Page 169 of What We Bury

The kiss is soft. Just for a second. A question.

Then she answers it.

Her mouth opens under mine and her fingers twist into my hair and she tugs, and the soft thing detonates into something urgent and electric. I press her back against the brick wall without thinking—instinct, need, the animal part of my brain that’s been screaming at me since the night under the jetty—and she goes willingly, her back hitting the rough surface with a thud. I glance at the back door of the diner, still propped open just a few yards away, kitchen clatter spilling out like a warning we both ignore.

“Fuck, kitten,” I groan against her lips, my hands already roaming—sliding up her sides, under her dress, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin fabric. She tastes like coffee and relief. Like the world hasn’t ended after all.

She breaks the kiss first, turning her head just a little to breathe. Her fingers are still in my hair, gripping hard. “We should . . . not do this here,” she says, but she doesn’t soundconvinced, and she doesn’t let go, and her hips roll forward so the last word dies in a gasp.

“Want to go somewhere less public?” I murmur in her ear, voice dropping low so it’s just for her.

She meets my eyes with a small shake of her head. “No. Here.”

I go still for one brutal second, making myself hear the whole answer, not just the part that makes my blood light up.

“Here means here?” I ask. “You want this, in this alley, with me?”

“Yes, Milo.”

Then I’m on her. I lock both hands around her waist and hike her up, pinning her between me and the wall so her feet dangle, toes scrabbling for purchase on the uneven pavement.

She makes a small, desperate sound into my mouth, biting down on my lower lip, and I see white for a second. I want to tell her how much I want her, how much I need this, but every part of my brain that touches language is currently rebooting. I make a noise instead—wordless and animal—and shove my thigh between hers.

Her dress hikes up so easily, it feels like fate. I palm the backs of her thighs, lifting her so she’s straddling my knee, and she grinds there once, twice, breath hitching. The alley is narrow and shadowed, but anyone walking by the end would see her spread for me, back arched and hands clinging tight to my shoulders. I want her to tell me exactly what she wants, and the way she grips me says she already is.

There’s a wild, reckless edge to her now, the same one that once put a knife in a man’s liver and didn’t stop until the light faded from his eyes. It’s the part of her I love most. I want to bottle it, snort it, mainline it straight into my veins.

“Say it,” I rasp, mouth on her neck, the taste of her skin sending a shockwave down my arms. “Tell me you want me to fuck you right here. Right where anyone could see.”

“Yes—fuck, Milo, hurry—” Her voice breaks as I free myself from my jeans and shove her panties to the side.

“You want it bare, kitten? I’m clear.”

“Yes. I’m safe. Birth control. Fuck me. Now.”

“Mm. You like the idea of someone watching, kitten? Maybe you want me to put a camera in your room next time. You can turn it on whenever you want. Give me a show while I fist my cock.” I notch myself at her entrance, teasing with shallow thrusts that have her tilting her hips up, desperate for more. The diner’s back door creaks—the cook inside yelling about an order—and my heart slams in my chest, the thrill of almost getting caught making my cock twitch.

“Yes. Please—” She doesn’t finish the plea, because I slam into her in one brutal thrust, burying myself to the hilt, and she cries out, the sound muffled against her arm as she bites down to stifle it. The heat of her is insane—tight, wet, clenching around me like she’s trying to pull me deeper. I don’t give her time to adjust. I fuck her hard and fast, just like she needs, my hips snapping against her with enough force to make the brick scrape her back. One hand grips her hip, holding her steady, while the other slides up to fist her hair, yanking her head back so I can whisper filthy nothings in her ear.

“Listen to that,” I rasp, thrusting deeper, the wet slap of our bodies obscenely loud in the quiet alley. “Anyone could hear how much you love this cock. Imagine if your cook friend pops out for a smoke—sees you getting railed like a dirty little secret, creaming all over me while you beg for more. Bet he’d jerk off to it later, wishing he could have a taste. But then I’d have to kill him, wouldn’t I? Because you’re mine right now. Ours. The Hangmen’s perfect little obsession.”

She moans, low and broken, her body trembling as she meets every thrust, sucking me in like she’s as feral as that night on the beach. “Milo—harder—fuck, someone’s coming?—”

Footsteps echo from inside the diner, voices near the back door. The risk hits like adrenaline straight to my veins, and I speed up, pounding into her relentlessly, my free hand sliding down to rub her clit in tight, frantic circles. She’s shaking, walls fluttering around me, so close I can feel her teetering on the edge.

“Come for me, kitten,” I growl, mouth at her ear. “Come all over my cock while I fill this greedy cunt—let them hear how good it feels when you choose the guy who can’t stop watching you. You’re mine to obsess over, mine to ruin—ours to share. Imagine the others seeing this, getting hard thinking about their turn?—”

The voices get louder. And that’s what sends her over. She comes with a muffled scream, her body seizing around me, milking me so tight I lose it too. I thrust deep one last time, spilling inside her with a guttural curse, heat flooding her as the world narrows to the pulse of her around me, the risk thrumming in my ears.

Someone inside shouts something about a missing spatula, and the voices recede, oblivious. We both sag against the wall, panting, my forehead pressed to hers as aftershocks ripple through us. She’s trembling, legs locked around my waist, and I wrap an arm around her waist to keep her close, kissing her the way she deserves.

“Fuck,” she whispers, half-laughing, half-gasping. “That was insane.”

“Insane is my love language, kitten.” I pull out slowly and tuck myself away, both of us hissing at the loss, and help her fix her panties and dress, smoothing the fabric over her hips like I’m putting her back together.

“You okay?” I ask, brushing my thumb along her jaw and kissing her softly. “That was . . . intense. And public as hell.”

She nods, eyes bright and wicked, cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment that makes her look even more edible. “Better than okay.” She pauses, biting her lip as her gaze turns curious, a little hesitant. “But . . . were you serious? About putting a camera in my room?”