But I’m getting through now, and that knowledge is the most potent of aphrodisiacs.

He pulls away, and I almost scream in protest. But then I see his face. The heat and power and ferocious need. There’s danger, too, and I welcome it.

“Jackson,” I whisper. And this time, that is all it takes.

He thrusts me back roughly, slamming me against the corrugated metal. “Is this what you want?” he growls. “You want to be fucked? Used? Because you’re here and I need it?”

The words are harsh, designed to make me back away. But I hear what he is really saying—Because I need you. And dear god, I need him, too.

I look him hard in the eyes. “Yes,” I say. “Oh, please, yes.”

I watch, relieved and aroused, as a rising heat melts the coldness in his eyes. I’m wet with desire, every bit of skin on my body a direct link to my cunt. Not only because I will always respond to Jackson’s touch, but because it excites me to know that he needs me like this. That he is claiming me. Using me to make himself whole.

He crushes his mouth over mine, hard and wild, his tongue demanding, taking, fucking, before he pulls back, his teeth tugging at my lower lip.

I hear his breath, wild and fast like my own. And when he yanks up my T-shirt then flips open the front clasp of my bra, I gasp, both in surprise and delight, but also from the way my body clenches, wanting more. Wanting Jackson.

The air is cool, and my nipples tighten even more. He brushes a fingertip over one, the touch so light it is almost negligible.

But oh, dear god, what it does to me. It is as if he’s touched me with an electric wire, and the sensation shoots all the way to my core. I explode—the orgasm ripping through me, wild and incredible and completely unexpected.

I don’t even realize I’ve closed my eyes, but when I open them, I see Jackson watching my face, his expression hungry. Yes, I think. More.

Those are the only two words in my head. The only thoughts I can form, and even when he tells me to turn around, my mind doesn’t process it until he physically moves me.

“Bend over,” he says as his fingers make easy work of the button on my jeans. “Hands on the wall.” He’s right behind me, and I can feel his cock straining against the denim of his jeans and pressing against my ass.

He slides my zipper down, and then uses both hands to tug my jeans down. For a brief moment, the sensual fog that has surrounded me lifts and I realize where we are. But the truth is, I don’t care. We’re mostly blocked by our two cars and this section of the property is unused, this hangar devoted to storage.

Most of all, he needs this. I need this. And I’m not going to risk stopping—risk sending him off to some damned boxing ring or who knows where else when I’m so close to having him back.

My jeans and panties are pushed down to just above my knees. I’m bent forward, my shirt shoved up and my bra open so that my breasts are exposed. I’m wet—so damn wet—and when he slides his hand between my legs and over my clit, I shiver with need.

I hear him take down his zipper, then feel the head of his cock stroke the curve of my ass. I whimper and try to spread my legs wider, but I’m bound by my jeans. I feel wild. Shameless. And if he wasn’t running this show I would happily strip naked and fuck him on the asphalt.

“You need this as much as I do,” he whispers. It’s not a question, nor is it a statement. It’s an expression of wonder. Of connection.

“Yes,” I say. “Oh, god yes.”

“You slapped me.” Now there’s a commanding edge to his voice, and I shiver in anticipation, my body clenching simply from the heat and power in his voice.

I may have started this, but I cannot deny that I want Jackson to finish it. I want to lose myself in his demands. To go soft and wet with the pleasure of submitting. And more than that, I know that if we are going to get past this, he has to grab control.

And oh, thank god, he is.

“Naughty girl,” he says playfully, and then lightly smacks my ass. “Very naughty,” and this time he spanks me harder again and again and again.

I gasp, both from the sting and from the sweet pleasure of it, and then I moan in wanton need when he uses his palm to soothe my heated rear before slipping his hand between my legs again and thrusting his fingers roughly inside me.

My muscles tighten around him, wanting more—and thankfully, so does Jackson. He’s right there, the tip of his cock pushing against my core. His hands are on my hips and he holds me steady as he thrusts inside. Gently at first, and then harder, until he’s pounding into me, wild and powerful.