One Bossy Disaster: Chapter 10

This is so not how I wanted to see the sunrise.

When Shepherd mentioned camping, I had big plans to get a few shots of the morning and evening light highlighting this beautiful place. I thought it would be great for my followers—and for me.

How often do you ever get to do something like this?

Just drop everything to go into the wilderness and live a few days synched to nature’s rhythm?

Almost never.

Not when you’re a busy adult strapped with a career, a brand, a life.

Nothing that should involve making out madly with my boss in the sand and then tossing and turning all night because of it, so wet and heart-stung I still hurt in the morning.

At least I wasn’t suffering alone.

Every time I turned over, I heard him rustling in his sleeping bag like a trapped insect.

I knew Shepherd was awake every excruciating minute, just like me.

Stuck in reliving the last twenty-four hours, plus a hundred lost chances.

Is he kicking himself for missing them like I am?

Or is he just too busy brooding like the surly, walled-off creature he is, wishing to all the gods of common sense that he never went on this otterly catastrophic trip?

It’s shaping up to be worth every bad pun.

Even now, I remember too much.

His firm, comforting weight pressing down on me.

How swiftly he moved, seizing my mouth, growling with need as his tongue pushed against mine.

And what a tongue.

The man knows when to give, when to chase, when to tease.

If he just knew how to sort his own shit, we might be in a happier place. Not here, rising with the sun and trying like mad to rub the exhaustion from my eyes.

My panties are still wrecked from dreaming about cold blue eyes that can only ever offer conflicted kisses.

And that wild, wanting look in his eyes…

God.

I still don’t understand.

Why did he have to freak out and run away when it tasted so good?

It wasn’t me, right?

It’s not that people don’t find me attractive. I know, logically, that I’m relatively pretty, and guys have given me plenty of attention ever since I hit my main growth spurt.

But this is different.

No one has ever wanted me the way Shepherd Foster looked at me last night.

Fierce and desperate and entirely demanding.

Also, so familiar.

He wanted me with the same strength he unleashed on the ocean, and that’s weirdly compelling.

My heart drums wild whenever I think about it.

I didn’t plan this.

I came for otters and wound up being drawn to my boss like a moth to flame.

This isn’t me.

I’m not Miss Free Fall.

If I’m dating, I need a guy to wow me before any real attraction sets in.

I’m a third date girl for any sexy business.

After we’ve talked and connected and kissed a few times, then maybe. Or maybe I realize I’m too busy or too disinterested and I politely end it right there. My usual routine.

But this isn’t me.

I don’t recklessly throw myself at men without a basic human connection first.

Whatever we have, it’s definitely not that.

Shepherd and I don’t even like each other.

There’s just this sizzling animal magnetism I can’t deny.

A switch he flicked the second he hauled me out of the sea.

Even then, I was a goner, before the ill-fated massage and the kiss that plucked my heart out.

Holy hell, the kiss.

My whole body burns just remembering it.

The single most erotic moment of my existence, and we were still fully clothed.

Briefly, I consider touching myself while it’s still dark and quiet and I’m covered up in my sleeping bag, but then I hear him moving around and I’m sure he’s awake.

Ugh.

He’ll know.

Then I’ll never live it down.

So I just lie there in the dim light just before sunset proper, wide awake and exhausted yet fizzing with a lust so intense it vibrates with awareness.

For a second, I think about calling out, but I open my mouth and stop cold.

I can’t do it.

Not in this state.

Sighing, I wriggle out of my sleeping bag and cool off for a second in the dewy morning air.

I think Shepherd does the same, taking a moment to collect himself.

He looks so painfully handsome in that tight t-shirt clinging to him like a second skin that I don’t dare stare too long.

And it’s a one-way glance.

He doesn’t so much as look at me as he packs his stuff away.

His movements seem almost as stilted as mine, sore from yesterday’s rigors, or maybe just intent on holding himself together.

Despite everything, I feel a tiny surge of victory.

If he’s been awake all night too, good.

The prick deserves it after kissing me like Satan on a mission and then cutting me off cold turkey.

Never mind the fact that he wouldn’t utter one word about it.

Adults talk… don’t they?

When they make mistakes, they own up to them—and he clearly thinks yesterday was an epic mistake—and they also figure out a way to set things right.

But when it comes to Shepherd Foster, CEO and shameless jackass extraordinaire, communication is an afterthought.

Fine.

Whatever.

While he kicks dirt and sand into the fire pit, I sit up and pack my overnight stuff into my kayak, strapping it down firmly.

Soon, without speaking, we carry our boats down from the rocks where we secured them and get everything ready to go.

My limbs feel like they’re encased in cement when I start paddling.

Muscles I didn’t know I had scream with protest.

Luckily, a few parts of this stretch of coastline are familiar. This isn’t my first time coming to the Olympic Peninsula.

Last year, I came out here for five days sea otter hunting and came back empty-handed, not counting a few pics of cute foxes and a marmot. But I didn’t have anything to prove then like I do today, and the stakes are higher than ever.

“This is it,” Shepherd finally says about an hour later, breaking the morning quiet. “Where do you want to start?”

After some thought, I pick a small trail through the woods that curls back to another beach through some overgrowth. It’s one of those hidden gem beaches that rarely sees people, safe from the summer tourists. That factor alone might boost our chances.

We climb out and secure our kayaks against some driftwood before heading down the brush-crowded path.

“You want to tell me about these otters? I’m guessing you’ve got some expertise,” he says after a few more heavy minutes.

Loaded looks and deathly silence. At least we’re good at something.

“What do you want to know?” I ask carefully.

“What do you know, Destiny?”

I can’t help the annoyed grin that spreads across my face.

He really has to ask?

It might be easier to ask what I don’t know.

“I’ve always had a soft spot for otters,” I explain, stepping over a fallen log exploding with moss.

It’s so idyllic here with the morning sun straining through the budding leaves. Mulch and gravel cover the ground without so much overgrowth the deeper we go.

I take a breath, hold it, and exhale.

This is fine.

This is good.

I don’t need to worry about what he thinks of me out here.

My body aches. I’m so tired I’m seeing double, but I’m here and present in the moment.

“I fell in love with them when I was a kid and learned they hold hands while they sleep. Can you believe how cute that is?”

“I can believe it,” he says dryly. “Are you drawn to anything besides the fact that they’re living cartoons?”

I glare at him.

“Duh. Their numbers have recovered a little recently, but they’re still endangered. They’re interesting creatures and they need our help. They have the densest fur of any mammal.”

“What, they don’t have enough fat to keep warm in the ocean currents?”

“Exactly.” I grin up at him. Maybe it’s the light, but it looks like he half smiles back. “We’d find them more easily in Alaska, but there’s a small population here that’s still going. The Washington groups used to have a pretty extensive range and ten times its numbers, but you can guess what happened.”

“People, unfortunately. I know the feeling,” he growls.

He couldn’t be more right.

The edge in his voice almost makes me laugh.

It’s not hard to imagine him giving up every dollar he has if he could make everyone in a hundred-mile radius disappear.

“So, what then? You’re campaigning to put them on people’s radar? For raising awareness?”

“I guess. The animals that strike a note with the public always get a leg up with researchers and big money. It may not be right, but it’s a fact. It’s sad that the sea otters are still relatively unknown, though. We need folks to see how important they are to the ecosystem. They do a ton, no matter how sweet they look.” Any second now, I’m waiting for him to cut me off with a curt nod, but he doesn’t.

He just keeps listening as I rattle off otter facts like a talking Wiki article, my past trips here, the professor I worked with a couple years ago who fought tooth and nail for a grant he couldn’t get for better research into restoring their numbers.

“Basically, they’re in a pretty similar place to polar bears, just less well known,” I say. “Between the shrinking habitat and human industry mucking things up, it isn’t good. If they don’t get some serious attention soon…”

I don’t finish, but my meaning is clear.

The otters are dead meat.

The Washington remnant, for sure, and probably the rest of the Pacific Northwest population after that.

A tale as old as time.

So many innocent things will die if we keep destroying their world.

This is why I wish more culprits had to pay through the nose for their damage. For every charitable billionaire like Dad or Foster who try to leave a minimal environmental footprint, there are three more rich pricks willing to slash throats at any cost to fatten their accounts. Too often, those pricks have the government regulators in their pockets, too.

“Polar bears,” Shepherd prompts when I drift into silence.

“Right. Yes. So, just like them sea otters are a keystone species. They go after sea urchins, which eat kelp. Like, so much kelp. With otters keeping urchins in check, the kelp forests thrive. It’s all about balance.”

“Balance. That’s why I’m here stomping through this mud?” He looks down, grumbling as he rips his boot out of a tarry puddle where the tide must’ve swept in overnight.

I stifle a laugh.

“That’s where you stop getting dirty and work your magic. The drones can cover way more rough ground without us stumbling around, right? Think what it took to even get to this spot…”

“You have a point,” he agrees.

He stops and glances around the woodland, wiping his boot on a rock.

It’s quiet, but not dead silent.

Compared to the bustling city, sure. But if you listen, there’s so much going on—birds and bugs and even the occasional fish dipping out of the water.

It makes me feel so alive and I’ll love the natural rhythm forever.

“Don’t get too excited,” I warn. “There’s no guarantee we’ll see any, no matter how good your metal bugs are.”

“These ‘bugs’ were a thirty-million-dollar project,” he says. “If they’re good at finding intruders who squeeze through the slightest window—and they’re impeccable—then they ought to be able to find your lanky friends crawling around rocks in the open.”

I scan the rocks offshore in search of them with my own eyes first.

They usually spend the bulk of their day out at sea and come ashore to rest. That’s our best chance at spotting them.

“Keep your eyes peeled anyway,” I tell Shepherd. “Our best chance to see them is when they’re resting, or sometimes when they’re on rocks, breaking mollusks.” I mime the action before stopping cold.

Now I’m just embarrassed.

What is it about this man that makes me act like a complete idiot around him?

He knows what mollusks are.

And um, probably how a hungry otter gets breakfast.

“Understood—and thanks for the demonstration, Destiny.” His lips twitch into another almost-smile that makes my heart skip before I wrestle it back under control.

This is so bad.

“Is their endangered status recent? As in, the last forty years?” he asks. “I mean, out here or Alaska, it’s not too densely populated. They don’t have any natural predators that I know of.”

“How about humans?” I sigh because it makes me sad. “They were hunted for their pelts as traders came west and moved up the coast. Their population recovered a bit, sure, but more recently, pollution has been a massive problem.”

He nods grimly but doesn’t say anything more as I squint across the sun-spangled sea.

I stare at the churning waves, looking for any sign of precious, furry little faces poking out of the water or frolicking around the rocks.

“Did you work with them in your grad program?” he asks from behind me.

“A little. Not as much as I wanted, and not just otters. I was with tons of different research groups with a broad marine life focus, usually. The professors want you to gain a lot of broad experience before you really home in on any specialty. I’ve worked on protecting turtles, dolphins from fisheries, and I even did a stint in Hudson Bay with an international polar bear tracking group.” Though it’s a losing battle like everyone knows. “I guess the otters are close to home. They’ve always held a special place for me. What I’d really like to get involved with is preserving what’s left of our sei whales. They’re crazy rare now in local waters, but a few scientists I worked with swore they’re on the verge of a comeback—if they just had a little more help.”

“And what help would that be?”

I slide him a glance, slightly irritated he sounds so skeptical.

Not that I can blame him when so much conservation work feels like an impossible battle.

“Well, we just don’t know enough. ‘Knowledge is power’ isn’t just a cheesy catchphrase with animal research. It’s everything. If this drone tracking helps with the otters, underwater drones could be huge for the whales.” I hold my breath, waiting for him to call me an idiot.

Honestly, I don’t even know how technically feasible it is.

“That’s a big ask. Unmanned submersibles are the most expensive experimental drone technology around,” he says. But he doesn’t instantly swat me down. “I’ll admit, I don’t know much about sei whales except for the fact that they’ve been hunted extensively.”

“Yeah. They’re protected now, but very little is known about them, and that’s the problem. Especially their social dynamics. We need something capable of keeping up that can track their movements and study them without being as intrusive as research boats.”

“Meaning, the drones would have to follow a pod over a long distance,” he muses. “It could be done—but I assure you, the cost would make this otter tracking adaptation look like a church fish fry.”

“Right.”

“With that in mind, I’m not sure a conventional drone would be your best option. Even the best submersibles adapted for civilian usage still run on batteries, and any hint of adding more lithium to the ocean if something goes wrong is a net loss for everything down there.”

He frowns, thinking.

I’ll be honest, it’s weirdly adorable.

I mean, if you can call a man who’s built like a mountain cute.

“Well, what would you suggest?” I prompt.

“I said conventional. What you need is something that can work around the energy problem. A submersible that draws its power from the ocean itself,” he says slowly as if he’s magically pulling the idea from the ether. “The current motions might provide a small device with enough kinetic energy to power itself indefinitely. We’d still need a data link, too, but that would be easy enough to establish with an environmentally friendly power source.”

“Careful, Shepherd. It sounds like you’re really getting into this,” I tease, then freeze up.

He made it perfectly plain that we don’t have this sort of relationship.

He doesn’t do jokes, or even fun.

Although geeking out like this is pretty entertaining.

Not that I would ever admit it to his grumpy face.

He probably thinks this whole conversation is borderline insubordination, what with me low-key asking for spendy miracle technologies when I haven’t even passed the first big test today.

Or maybe he’s already planning on firing me because I kissed him back.

In his uptight world spinning with scandal, that’s a high crime for sure.

A breeze comes blowing off the water, tossing my hair.

I rub my eyes and finger comb it back into place.

I really must be dead exhausted if I can’t keep my thoughts straight, let alone focused on the animals we’re out here to save.

Being horny and sleep-deprived does awful things to a woman’s mind.

I’m three seconds away from insanity.

Then Shepherd abruptly ducks under a low branch, and he doesn’t look like he’s on the verge of firing me.

I haven’t noticed him rifling through his large bag until now. He pulls out a smaller hardshell case with a handle, sets it down gently, and opens it.

Inside, I see the neatly packed drone prototype, so pearly white it glows.

“Whatever the future may bring, letting you drag me out here hasn’t been a complete waste of time. This is an interesting application of our technology,” he says without missing a beat.

Perfectly seriously.

My heart disintegrates into butterflies again.

Just how?

How can a man who’s never met a human smile look so attractive when he’s hunched over his creation like a mad scientist?

His eccentric, grumpy butt breaks all the laws of men.

One guy doesn’t get to be smoldering and cute simultaneously, yet here he is doing it, slaying my heart to smithereens.

I nod sharply, pretending the drone test is all that’s on my mind.

My smile does its best to come out, and I bite it away again.

“You’re right, Shepherd. Super interesting application of technology. Imagine what we could do with the robo-subs and the whales.”

“Are you laughing at me?” He looks at me.

“Nope. Never.” I force my lips into a straight line. “Sir,” I add as an afterthought.

“Smart-ass otter brat.”

“Yes, sir,” I agree.

“Are you trying to sound like Miss Cho?”

Is that how I protect myself from another kiss that rips my heart out?

“I’m showing you a smidge of respect for taking a leap of faith with me today. Don’t let it go to your head. Oh, and I couldn’t ever be one tenth as serious as Hannah.”

He snorts. “Yes, she’s unbearably polite when she insults me to my face weekly. You, Miss Destiny, pull no punches.”

There it is again.

The barest hint of a smile—and is he looking at me fondly?

Oh, boy.

“Are you a bigger dick to her than you are to me?” I whisper.

“It’s a tough contest. I threaten to fire her constantly, but by now she knows I won’t.” He eyes me coldly. “You, I’m still working out how to tame.”

Apparently, he’s on the right track with this innuendo that feels like an uppercut.

“Is that your first priority? Playing mind games with your people?” I ask playfully.

He shakes his head.

“I fucking wish. Hannah Cho is a force of corporate nature. If you want to know why Home Shepherd operates as tightly as it does, she’s the one to thank.”

My eyebrows lift.

Whatever crap I was expecting, it wasn’t that.

He gives credit surprisingly easily, like it doesn’t hurt his ego to admit that someone else has a hand in his success.

God help me, I like that.

I like it way too much.

“As long as you pay her well,” I say, teasing him again.

“Agonizingly well, as she’s reminded daily.”

That does it, I smile.

This is the side of Shepherd he doesn’t like to show.

When he’s talking about endangered animals and charities and how he treats his employees, he’s not half-bad.

Even his stance is different now.

His shoulders are looser, less militantly stiff, the sternness gone from his eyes.

And he keeps almost-smiling when I look at him.

For Shepherd, that’s a freaking lot.

It’s the nicest thing just talking like this.

Like we’re halfway to being friends instead of the iron bossman and his confused shadow.

Somehow, that matters.

Maybe because I’ve fought my whole life for a chance to find my own footing without needing to stake my life on Dad’s reputation and money.

The fact that Shepherd accepts me even though I’m miles beneath him on the corporate ladder makes my toes curl in my shoes and my belly explode with—

Yep.

Butterflies.

I can’t remember the last time I ever felt them.

And all because he’s exhibiting basic human decency after making so many mistakes yesterday. My standards must be hilariously low.

“It’s nice knowing you have a good relationship with your assistant,” I say.

“What? Did you suspect she was terrorized on a daily basis?”

I flash him a look that makes him snicker. “You tried to terrorize me.”

“Tried? How disappointing.”

“Was that another joke, Foster?”

His smile disappears. “No, damn you.”

I burst out laughing, scaring away some seagulls waddling on the shore.

So much for trying to be quiet out here and using library voices.

“Funny, right?” I move closer, nudging his arm with my elbow. “People are more complex than you give them credit for.”

Wrong move.

He totally shuts down.

One minute, he’s teasing along with me, looking almost human and like he might be having fun.

Then his eyes shutter.

His mouth thins.

He goes right back to being the irritable, unapproachable frost king he shows the world—the same man I met in his office when he insulted me to my face.

I do not miss that man.

I also have zero desire to spend more time with him.

Clearing my throat, I try to ignore the fact that I nudged him as we start moving again, still close enough to touch in our silence.

Ignore him, ignore him.

Right.

That’s about as easy as ignoring a rampaging bear barreling at me.

Although maybe a bear would make less noise.

“Careful where you step with the leaves,” I tell him, pushing aside a few long strands of grass. “We don’t want to scare anything away.”

“That’s what this is for, isn’t it?” Without another word, he throws the small drone into the sky like he’s pitching a baseball.

It whirs to life instantly, hovering above us like an overgrown bee.

It’s the total lack of noise that catches me off guard.

The little machine is bizarrely quiet, you wouldn’t know it was there if you didn’t see it.

I’m legit impressed.

“Let the bug, as you call it, do the searching from here, Destiny,” he tells me, brushing his hand against mine.

I hold my breath, wondering if he’ll take it, but he moves forward again.

Ass.

Mysterious, uptight, annoyingly generous ass.

We continue along the back of the beach quietly while I hold in my sarcasm. With the drone deployed and moving just ahead of us at a comfortable pace, it’s all about the otters now.

My eyes feel sharper than ever.

Every black piece of seaweed, every distant ship, makes me think of them.

But no, after trudging half a mile along the uneven shore, there’s nothing. My eyes are tired and my shoulders slump.

I’m already feeling defeated as the drone slows and scans, turning in the air a full three-sixty.

It makes me wonder if we should waste more time here or cut our losses while we still have plenty of time to move to a better spot.

But then I see it.

At least, I see something.

It’s small, but noticeable, splashing in a tide pool formed by half-sunken rocks.

I throw up an arm, stopping Shepherd in his tracks, thunking my hand against his wall of a chest.

He knows better than to ask, but I think his excitement almost matches mine as a long, quick moving otter crawls out of the rocks, bats its eyes, and then dives back under again.

A second later, it pops its head up and flops on its back, gliding on the water like a drunken frat boy in a pool. It’s officially the sweetest, laziest, most unexpected surprise of my life.

Holy crap!

Holy shit.

When I grab his arm and pull, wordlessly sharing my thrill, he doesn’t protest.

Shepherd just nods and smiles when I look up from the amazing scene to see his face.

Meanwhile, I’m fumbling around in my bag like a madwoman, trying to find my binoculars.

“Relax. The drone’s footage goes straight to the cloud, even out here, thanks to Starlink. It can zoom in fifty times without losing image quality,” he whispers hotly in my ear.

Wow.

Even with the reassurance, I’m scared I’ll miss this if I even dare to breathe.

My heart pounds so hard I think I’m seeing double.

My hands are shaking.

This is too much. Too incredible.

Beside me, Shepherd lifts his own pair of binoculars. I didn’t notice him throw them around his neck, but he must’ve thought to earlier.

He passes them over, and together, we take turns otter watching.

No, otters.

Plural.

Several more of these living plushies emerge, grouping themselves together to sun on the rocks when they’re not splashing around like hyperactive ferrets.

I do my best to count them so I can send the state database an accurate report, though it’s pretty hard when my hands are this unsteady.

Five… six… seven.

Seven otters.

Wait, no, eight. Eight.

Eight sea otters!

I forget how to breathe.

I think this might be the best day of my life since Eliza and Dad taught me how to swim.

I’m watching endangered freaking sea otters in their natural habitat.

Otters playing in the surf, a peaceful little family. A viable breeding population.

Sighing gratefully, I pull out my phone and zoom in, snapping pictures like crazy.

I post a few pictures to Insta ASAP, typing a clumsy caption, then I bring up the Fish & Wildlife information form.

“What are you doing?” Shepherd asks, breathing the question more than speaking it out loud.

Um, trying not to die from the rush?

I can’t fathom how to tell him how grateful I truly am that he’s being so supportive.

All my energy goes straight into capturing the otters with my camera.

“I’m reporting the numbers now,” I whisper, doing a little happy dance. “Man, I can’t believe we found them! Way more than just one, too. This looks like a solid breeding population.”

“Jackpot,” he agrees. “The drone should get better footage than anything your phone can capture.”

“Right? I wonder if we’re missing more. If we have the drone do a quick survey, we could get a better sweep of the area and know for sure just how many there are around here. Maybe, if there are more groups like this out there… they might not be endangered someday.”

“Done,” he says.

I whip around and look at him. “Oh, what? I wasn’t seriously expecting you to—”

Before I can finish, he taps at his phone.

An app that controls the drone, I realize.

I watch the sleek little bug with those freakishly silent rotors lunge forward, holding my breath.

Without any noise, the otters seem totally oblivious, thankfully. They don’t look up, even as it flies ahead of them, gaining altitude to take in a wider section of the area.

I lean in to the high-definition video feed coming back on Shepherd’s screen. He taps an icon that switches to something like infrared. But I’m pretty sure we only wind up with the same eight heat signatures.

No big loss.

You don’t spit in the face of a single miracle.

We enjoy the quiet, watching for several minutes.

I don’t realize I’m getting drunk on his scent until he moves, leaving me so dizzy I bang into his shoulder.

“You hit a sinkhole?”

“No, no, I’m just—I’m a little overwhelmed. This is too freaking cool.” I turn away as my cheeks heat.

“Falling face down in the dirt won’t do us any good, or the otters. Don’t make me catch you if you can’t keep your balance, lady.” The sharp glint in his eye says that’s not an idle threat.

I swallow thickly.

There’s something about the way he says lady that reaches so deep inside me, stroking me like a kitten.

“Just imagine what we could do if we had regular drone flights, monitoring this place. We’d have a crazy good understanding of their movements, their diet, their breeding patterns, their population—everything!”

I might take him up on that offer to jump into his arms.

I’m just that giddy.

But when he looks at me again, instead of eye-rolling irritation, he stares back with something almost like fondness.

His gaze is softer in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.

It makes his face gentler, erasing those hard lines worn by scowling so much.

Something about his face draws me in more than ever.

Something about him.

And that same indescribable something must radiate off me, too.

When it happens, it shouldn’t be such a shock.

His big hand catches my waist, drags me in, and then we’re kissing in the breathless excitement of this lovely moment.

Kissing like it’s the very last time.

And if it is, the man makes it count like his life hinges on it.

He claims me gently at first. Slowly, but not hesitantly.

Shepherd Foster doesn’t strike me as a man who’s ever hesitant when he lets instinct take control.

But his lips are so warm against mine, an extension of the same braising excitement surging through my veins.

There’s pure celebration in the movement of his tongue and the charge he ignites under my skin. His growl reverberates through me, and I give back a buttery moan.

His communication isn’t verbal, no.

But you’d better believe he speaks with his body, with every movement, toasting our win today with his mouth and hands and the delicious sting of his teeth.

I soak it all up like a sun-starved plant.

Every new press of his lips whispers all the affirmation I’ve been craving, and all the filthy promises I dreamed last night.

Destiny, I fucking want you, they say.

God.

His rhythm quickens, matching the desire in my chest, the hot need that’s been braising my stomach, and as my teeth graze his bottom lip, the kiss changes.

It becomes wild, frantic, almost too much.

Messy and clumsy and greedy and intense.

Just as big a contradiction as Shepherd himself.

The heat knifing through my body is sudden and urgent.

I wrap my arms around him, phone and otters forgotten.

Well, not quite forgotten.

Even the hottest kiss of my life can’t make me forget that there are precious otters close by.

That’s why, when he bites my bottom lip again, I swallow my gasp.

This time, I won’t let him get away with getting me all hot and bothered before he hangs me out to dry, wet and cold.

I push myself closer, grabbing his shoulders, molding my body against his.

Holy hell, he’s huge.

A giant in every sense of the word.

It’s almost shocking we fit together so well when he has at least five inches and a hundred pounds on me.

I’m tall, but he’s Mount Flipping Rainier.

I have honed, strong shoulders, but his could make the sky itself rage with jealousy.

I’m a decent kisser—so I think—but he could shame every Casanova born for the last five hundred years.

Our hips slot together, and I tug at his shirt, raking my hands over his bare skin.

This man.

Holy hell, this man has muscle groups I thought were only mythic.

His skin is warm and silky under my searching fingers, but I can sense the hardness underneath. I stroke down his chest, feeling him freely, his pecs, his abs.

All eight of them.

Eight!

He can’t even settle for a regular six-pack like a normal hyper-athletic male.

“Destiny,” he rasps my name. “If you want me to stop, speak the hell up. Right now.”

He pulls back for the briefest second, his chest heaving, a question flaring in his smoldering eyes.

He’s waiting for an answer I never give.

I just bite my lip, and my eyes flick down slowly.

I trace the arrow of pure muscle with one finger, pointing down to his beltline, and he groans.

Then his hands are on my hips and we’re moving.

A second later, my back bangs against a massive tree, just hard enough to rattle me.

I don’t know how we got here, I don’t.

But do I want this to stop?

My brain has one answer, and my body has another.

I’m liquid fire already. So wet it’s almost obscene.

I’m thrilled and sleep-deprived and confused from yesterday, and I shouldn’t be this aroused this fast.

Even fully rested, I shouldn’t be this ready to go.

He could just slip inside me right now and take over.

And it’s like he reads my mind, grinding his hips against me, making me feel how massive he is where it counts.

At least he comes by his monster ego honestly.

I knew that yesterday, of course, when we were kissing in the sand and I felt him, but this is so different.

I wiggle, maneuvering myself so his cock presses where I need it most, pursing my lips and releasing a slow moan.

Holy shit, this is hot.

Like Hollywood romance blockbuster sexy.

One hand rolls up my hip, holding me in place, while his other finds the bottom of my top and flips it up. When he notices I’m not wearing a bra, a hoarse noise catches in his throat.

Then his palm cups my breast and goes to work.

It’s insane that I’m still standing as I wrap my legs around him, grinding more firmly against his erection.

My head spins from how good it is.

When he pinches my nipple, I press my lips to his neck so I can only make one sound.

“Shepherd!” His name tears out of me, equally curse and prayer.

Yes, yes, holy hell, yes.

Don’t stop.

Not even for the apocalypse.

I yank my top off, feeling the cool air against my bare breasts. He does the same with his shirt a second later.

Then we’re warm, hungry skin on skin, and possibly the most erotic thing ever.

I rock against him again, wondering if I can come from this friction alone.

That alone is insane, but again, so is every part of this.

He kisses me again, hard and demanding.

Honestly, I’m thrilled to be demanded with such brute energy.

Happier still to dig at his shoulders, sinking my nails in, really feeling him.

And when he reaches down and opens my shorts, pushing them down my legs in one rough jerk, I’m beyond ecstatic.

This is it.

There’s no coming back from this, and baby, I don’t want to.

Next thing I know, we’re tumbling down in a clearing between the thickest brush. I’m so riled I don’t sweat missing a blanket.

Dead leaves crunch against my back as we roll, but I don’t care.

Not when he’s thunder incarnate, teasing one moan out after the next.

Not when my breasts are aching and my core is pure liquid and I need him inside me now.

Now.

“Shepherd,” I whine.

I don’t recognize my own voice.

He snarls a response, then drags his own pants down, freeing his cock.

It snaps out like a lethal weapon, pulsing and veiny and dangerously hard, a bead of liquid already at the tip.

With shaking fingers, I grab him and squeeze, loving how he groans.

I get maybe five strokes in, enough to see the scary-hot glint in his eyes, before he decides he won’t melt into my touch.

When he slides a finger inside me, the world stops.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “You’re soaked, Destiny. How long has this pussy been ready for me?”

I can’t answer while I’m shuddering to pieces on his fingers.

Not even when he growls, “Destiny, how long? Tell me.”

But then he slides another finger in, and I forget my protests.

“L-last night. It’s all I could think about. Shepherd, please,” I whimper.

“Good girl. If you give me what I need, then so will I.”

I don’t know what that means until his thumb lands on my clit.

I try to keep pace, stroking my hand up and down his silky length. He hisses a breath between his teeth.

We’re quiet—so quiet—and all I can think is that this is already the best sex of my last few lifetimes, and he’s not even inside me yet.

Shit.

I’m so achingly close it’s embarrassing.

Will I ever live down coming for him in under three minutes?

I wish I could still care.

But I don’t as his mouth finds my nipple and sucks so hard I gasp, as his thumb presses down, as he takes me apart with pure sensation.

Not as the most powerful orgasm ever made rips me to pieces and scatters me to the wind.

I throw my head back and see white.

He drags his cock from my hands and there’s a vague sound of a package tearing. I’m too far gone to notice the condom.

When he kisses me again—another wild, searing, own-your-soul kiss that makes my knees weak—and slides inside me, I have to bite back a moan.

He fills me to the brim and stops, rasping as he pushes his forehead to mine.

So tight it might hurt if he hadn’t put me through the perfect warm-up.

When he moves again, the ache dissolves into this pleasurable stretching sensation.

“Destiny, goddamn. Tell me it isn’t too much.”

“Shepherd, please. Fuck me,” I moan against his mouth.

His thrusts resume, this time like crashing waves, gaining tempo with every vicious stroke.

Eventually, I regain my senses, just enough to move my hips to match his movements.

The otters aren’t the only wild animals here now.

Not when we’re mating like desperate beasts in rut, grasping and thrusting and losing our minds in total delirium.

I nip his neck, leaving marks, clawing at his back, urging him on with every movement of my hips.

All the wildness I’d seen in him on the water pours into me now—and I want to share his pain, his fury, his need to disperse this wild energy.

All his beautiful brutality and arrogance.

All the fierce energy of a man with secret, deep passions I’m dying to know.

And I am feeling every bit of that passion as his cock marks me from the inside out.

Every. Single. Stroke.

The man against the world becomes the man who finally breaks.

But instead of fighting to subdue me, to master me, to shatter me with pleasure, he gives me something far more precious.

He gives up his iron control and comes apart in an avalanche of thrusts and guttural curses.

For a second, he gives me the sweetest glance as his face screws up and he can’t hold back another second.

My legs lock around him so tight as my pussy molds to his flesh.

And I let him give.

I let Shepherd Foster empty his soul into depths no man has ever reached, figuratively and literally.

And when we finish, crashing down together in the grass and clinging with shaking muscles, it’s like the world itself celebrates our beautiful chaos with a bright new burst of color and noise.