatever this is and she’s already made it known our time is finite . . . so is it so bad to enjoy it while I can? To live in the moment as I’ve deemed life should be lived? To take the pleasure even though I know the loss will come at some point?

She reaches out and fists a hand in the hem of my shirt and pulls me toward her. “I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to see you, Gunner,” she whispers.

“It is tomorrow,” I tease, drawing a smile from her.

“Then see? I waited. Now I don’t look so desperate.”

“If this—you—are what desperation looks like, then please don’t change a fucking thing.”

Desire fires in her eyes as she darts her tongue out to wet her lips. “Good to know.”

When she leans forward to kiss me and act on that desire, it takes everything I have to dodge it.

“I thought you said kissing was overrated,” I taunt as my hand falls to the small of her back, and I pull her against me. My dick is hard and presses against the softness of her body and the feel of her, the warmth of her, adds a whole complexity to how bad I want to prove her words from earlier tonight incorrect.

Her smile is slow, stuttered, almost as if it takes her a second to see through the rejection and realize my intentions. My name a resigned sigh. “Gunner . . .”

“And that foreplay was essential,” I add. I pull her hair back and lace open-mouthed kisses down the exposed line of her neck. Her gasp floats over the music still coming through the speakers of the bar. “Tell me why you’re here, Chase,” I say softly against her skin.

“I want you. Plain. Simple. I want this.” She tugs on my shirt. Her words are labored, and her flesh covered in goosebumps.

I groan at her words. At the pure simplicity and honesty in them. At needing her so fucking much but also wanting to draw it out. Craving the foreplay, the chance to make her beg, and to feel her desperation so I can show her exactly how she makes me feel.

“Turn around,” I command. Her eyebrow quirks up as defiance fires in her eyes, moments before submission.

She turns around.

And Christ, it’s a beautiful sight. A strong woman who knows what she wants and is trusting me to give it to her.