Page 74 of Trigger Happy

I raise a shoulder, hitting his chest. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah,” he says, the words barely a murmur. “You did.”

We fall into tense silence, but slowly, so slowly, my body relaxes. His breathing evens out into a steady rhythm, and against all odds, mine does too.

36Sabrina

I’m not a snooze person.

Typically, my sunrise alarm starts lightening before the sun makes its appearance, and I’m up before the screen is pale red, so when my eyes flutter open to heat engulfing me in the soft morning light, I don’t expect to burrow into the feeling.

I can’t remember the last time someone held me like this. Was it the dildo-gun guy? Five minutes won’t hurt.

Lawton’s heavy arm is draped over the curve of my waist, and slow puffs of air blow against the back of my neck. Somewhere in the middle of the night, the space between us shrunk and we ended up tangled in each other’s bodies. His leg is hooked around mine and rough knuckles scrape the sliver of skin between my shirt and panties. Every time he breathes, his solid, bare chest brushes my back.

And his hand.

It’s slipped beneath the lace rim of my panties, and the hard length of him presses into my backside. Heat floods through me, clenching deep as his fingers begin making slow, lazy circles on my stomach. I don’t know if he realizes his hand is there, or if he’s awake, but it’s drifting lower and lower…

I should stop this.

I should definitely stop this.

He needs to drive to Bozeman, and then there’s the workshop on the property. Bozeman’s almost a four-hour drive from here.

But his calloused fingertip circles me just there, a tease, a question.

Even though I shouldn’t, I spread my legs wider for him. I know what this is, anyway. And what it’s not, dangles in my mind.

He groans into the crook of my neck.

So, he is awake.

An ache builds in my core. I dig my nails into the sheets, torn between wanting him and self-loathing for wanting him. Maybe I should be mortified that I’m letting a Montoya touch me, but when he presses that spot again with his thumb—

There’s a knock.

I jerk up, but Lawton’s hand clamps around my throat, hard enough that I moan. I like being choked under the right circumstances.

“Ignore it,” he growls in my ear.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, breathless.

There’s a pause, and then: “Let me,” he murmurs. “Please.”

Please.

“I thought you didn’t beg for anyone?” I whisper.

A longer pause. His fingers continue those maddening circles.

“Changed my mind. I’ll beg,” he scrapes out. “I’ll even get on my knees. Just say the word, Sabrina.”

I nod.

“Not good enough for me.” He tsks in my ear, and he touches me everywhere except the place I crave most. “I need you to say it, darlin’. Let me hear you say you want me.”

I open my mouth, but I can’t get the words out. What happens when this is all over? Will we go back to “pretend” hating each other?