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held his gaze while she fastened her bra, adjusting herself inside the lace cups. He shifted his stance to relieve the strain behind his buttoned fly then stepped back to give her room to hop down.
    She did, hooking two fingers around the necks of the beer bottles and offering them like bait. Her hair was mussed, her T-shirt wrinkled and bunched at her waist, her pupils as black as a wide-eyed calf’s.
    “We can go in for a burger,” she told him, her voice labored and low. “Or we can cross the yard and finish this inside my house.”
    A RWEN HADN’T TAKEN but five steps into her kitchen when Dax grabbed her wrist and tugged her to the door. He’d closed it, locked it, and now he pushed her against it, reaching for her jeans once he had her restrained. He popped the button, lowered the zipper, slid his hand into her panties and his tongue into her mouth.
    She thought she just might die. A gorgeous death. A beautiful death. The lust of her life doing her in. And that’s what got to her the most. This was Dax Campbell. His hands, his mouth, his fingers sliding through her folds, teasing, tormenting. Dax Campbell.
    The man she’d swore to work out of her system was taking her apart.
    She’d had sex. She’d had orgasms. When without a partner, she had no trouble taking care of herself. But oh, what a fool she’d been to think she could file Dax away in the same box of toys. This was
so
far beyond her experience with physical pleasure; this was bliss, and it crawled inside of her, and her heart raced to escape the emotions clutching and scrabbling with greedy fingers.
    She had no idea what he’d done with the longnecks, only that her wrists were crossed and pinned over her head. The hand not shackling hers urged her to spread her legs, and then a finger was inside her, two fingers, stroking her pussy while his tongue slid over hers like a cock, possessing. Claiming, and oh
God
, she was in trouble. So much trouble.
    She had to shut down, close the door on everything but what he was doing to her body. She couldn’t think about who he’d been and who she’d been. She couldn’t think at all.
    She struggled. She wanted to touch him, to get rid of her clothes and his clothes, to make them equal, but his thumb was on her clit, pressing down, pulling up, playing her side to side and robbing her of control. This wasn’t what she wanted, yet it was everything she wanted; Dax Campbell in her house, owning her.
    His mouth bruised hers, and she let him. His fingers stretched her channel as if checking the fit. She wanted his cock there, filling her, banging bottom, impaling her and lifting her from her feet. She’d dreamed of this so long, and it was happening, but it wasn’t enough. She bit down and caught his lip to tell him.
    He laughed, the sound deep and earthy, a hungry sound, as if she had no idea what she was asking for, or what she just might get. He pulled his fingers from her pussy, slid further between her legs and toyed with the bud of her ass.
    “You bite me, I’m going to bite back,” he said, pushing the tip of a finger into her tight rear hole.
    She squirmed, wanting less, wanting more. “You call that biting?”
    He let her go, his eyes dark, dangerous, his gaze smoldering as he dropped it to the skin of her belly bared by her open fly. “Get rid of ’em. I’ll wait.”
    She was wet and swollen, but no matter how desperately she wanted him, she wasn’t going to make it that easy. She had to control this or she wouldn’t survive.
    She stood on one foot to tug off a boot, stood in her sock while she pulled off the other. She knew he was waiting for her take off her pants, so she took off her T-shirt instead, stretching her arms slowly as she lifted the hem, shaking her head as her hair freed the fabric.
    Dax’s hands were at his hips, his erection thick behind the denim of his jeans. He still wore his hat, the brim pulled low, his pulse beating in the hollow of his throat. She wondered about the