Page 35 of Knife Thrower

I drag my nails down his chest, scoring light red marks across his skin. The sound of our bodies slapping together mixes with the crashing surf. I speed up, my hips moving in a frantic, desperate blur. The pleasure coils tight in my lower belly, winding sharper and hotter with every thrust.

“You like this?” I gasp, my hair falling around my face. “You like giving it up?”

“I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.” He drives his hips up hard, hitting a spot deep inside me that sends a shockwave of pure electricity straight to my clit. “Ride it. Keep going.”

I throw my head back. My chest bows, exposing my throat to the cold wind.

The orgasm hits without warning. A massive, blinding explosion of heat ripping through my core.

A loud, jagged scream tears out of my mouth. I clench down hard around his cock, my inner walls milking the hard length of him in violent, erratic spasms.

Cole roars my name. His bound arms strain against the leather belt, his muscles bunching as he thrusts up one final time. He empties into me, his hips locking against mine as his own climax tears through his body.

He groans, the sound ragged and completely undone, his chest heaving under my hands.

I collapse forward, dropping my weight against him. I bury my face in the curve of his neck, my breath coming in harsh, tearing gasps. His skin smells like salt, sweat, and sex.

Cole turns his head, pressing his mouth to my temple. He doesn’t speak. He just breathes against my skin, letting me ride out the violent aftershocks ripping through my thighs.

I’m covered in sand. The wind is freezing. I’m lying half-naked on a beach with a knife thrower I bound with his own belt.

And for the first time in years, I don’t want to be anywhere else.

13

COLE

Sloane shivers against my chest. The cold wind bites into my bare shoulders and cuts straight through the heat we just generated on the sand. She shifts her weight, trying to find warmth, her thighs trembling against my hips. The movement breaks the seal, and my softening cock slips out of her pussy with a wet slide.

Reality crashes down, snapping the adrenaline haze like a brittle twig.

“Shit.” I bury my face in the tangled mess of her blonde hair, my breath ghosting over her freezing ear. “We didn’t use a condom.”

Sloane goes absolutely still, her spine straightening. Then she exhales. A long, shaky breath washes over my collarbone, the tension bleeding out of her frame.

“I have an IUD.” Her voice comes out raspy, fighting the roar of the surf. “And I’m clean, Cole.”

I chuckle with relief. “I’m clean too. Free my hands, sweetheart.”

As soon as she releases me from my belt, I drop my hands to her bare thighs, rubbing my palms vigorously up and down her freezing skin, desperate to chase the coastal chill out of her blood.

I drag my thumb over the jut of her hipbone, feeling the goosebumps peppering her flesh. “Let’s move this back to my trailer. The carnival lot is only twenty minutes away, and my shower runs hot enough to peel paint.”

A low, throaty chuckle rumbles deep in her chest. The vibration feels incredible against my ribs. “I would kill a man for a hot shower right now.”

I’d volunteer.

Dressing in the dark on a windy beach turns into a spectacular nightmare. Sand clings to every single inch of our sweat-slicked skin. I drag my jeans over my gritty thighs, biting the inside of my cheek as the rough denim grinds against tender flesh. Sloane shivers violently, yanking the rest of her clothes back on. The cold is winning, turning her lips a pale shade of blue.

I make a mental note to burn these pants. Or at least vow a solemn oath never to drag this woman into the dunes without a blanket the size of a circus tent.

The drive back to the carnival grounds happens in horribly uncomfortable silence. The Challenger’s heater blasts on high, baking the air inside the cab. We shift in our leather seats every ten seconds. The abrasive friction of sand trapped in our underwear ruins any lingering romantic atmosphere. I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white, my foot pressing the gas pedal hard enough to break the speed limit down the winding coastal highway.

My trailer sits dark at the edge of the sleeping carnival lot. I unlock the door, usher her inside, and kick the deadbolt into place. Then I guide her down the short hallway into the bathroom. The space is cramped, a fiberglass box barely built for one person, let alone a man my size and a woman with legs for days. I reach past her, crank the water knob all the way to the red line, and steam instantly claims the mirror.

We strip again. It requires far less fumbling this time. We peel the gritty clothes away, kicking them into a pathetic, sand-covered heap on the tiles.

I step into the stall first. The scalding water hits my back, melting the ocean freeze right out of my bones. I reach out, wrapping my fingers around her wrist, and pull her in after me. Sloane steps under the spray, and a sigh escapes her lips as the heat envelops her shivering frame.