Silver Bastard

He leaned into me, slamming a hand down against the metal on either side of my body.

“Things are uncomfortable between us because I fucked you at a party after your daddy pimped you out,” he said bluntly. “That was a problem for me, given that I was on parole and the powers that be tend to frown upon statutory rape. That was a problem for you because getting raped is a fucking shameful violation, no matter how it goes down. But here’s the really shitty part—fucking you was good, Becca. Damned good. Believe me, I remember how you felt wrapped around my cock. But not even you’re good enough to risk going back to prison, so I’m sure you can understand why I was pissed off about the whole situation. I still did the right thing, and helped you out.”

I blinked rapidly, trying not to faint. I remembered being wrapped around his cock, too. The memories were twisted and confusing as hell, but they were good. Not just good—fucking amazing. Right up to the point where he’d hurt me. Why is this turning me on?

Shit. This had to be Mom’s fault somehow. She’d somehow passed on her only superpower—the ability to seek out and fall for the worst possible man in any given area code. Only possible explanation.

Puck hadn’t finished.

“Dragging your ass out of there seems to have given you the wrong impression about me, Becs. Do not think for one minute that I’m the kind of guy who does the right thing. That’s not my style. I’m the guy who does what he wants when he wants, and trust me when I say I didn’t do nearly enough to you that night to get you out of my system.”

Holy. Crap. I couldn’t process this. Then his body pressed into mine and it got worse. I could feel him against me. Not just all of him, but one specific part of him, digging into my stomach. He lowered his head.

“Let me tell you how this plays out,” Puck continued, his voice going deep and rough as his lips grazed my ear. If I’d turned my head half an inch, I’d be kissing his cheek.

What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with me?

Why would I even think about kissing him?

Because you want him, my body shouted from somewhere deep inside my gut. No, not gut. This was definitely the va-jay-jay show. He’s strong, he’ll protect you. He’ll make you scream and feel good because he’s the baddest motherfucker on this mountain and that’s the only kind of man you want!

His teeth caught my ear, tugging on it and sucking it into his mouth. Then his tongue traced me and if I hadn’t been pinned against the truck, I’d have fallen right to the ground. Puck let my ear go and spoke again.

“I’m not going to fuck you here on the side of the road today, Becca, despite the fact that it sounds like a hell of a good idea at the moment. And the next time I see you out with your precious boy toy, Collins? I’m not going to beat him half to death because he’s touched you. But here’s the thing . . . you’ve pushed me about as far as I’m willing to go with this friend bullshit. I’m not your friend, Becca. I’ve never been your friend and I never will be. I can be the man who fucks you and owns you, or I can be the man who keeps an eye on you to make sure your stepdad doesn’t come and steal you back. I can even be the man who watches while you find a nice little boyfriend you can control and settle down to make babies together like normal people. But don’t you fucking dare issue any more invitations unless you’re ready to handle me and don’t pretend for one second you aren’t fully aware what that means.”

Before I could breathe, think, or start to process his words, Puck caught my face in both hands and kissed me hard, tongue pushing deep inside even as he shoved one of his solid thighs between my legs. Desperate, mind-numbing painful need exploded through me. Five years ago he’d been strong, but now? Puck had filled out and bulked up with age and I knew that there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop him, even if I wanted to.

I’d never wanted anything less.

Suddenly it ended.

I dropped to the ground with a thump, shaking as I raised a hand to my swollen lips, stunned. Puck stepped back, eyes flaring with suppressed need. Then he fumbled in his pocket for something only to find it empty.

“Fuck!” he shouted, turning and pacing toward the river. “Get back in the goddamn truck.”

Yeah, wasn’t going to argue with that.

Five minutes later he ripped the driver’s door open, rocking the vehicle as he got in. We pulled out onto the road with a skid of gravel and then started driving toward Callup again.

This time when he turned up the radio, I kept my mouth shut.

—

Puck dropped me off in front of the Moose about an hour before my shift was supposed to start. That afternoon I’d decided to catch a ride all the way home—that way I could shower and change, not to mention grabbing Danielle’s makeup bag. It was probably still hanging on my door . . .

After our little confrontation, though, I’d been far too busy dealing with all that extra adrenaline exploding through my body to ask for favors. When he’d pulled up to the bar I’d all but jumped out, desperate to get away. He seemed to share the sentiment, hardly waiting for the door to close before taking off again.

Now I sat on a battered picnic table in a patch of grass across the road, staring down into the river as I tried to collect my thoughts. A partially deflated inner tube had been left behind from someone’s float earlier that day. I kicked it, feeling wistful. Like always, watching the water run over the rocks soothed me. No matter what else went wrong, at least I lived somewhere beautiful. That had to count for something, right?