Gorgeous. Perfect. Incredible.

I have no idea what I’m saying, but it prompts a breathy laugh from Claire. Dark pink and glistening, her cunt calls to me. My knees hit the floor with a thud. She gasps as I bury my face in her.

The first lick is exquisite, the second even better, and then I lose the ability to form rational thought. Sucking her clit as I slide one finger, then two, into her heat makes her moan, pressing her ass back at me. She’s quieter than usual, like any reasonable person would be, but I want those sounds, want to force them out of her because they—like her—are mine. Instead of savoring her how I normally would, teasing and coaxing her clit until it’s swollen and she’s begging for release, I close my lips around it and suck. Hard. There’s a strangled gasp, her arousal slicking my face. Pumping into her again and again, I don’t ease up until her cunt is cinching tight around my fingers. Her muffled cries send pride soaring through me, so satisfying that I briefly forget about my aching cock. Thighs trembling, she eases down from her orgasm. As her muscles go slack, awareness of my own need returns.

Shoving down the front of my pants, I stroke myself once. Running my hand between her legs, I spread her arousal down my throbbing length. I can’t move quickly enough.

Get inside her.

One thrust. With my hands on her hips, I drive deep and pause, the sensation making me lose track of everything else. Around me, she pulses, body quivering as she adjusts to the breach.

“Shane.” She chases my name with a whimper, a pleading, needy sound that makes my balls tighten. One of her hands comes back, grasping for my pant leg as she whines. Her sounds are nonsensical, but the message is unmistakable: Move.

I’m fucking her. Deep and hard, rocking the table. God, she feels good. Wet, and warm, and mine. Covering her, I pin her body beneath me. My chest is flush with her back, my face buried in the side of her neck. Scraping my teeth along the soft skin makes her shudder, her cunt spasming and pulsing. Mine.

I want to drill myself into her so deeply that she feels my absence for days. Each thrust is harder than the last. I’m aware of one of her calves snaking around mine. The force of my thrusts rocks the table in a steady rhythm. Her feet must be off the ground.

Mine.

Claire gasps beneath me, craning her face to the side. “Kiss me. Now.” Her voice is a groan, demanding and needy.

I love it. Almost as much as I love how her relieved sigh mixes with my exhale when I obey her request. Consuming every single sound she’ll give me, I fuck her mouth with my tongue as roughly as I fuck her pussy with my cock. It’s happening. With a moan I devour, she comes again. Gripping me mercilessly, her pussy spasms and trembles. Her hips try to buck underneath mine, but they can’t. She’s trapped, unable to do anything but take every single thrust I give her. Pulling back from my mouth, she pants through the end of her orgasm. Burying my face back in the crook of her neck, I explode, unable to hold off any longer.

Mine.

Throbbing and pulsing, I can’t tell which movements come from her or me. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to know where she ends and I begin. All I know is that she is mine, and I’m just as much hers. As the sparks behind my eyelids fade, I realize I’m grunting into her neck, still pinning her viciously to the table.

Mine.

“Yours,” Claire murmurs, soft and almost giddy. Her fingertips stroke my hip as best she can reach, slipping across my pants. “I think that’s been established. All yours.”

That’s when I realize I haven’t been thinking my frantic claim, I’ve been saying it. I wait for a wave of embarrassment, but it doesn’t crash over me. Sheathed inside her, I’m more content than I’ve ever been. Pressing a final kiss to her lips, I reluctantly ease myself up.

“Holy shit,” she exhales as I slide out of her.

Cum seeps from her pussy, and I gently press it back where it belongs. Mine. This time I make sure it’s only a thought. The air is cool, and my cock is disturbed by how quickly I’ve withdrawn from her. The table can’t be comfortable for Claire. I tuck myself away, bending to grab her absurd ass-smothering shorts. After wiping her clean with gentle strokes, I fold the fabric, tucking it into my pocket. Maybe I can throw them away, and she’ll forget they existed.

Pulling her dress back over that gorgeous ass feels like desecration. Steadying her as she straightens, I wait to make sure she doesn’t get lightheaded. She nestles into my chest, a sweet embrace that calms my racing heartbeat. It’s sinking in that I may have gotten carried away, and I’m worried I’ve repeated that night in the field—emotionally overwhelmed her.

“I—I don’t know what that was,” I say.

Claire makes a thoughtful humming sound.

“I just—”

“Made me come so hard my life flashed before my eyes.” A laugh carries her words. “It made me realize I spend too much time on Pinterest, because paint colors were popping into my head.”

I force a huff because it’s funny, but I’m frustrated with how I handled the entire situation tonight. The idea of discussing my failure with Claire is humiliating, but I’m trying hard at this communication thing. I’m determined not to fuck it up. Here isn’t the place, though. I want to talk to her at home—our home. Where I can hold her and take my time getting my thoughts sorted out.

Claire picks up my jacket from where she tossed it, slipping it on. The sight of her in it makes my heart swell. Her hair’s mussed, her makeup smudged. She’s stunning. It takes me a second to notice she’s speaking.

“What?” I ask, realizing I missed something.

“I said I thought you were going to let your brother get his ass kicked earlier. What was that about?”

I don’t know how to explain that Caine needs violence the way plants need sunlight. Ultimately, I go with, “He likes to fight.”

“Yeah, well, maybe Caine should find someone in his weight class.” Claire’s voice is teasing.

I laugh, cuffing the sleeves of my jacket so they don’t cover her hands. “You’d be surprised. He’s pretty scrappy.”

Claire grins, moving on from the topic. “Can we go home?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Unless you really want to make me walk around your colleagues with cum dripping down my legs. You also took my underwear.”

“That abomination is not underwear.” I have much more to say on the matter, but that’s another conversation better done at home. Though I’m not opposed to the thought of her walking around the event dripping with me.

Bending to pick up my phone from the floor, I chuckle despite myself when Claire sputters, “Abomination seems harsh.”

“We can debate that at home.” Lacing my fingers with hers, I start toward the door. “Let’s go. I’ll have Tanner bid on something for us. I’m sure someone will give Caine a ride.”

“Tanner’s probably going to choose something awful.” She side-eyes me. “You kind of deserve it after what you did at the Abattoir.”

“It wasn’t me. The evidence is circumstantial at best.”

The haunt does trial runs—dress rehearsals, essentially—during the first week of October, and Caine ordered Claire, Margot, and me to be guinea pig patrons. Wanting to connect Claire and Marianna, I invited her and Tanner to join us. It was a great time. The haunt was fantastic, and Claire and Marianna hit it off how I suspected they would. However, apparently a killer clown chased Tanner through the haunt. An unfortunate situation, because Tanner hates clowns. I’m being blamed because I was briefly separated from the group while it happened.

“You poor thing.” A smile plays at the corners of her lips. “Just an innocent bystander in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now Tanner’s probably going to bid on something horrible to punish you for a crime you didn’t commit.”