Page 91 of Full Throttle

Dominic’s mouth tightened. “You are the most infuriating, most stubborn—” He made a noise at the back of his throat, and she could see the moment when his willpower finally snapped. “Fuck it. I can’t do this anymore.”

He shoved her backward onto the kitchen island. Plastic tumblers toppled to the floor, and then he was kissing her, his mouth hungry and demanding and glorious. Shock rippled through her, but it was chased away by heady desire, and Juliette wrapped her legs around his waist. He murmured her name against her lips and then he was kissing her again, his fingers threaded in her hair.

His hard frame pressed into her, and his muscles felt hot and coiled, something that reminded her of springs firing in an engine.

“I’ve thought about this for so long,” Dominic murmured. “You have no idea.”

Her nails dug into his arms. “You hid it well.”

“I had to,” Dominic said raggedly. “You’ve haunted my dreams for months, Marchmont. Ever since that night in the garage. I thought I’d lose my mind.”

Dominic nipped at her lip, and Juliette couldn’t stop the moan that escaped her.

“Dominic…”

He shuddered. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“My name.” Dominic’s mouth found her neck. “My real name.”

“Dominic.” The word was a plea. A prayer.

“Fuck,” Dominic growled.

He pushed her against the hard marble. More things crashed to the floor, but Juliette was too far gone, too pleasantly light-headed, to care. Every part of her brain had shrunk into a single, primitive thought: More, more, more.

“I thought you didn’t want me,” Juliette managed. “I thought—”

“Oh, I wanted you.” Dominic’s eyes were full of black humor. “Trust me.”

Juliette tipped her chin up. “Show me.”

Dominic obliged. There was something wild in his eyes, something that hinted at a war of self-control. Yes, he was telling the truth, Juliette realized; he’d wanted her for a long time. She could feel it in the way that he kissed her, as if he’d imagined this moment, ran through it like the layout of a track until he knew every twist and turn. She was desperate to sink into his heat, to have him everywhere, to know him in ways that—

She gasped. “Hastings.”

Dominic was braced against the counter now, his mouth nipping at her inner thigh. Her shirt was hitched up around her waist, and Juliette would have been embarrassed at the old cotton underwear that she was wearing if she could remember to think anything at all. Dominic paused, his mouth hovering by her thigh.

“Is this okay?”

Was that a real question? “Yes.”

“Thank fuck,” Dominic growled, and then his mouth found her heat.

Juliette arched backward with a cry. White spots exploded behind her eyelids. It was so much, she thought dizzily, too much: stubble scratching, swollen skin, a throbbing, liquid heat…She felt that she might die, or sob, or something in between. The pressure in her chest was building to an unbearable degree, and Juliette clung to his shoulder.

“Hastings.” Her voice was ragged. “I don’t—I can’t—”

“Good girl,” Dominic murmured. “Hold still for me.”

She shook her head. “It’s too much.”

Dominic’s grip tightened on her thigh. “I’ve got you.”

Juliette’s heart pounded. She didn’t say the obvious thing: You’ve always had me. That’s exactly the problem.

Dominic’s throat bobbed. “Losing you the first time…You destroyed me. Surely you know that.”