“You need to stop watching so much TV,” he laughs.

“You would think that, since you’re the one who kidnapped me,” I mutter under my breath.

“Not sure the cops will think taking the woman I live with home to the house we live in together is kidnapping.”

“Tomayto, tomahto.”

“How is it, one second, I’m seriously pissed at you, and the next, all I can think is how you’re really fucking adorable when you’re drunk?”

“First, you don’t have a reason to be pissed at me. I didn’t do anything wrong. And second, I am really adorable, so that’s not surprising.” I snap.

“I do have a reason to be pissed, baby.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do. You’re not a man, so you will never get it, but I have a dick. I know what every man in that bar was thinking, and I also know that none of it was PG.”

“Whatever,” I sigh, refusing to admit he’s right, even though he probably is.

“You’re still in for it when we get home, so don’t think you’re off the hook,” he says, and my core clenches at his tone.

“What does that mean?” I ask, as we turn onto our block.

“You’ll see,” he says, pulling into the driveway and putting the truck in park. His body turns toward me and his hand rests casually over the steering wheel as his eyes scan me. “You’re beautiful.”

“Um…” I lick my lips, wondering where he’s going with this.

“The first time I saw you, I knew there was something about you that I had to have, and every moment I have spent with you since has given me a taste of something I want more of. I’ll never get enough of you.”

Oh, God. Once more, those three stubborn words are clogging my throat. I want to say them so badly. I want him to know I feel the same, that my feelings for him have never changed. “I want you too,” I say, feeling like an idiot, because those words are not even close to the way I feel.

“No, baby.” His fingers unhook my seatbelt and he drags me across the seat toward him. “You’re mine. I mean that in the most fucked-up, primal way possible. If it were legal to own you, I would.”

“Oh,” I breathe, as he wraps his hands around the backs of my thighs and tugs me forward against the bulge in his pants.

“Now do you understand what I mean when I say you’re mine?” he questions, moving his hand up my back and into the hair at the nape of my neck.

“I… I think so.”

“You need to marry me again. Maybe then I won’t feel as crazy as I do now,” he whispers, studying me. “Then again, I’m not sure there is anything that can change how I feel.”

“Evan,” I whisper, searching his eyes, seeing how intense they are. I want that again. I want to be his. There is nothing I want more.

“I love you, baby.”

“I—” His mouth covering mine cuts off what I was going to say, and I get lost in his kiss, so lost that I don’t even realize we are out of the truck and in the house until I feel my back hit the wall and hear the front door close.

“I’m giving you a head start,” he says, pulling his mouth from mine. “If you can get that dress off before we make it to the room, you can keep it. If you can’t, then it’s going to be used to tie you to the bed.”

I gasp at his ultimatum. “I love this dress,” I declare, as his mouth travels down my neck, between my breasts, and then he’s moving the lace of the dress aside and his large hands cup my breasts in each of his palms.

“I fucking hate these things. They are constantly in the way of what I want,” he growls, ripping the pasties off my nipples.

“Oh, God,” I moan, letting my head fall back and my hands slide through his hair. His fingers work my nipples, pulling and tugging as his mouth slides between my breasts, tormenting me. “Evan.”

“Go,” he says, stepping back suddenly, leaving me panting against the wall.

“What?” I blink up at him, trying to understand what happened, why he stopped touching me.

“Five,” he states, sliding his eyes over my face then chest.

“Wh… what?”

“Four.” His jaw clenches as he growls, “Three.”

“Oh, shit.” I pull myself away from the wall and stumble, still half-drunk, down the hall, listening to him countdown behind me as I run into the room, trying to tug my dress up over my head as I go. Realizing that’s not how I put it on, I pull one hand out of a sleeve and then the other.

“One,” I hear as a hand goes to my back and I’m bent over the mattress, my dress now down around my waist. Then the bottom of the garment is up and the cool air of the room meets the bare skin of my ass.

“Evan.”

“These are not even covering my pussy, June,” he mutters, roughly running a finger along the edge of my lace thong from my outer hip, down between my ass cheeks, and lower, grazing my pussy. “You have a beautiful ass.” His hand runs over the cheek soothingly, and my hands bunch the duvet between my fingers as I slide up on my tiptoes, tilting my backside toward him, silently begging him to do whatever he wants to me.

“Give me your hands,” he commands, and my pulse speeds up as I release the duvet and put my hands behind my back. “You’re being very good right now.”

Oh, God, his tone is doing crazy things to my insides, making me feel like every inch of me has been somehow lit on fire, and only his touch can put the inferno out. Feeling smooth material wrap around first one wrist then the other, I start to pant.