The snap of the lock seals us in. The world vanishes.
I don’t pace. I don’t offer a polite transition. I strip away the Commander.
“I’ve wanted you since the second I walked into that foyer,” I state. My voice vibrates through the hum of the generator.
Lucia freezes.
“You looked at me like I was a problem to be managed. I’m done pretending I don’t want to ruin you.”
She doesn’t back away. The tension spikes.
I don’t do vulnerability. Weakness invites destruction. I strip off my jacket and toss it over a crate.
“I am the Commander of an outlaw club,” I tell her. “I am a tactician. Every decision is weighed against the risk.”
I step forward. The space between us shrinks to two feet.
“I have never burned a mission for a person. Not once. I have never compromised an objective for a brother or myself.”
Her chest rises and falls. The oversized shirt is thin, dampened by the shed’s heat until it clings to the curves of her breasts.
“I spent six months building an infiltration plan. I placed my best men inside. We had the primary target in our sights.” I eliminate another foot of space. The scent of rose and diesel acts like adrenaline in my veins. “Then I received your text.”
My jaw clenches.
“I burned six months of planning to ash. I destroyed our cover. I put my crew at risk of execution. I started a war for a woman I’d just met.” I look down at her, making no effort to hide the possessive hunger in my eyes. “I’ve spent the last ten hourslooking for a logical explanation for that decision. I haven’t found one.”
I don’t name the Thunderbolt. I state the facts. She is the only variable capable of overriding my system.
I step into her airspace.
“We’re done pretending there’s a briefing happening in here.” I have been counting down the seconds since she looked at me like I was the help. The timer is at zero. “You owe me.”
Her jaw tightens. She thinks I want gratitude. I want everything.
“I spent two days keeping my hands off you because it was the job,” I tell her, my voice unyielding. “The job is done, Principessa. Get on your knees.”
Lucia lifts her chin, her cartel blood running hot. “That’s a remarkable opening line for a man who just admitted he’s compromised.”
“I burned it,” I say. “That means I collect.”
I take a step. The distance vanishes.
“The audacity,” I rasp, “is that I am still standing this far away from you.”
My hands shoot out. I grip her hips through the cotton of the t-shirt and pull her hard against my pelvis. She gasps, her stomach crashing against my belt. My erection presses against her, thick and demanding.
I slide one hand up her spine, tangling my fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck. I pull her head back, exposing her throat.
“Knees.”
I apply firm pressure. She yields.
Her knees hit the floorboards. She kneels between my boots. I reach down and pull my zipper, the sound harsh in the small space. I free my cock. It springs out, rigid and cabled with veins, a heavy drop of pre-cum catching the light at the tip.
“Eyes up,” I command.
She tilts her head back, her dark eyes locking onto mine.