It’s been two days since I was last naked underneath Emmett Brandt.

The last of the summer sun drops behind the mountains, but the heat of Emmett’s gaze licks up my spine all the same.

I finally cave and glance over my shoulder. I almost groan when I see him. He has no business being this fucking hot.

Leaning a shoulder against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his denim shirt cuffed up to show forearms thick and roped with tension. His jaw ticks once, and when I shift my weight from one foot to the other, his eyes drag down my body like he’s stripping me.

Hell, maybe he is.

I turn to face him, ignoring the tightening low in my pelvis and trying to appear more casual than I feel. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to think you’ve got something to say.”

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even blink, just pushes off the corner. Every movement slow and sinful. The man drips sex. The look in his eye? Filthy.

This version of him is what Richard has wanted for the cameras, and a thrill travels through my body that he’s only giving it to me. He’s always stoic during filming—nothing like the man prowling my way right now, who looks like he wants to make a meal out of me.

“I do have some things to say,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “And I’ve been really polite about not saying them all damn day.”

He stops in front of me, one hand reaching over me as he backs me against the wall. The other curls around my hip, searing my skin through my clothes. His blue eyes are molten. His muscles taut. His powerful body barely held in check.

Everything about him feels wild and dangerous, and it makes my breath catch as I drink him in.

“Then stop being so polite,” I whisper, baiting him. Wanting him to snap. To take all this pent-up tension out on me.

His nostrils flare. “You sure about that, doll? ’Cause once I start tonight, I’m not stopping until I’ve had you in every way I damn well please.”

My pulse trips over itself. I try to act unaffected, but my body betrays me—thighs clenching, skin flushed. I stare at his mouth.

That rough, beautiful mouth.

“I’m not scared of you, Emmett.”

He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “You should be. Haven’t you been warned about me?”

I shiver. This version of him is electrifying.

My breathing turns ragged, and I meet his gaze before uttering what I know he needs to hear. “Yes, but I don’t care.”

And then he snaps.

He crashes into me.

I gasp, and he swallows the sound, tongue sliding in like he wants to devour me.

One hand fists my hair, the other grabs my ass, hauling me against him as if he can’t stand another second of space between us.

Clothes come off in a frenzy. His denim shirt yanked open by the snaps and tossed away before he stares down at the line of silver buttons running the length of my denim minidress.

“You wore this for me?” he growls, swiping his thumb over the top button like he’s planning all the ways he can destroy it.

“No,” I lie, breathless. “I wore it because I like knowing that when you’re filming on set with someone else, you’re dreaming about fucking me instead.”

His eyes go dark, pupils dilating. He looks ferocious.

And then he drops to his knees, tugging my panties down roughly before shoving the hemline of my dress up around my waist.

“Em—”

“You told me to stop being so polite.” His voice is gravel, his hands locking around my thighs. “So quit playing games with me and spread your fucking legs, Julia.”

Before I can even respond, he’s on me. Driving me up the flat expanse of wall at my back, hiking one leg over each shoulder. He manhandles me like he has every right to—like he knows I’ve been dreaming about getting fucked by him all day.

And when his tongue slides over me—slow, deliberate, devastating—I arch back and break. “Fuck, Emmett—”

“I want every sound you make,” he growls against my pussy. “Louder for me, doll.”

I don’t hold back. I give him every whimper, every moan. “Yes, fuck. Just like that. Please.”

I plead with him for more, and he doesn’t let up. Mouth working me over like he’s starved, like I’m the only thing that can satisfy him. His tongue circles, presses, flicks, and when he slips two thick fingers inside me, curling them just right, my entire body bows off the wall.

I come undone. My thighs tremble, and his name flies from my throat on a ragged cry.

But he doesn’t stop.

“Emmett… God… please. Please don’t stop.”

He drags me through my orgasm with excruciating attention to detail, wringing every wave of pleasure out of me until I’m gasping, boneless.

And then he stands, chest rising and falling as he licks my wetness from his lips with a toe-curling smirk. His jeans are shoved down low on his hips, cock hard and thick and ready.

“That’s a lot of pleases, Jules,” he says, low and proud. “You begging for more?”

I smirk, still breathless. “I meant it more like Is that all?”

My taunt is all he needs to lose it entirely. He spins me around to face the wall, palms splayed over my back as he bends me over.

“Keep talkin’,” he growls, hips bumping, lining himself up. “Let’s see how mouthy you are with my cock buried in that tight little cunt of yours.”

Then he slams into me in one hard thrust, and I forget how to speak at all.

He grips my hips as he claims me, holding on tight like he needs to make sure I’m real.

He sinks into me with deep, unrelenting strokes, the sound of his hips furiously slapping against my ass blending with our rough pants.

I gasp, working to keep up with the ruthless pace he sets. Eyes wide, lips parted, my entire body flares with overwhelming heat. Overwhelming need.

“Fuck, Jules. Look at you, taking it like you were made for me.”

“Yes,” I hiss. My ability to form coherent thoughts has fled the room. I am just sensation now. Mindless pleasure overtakes me.

Emmett drapes his chiseled torso over me, slowing for a beat. Kissing the back of my damp neck, he curses low and guttural against my shoulder, like he’s shaken. Like he’s been searching forever for this exact feeling.

“God, you feel—” He cuts himself off with a growl. “You feel like heaven. Always knew you would. Been thinking about having you here since the day I bent you over in my kitchen and had to pretend to be the gentleman that I’m not.”

I try to answer him, but all that comes out is a broken sound vaguely reminiscent of the word same.

He moves again, hard and deep, each stroke stealing the air from my lungs. The rhythm is relentless. It’s so good it almost hurts.

The cowboy painting on the wall rattles next to my hands as he pounds into me.

“You like this,” he says, voice rough-edged. “You like it when I bend you over, take you like this. Say it.”

I manage a glance over my shoulder and a nod, but he tightens his grip.

“Say it, Jules.”

“Yes,” I breathe, shaky and wrecked. “Yes. I like it—I fucking love it.”

“That’s right,” he growls. “You take every inch so well. God, I can’t get enough of you.”

His hand slips between my legs and finds my clit. He pinches it and my knees nearly buckle. I cry out, one hand clawing at the wall. The painting falls, the distant sound of glass shattering only vaguely registers for me.

I reach behind myself to hold on to his arm—scrambling for purchase, anchoring to the only thing keeping me from flying apart.

His pace falters for a moment, then a gruff, “You know what? Fuck it.” He picks up again, faster, deeper. Every thrust drives me closer to the edge.

“You going to fall apart for me, doll?” he pants. “Right here, against the wall, bent over with your skirt pulled up, all desperate and begging for my cock?”

Fuck yes.

I’m already there. My body coils tight, heat winding inside me like a fuse about to blow.