Poison

His hair was cropped shorter and his beard was longer, but he was still him.

Holy shit, he was still him. Still him, and still hot as hell, and I was still crazy for him.

Crazy nervous to match, too. But I wasn’t going to show him that.

“Hey,” he said, as I climbed in beside him and dumped my stuff in the footwell.

“Hey,” I said back, and it was there. The same thrum between us.

The same crazy spark. The same crazy need that set me on fire.

“Back to yours then?” I asked, hating how my thighs tensed when I met his eyes.

He shook his head. “Not just yet.”

And then he started driving.Chapter FourLucasShe didn’t say a word as I drove us to the Hawthorn Inn. I kept casting looks in her direction, but she was staring out of the window, or at her feet. At just about anything but me.

Yet still, it was there. That undeniable zing that had always been tight between us. It was bubbling deep, from my cock to the thump in my ribs, to spin off filthy thoughts of just what I wanted to do to her.

They were totally fucking obscene.

No matter how many times I shot a look her way, I still couldn’t believe she was sitting there beside me. But she was.

She was undeniably her. Every dirty little bit of her the same dirty little bit of her I’d claimed a thousand times over, and still craved more of.

She was wearing black, with high heels tapping in the footwell. Her legs were crossed, and I knew her thighs were clenched tight together. It took every scrap of restraint I had not to reach over and slide my hand up between them.

Her hair was longer, but just as dark. Her lips were painted red and her eyeliner was every bit as dramatic as she’d ever worn it.

It would be smeared all over her face by the time we were through, and I’d love it. I’d fucking love the way I’d destroy her makeup, and make her pant and scream and beg. I’d leave her a sweating, soaking mess and love the wreck of her. Fuck, all those memories came flooding back and my cock was twitching for it.

For her.

She’d love the sweating, soaking wreck I’d make of her too. I’d make sure of that.

I pulled up in the inn car park, and she finally shot me a look.

“What’s this place?” she asked, and I gave her a grin.

“Thought we’d grab some lunch before I plough my cock into you all afternoon. Let me treat you before I claim you.”

She tried to hold back a smile, but failed.

Her heels sounded delicious as she paced her way across the gravel. She gave me a thanks as I held the door open for her, then paused as she surveyed the host of empty tables. We were the first ones in for lunch. I gestured to a pew at the far end of the place, opting for distance between us and the range of diners who’d be sure to arrive after us.

She slipped off her coat and dropped into a seat with self-conscious grace. My eyes were fully on her as I dropped into the one opposite, but hers were focused on the menu.

The zing was even stronger between us in that place. You could feel it. Alive. Screaming. My body hungry for hers and hers hungry right back, without giving two shits for whatever treats the menu was offering up for us. Still, I played interested in the food as I scanned the listings.

“I’ll have the chicken salad, please,” she said, and I nodded.

“Sure thing. Drink?”

She pouted and sighed. “Orange juice, as per. My choices are crap these days.”

“Epilepsy, right?”

She nodded, but cleared her throat, clearly not wanting to engage in the topic.

I didn’t push her, just gave her a nod right back and headed to the bar. I could feel her eyes on me every second of the way now I wasn’t looking back at her. I pondered what the hell I should say as a conversation starter, while I waited for our drinks. Whether I should burst out a straight up apology and risk an explosion, or skirt every issue and make small talk.

Maybe I should avoid both and just urge the dirty out of her with a whispered list of filthy promises.

I opted to scrap all of it, keep mute and see what the fuck she wanted to say to me.

She answered my question when I dropped her juice on the table.

“So, life’s been a whirlwind?” she asked. “All good, though?”

I tipped my head. “A whirlwind about sums it up. You?”

She sipped her juice. “Things have been pretty crazy.”

The awkwardness was zinging almost as hard as the lust. She was tight in her posture, guarded in her words, and I felt it. I felt it all.