The Harder They Ride (The Midnight Cactus, #1)

by Coralee June

“Do all the girls fall for that line?” His deep chuckle stirred a flutter in my stomach. “I don’t need to make ’em fall, darlin’. They tumble all on their own. Though for you, I might enjoy the chase.”

“I can be a very jealous man. When someone’s mine, I can be downright possessive.”

Some guys bought their girls flowers. I’d cut off some guy’s dick and serve it to her on a silver platter.

I felt that obsessiveness spurring to life. I was already thinking about getting her naked. Getting her into my bed. Keeping her. Stealing her. “I’m going to have you, Wildflower. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

You belong to me—and I want the world to know it.”

“I’m not looking for anything serious,” she replied. “Too late,” I murmured.

I was already losing myself to the madness. I always knew, when I found the woman I wanted, I wouldn’t let her go. I had one of those compulsions that claimed. All or nothing.

I broke apart into pieces beneath him, wave after wave crashing over me until I lay spent. He shifted up, pressing soft kisses along my inner thighs before slowly crawling up beside me in bed. “You need to leave,” I croaked. “Well, that’s not nice,” he teased. “And no.”

“Clover, why is Declan here?” I opened my mouth, fumbling for a plausible explanation, but Declan was quicker. “Spent the night. Going to be a regular thing.” Avery’s gaze shifted back and forth between us, confusion etched on her face. I forced a smile, attempting to mollify her. “He was just . . . leaving.” “Sure, after breakfast,” he countered, settling at the table like he owned the place. “And Avery,” he continued, a devilish grin plastered on his face, “Clover and I . . . we’re together now. Maybe even planning a wedding.” Avery’s brow furrowed, her eyes darting between us, seeking clarification. “Is this . . . true?” I vehemently denied it, my face burning. “No, Avery! Declan is . . . misunderstanding things.” But Declan wasn’t fazed. “Admit it, Clover,” he chimed, his tone laced with a possessive dare. “We’re meant for each other.”

“You’re never leaving me, Clover,” he murmured, the harsh certainty in his tone ricocheting through the tense silence. The land bore silent witness to his words, his oath. “Not ever.”

“You know, Clover,” he began, his tone deceptively casual. “People always leave me.”

Maybe I had gone too far. Maybe . . . No. I shook the thoughts away. I did what I had to do. I marked her as mine, showed her that she belonged to me. If she’d only trusted me, let me take care of her instead of running off . . . maybe things would have been different.

“But I need you to understand. This is how it has to be.” “But why?” I shot back, my frustration bubbling up. “Why does it have to be this way? Why can’t you just . . . let me go?” “I don’t know why I’m like this, Clover!”

“You can run from me all you want,” I murmured, my lips grazing her ear. “But I will just catch you, Wildflower. I love the chase.”

“I love you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over our panting breaths, “Give me the blame, Wildflower. Give me all of it.”

And finally—finally—she whispered those four words neither one of us expected to hear: “I love you, too.”