Page 117 of Twisted Steel

“Answer him,” I murmur against her ear.

Her eyes go wide, and I smile against her skin.Cruel now but just a little.She bites my palm.And the only thought I have is that I love her so fucking much.

“Go away,” I call.

Fury laughs.“Garage is for bikes, Steel!”

Raven’s voice cuts through the yard.“Fury, walk away unless you want Harper to explain anatomy to you with pliers.”

A pause follows before Fury speaks.“Walking away.”

Harper shakes against me, laughter and pleasure tangled together.I take my hand from her mouth and turn her face so I can kiss her.It’s messy, hot, and almost too much.

She comes while I’m still kissing her, body locking around mine, her cry swallowed against my mouth.I hold her through every second, thrusting slower but deeper, feeling her break and shake and trust me with the whole of it.

“Marcus,” she whispers, and that ruins me.

I come hard, buried inside her, one arm locked around her waist, my face in her neck, her name tearing out of me like it was carved from bone.

For a long time, we don’t move.The party continues outside.Music.Laughter.Booze.Bikes.The club.Life.

Harper’s hands cover mine where they rest against her stomach.Her breathing is uneven, and mine isn’t much better.

“Well,” she says finally.

I press my forehead to her shoulder.“Yeah.”

“That was...”

“Yeah.”

She laughs softly.“Words, Steel.We’ve been over this.”

I turn her carefully in my arms and lift her onto the workbench again, gentler now.Her cheeks are flushed.Her hair is a wreck.Her lips are swollen from mine.

She looks happy and thoroughly fucked.

I clean her up with my wrecked shirt because I am not an animal, despite public opinion.She watches me with that soft look that still hits me harder than violence ever did.

“What?”I ask.

“You’re very careful after being very not careful.”

“I was careful.”

Her brow lifts.“The workbench disagrees.”

“The workbench is fine.”

“The screwdriver tray may need therapy.”

I smile, and she reaches for me, pulling me closer until I stand between her knees again.

“I love you,” she says.

“And I love you,” I answer.

Her fingers trace the scar on my jaw.“Are you happy?”she asks softly.