Bonus Scene - Coveted by the Cowboy

Arrogant, stubborn, infuriating man.

“Come on, Trick. Open the door.”

I knock on the bedroom door one more time, then tug at the neckline of my black bodysuit for the tenth time.

Whoever invented “sexy costumes” clearly hated women and loved restricted breathing. The material clings like a second skin, tight enough that I’m pretty sure my organs have been forced into alphabetical order.

We’re running late and part of that’s on me. I lost track of time perfecting my eyeliner and my nails, then fixing both after I smudged them because apparently my fine motor skills need work.

But if we don’t leave soon, we’re going to be late for the Haunted House at Whispering Pines. The Montgomerys revived it a few years ago, and every year it somehow gets bigger, louder, and more ridiculous. The residents love it. The kids love it.

And tonight, apparently, Trick is determined to boycott it.

I knock on the door again. “Trick, we’re gonna be late.”

He answers with a noncommittal grunt.

“It can’t be that bad.”

His voice drifts through the wood, muffled and dramatic. “I look ridiculous.”

“I doubt that.”

“At least your costume doesn’t scream I punch drywall for fun.”

“You haven’t even seen my costume yet,” I remind him. “And you lost the bet fair and square.”

The image of that final eight ball dropping into the corner pocket at The Boot flashes through my head. The memory of his stunned silence is still deeply satisfying.

“I am not wearing tights out in public,” he adds darkly. “Tights!”

I grin. “You wear them all the time. You just call them jeans.”

The knob rattles like he’s going to yank the door open, but he stops himself at the last second and instead growls, “Jeans are respectable, functional pants, Tessa. These are a cry for help.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

Once I’m sure I’m composed, I add, “Lincoln went full Lord of the Rings. Sword. Cloak. Broody ranger energy. Grams is entering her Cleopatra era and Connor and Kai are Mario and Luigi. If Whispering Pines’ seniors and your family can commit that hard, you can survive a pair of tights.”

“No.”

I tap my knuckles against the door again, patience fraying a little. “You lost. Fair and square, Trick.”

Silence.

Okay then. “If you don’t open this door in the next ten seconds, I’m going to Whispering Pines alone, and you can stay home by yourself on Halloween and enjoy the coldest shower of your life.”

“You wouldn’t be that cruel.”

I smile. “You sure about that?”

He sighs through the door, and I do a little victory dance until the seams in my costume threaten to burst.

“You laugh at me, Tessa, and I’ll spend the entire night reminding you exactly what that mouth is better for.”

My thighs clench around the silken flutter deep in my core that wakes my whole body up. “Promises, promises.”

The door swings open and my brain flatlines.

Because Trick Montgomery stands there in a Batman suit that perfectly fits his broad shoulders and stupidly solid chest. It doesn’t matter that the cowl sits a little crooked, that the cape is too big or that the molded abs are so aggressively fake that they should come with a warning label.

I stand there, frozen, staring like I’ve never seen a man in my life.

Like I’m about to do something reckless and push him back inside and make us both late on purpose.

Trick seems to read my mind and gives me this slow, sexy smirk. The mask only makes whatever filthy thoughts he’s got locked up behind it a thousand times more potent.

I lock my knees so I don’t do something humiliating and pounce on him.

His gaze drops, takes me in properly, and he hooks one gloved finger in the air, twirling it in a silent command.

I spin, letting him have the 360 view of the suit I squeezed myself into. The way his eyes darken as he tracks every inch of me, mapping out where he’s going to put his hands later, makes every second of discomfort worth it.

And if I stay here another five seconds, we’re not making it to Whispering Pines.

I lift my chin, give him my sweetest smile. “Careful, Mr. Wayne. Bats aren’t supposed to hunt cats, but you’re looking sorely tempted.”

Trick twitches, about to lunge, and my survival instincts kick in.

I bolt.

The hall and then the stairs vanish under me in a blur as I seriously test the give of my costume. I hit the bottom too fast, skid on a corner of the rug, and by some miracle somehow stay upright.

Behind me, heavy boots thunder down the stairs.

I sprint for the living room, dodging the couch and coffee table, nearly tripping over the decorative baskets Grams loved to stuff with her yarn.

Too late I realize I’ve cornered myself. I turn, but he’s already there.

Those lips offer nothing but a cocky grin. “Thought you could outrun me, kitty?”

Oh. Like that is it?

I shoot for the space between him and the wall, banking on his cape tripping him up.

It doesn’t.

One second I’m trying to slip through an impossible gap and the next his body slams into mine, taking me down. I brace for a hard impact with the floor and let out a surprised gasp when we land on the couch. My lungs barely finish their stuttered protest and I’m flipped to my back with Trick hovering over me.

Chest heaving, I stare up at him. “We have someplace to be,” I manage, despite the heat curling through me like my never endings just lit a match and then tossed it straight between my thighs.

His gaze drops to my mouth, then slides lower in lazy appreciation. “They can start without us.”

I open my mouth to argue and he steals it from me, tilting my face up until there’s nowhere to go but into him.

He slants his mouth over mine, lips moving heavy and slow, making sure I feel every hot, relentless moment of it, and I swear the mask on his face makes it hotter.

Gives him permission to be exactly as ruthless as he wants.

One second I’m trying to remember we’re supposed to be leaving, the next I’m kissing him back, my body starving for him. He settles in, not crushing me, just enough to make it impossible to forget how much bigger he is. How much stronger.

He drags his mouth to my jaw. “I’m gonna peel you out of this costume,” he murmurs in a voice that convinces me he’s been thinking about it since the second I knocked on that door.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” I warn, breathless, and trying my hardest not to sound as desperate as I feel.

A low chuckle ghosts across my throat. “There’s my dirty girl.”

He kisses me again and my brain shorts out completely.

My fingers fly to the mask and I yank it off, finally getting my hands in his hair, dragging him closer. He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating straight through my ribs.

Then he tears his gloves off, snares my wrists and pins my hands above my head.

His eyes lock on mine. Dark. Wild.

“Now,” he says softly, “you’re gonna behave.”

His smile is pure wickedness as he grips the zipper of my bodysuit just under my neck and gives it a leisurely tug. “Well isn’t this very fucking convenient,” he drawls, gaze glued to the exposed sliver of skin. “It’s like you wanted me to open you up.”

I’m already squirming and he’s barely touched me. Just the sound of his voice—low, full of dark promise—rakes molten fingers down my spine.

The zipper slides past my ribs, my navel, and cool air kisses my skin.

“Tell me, Tessa…” His mouth grazes my cheek, my jaw, my neck. “You get this worked up from running? Or from knowing I was gonna catch you?”

“Cocky bastard,” I pant, even as my hips shift, seeking contact.

“That’s what I thought,” he says smugly, and then he parts the suit like a curtain he’s about to step through. One big hand slides inside, warm and possessive as it curves over my breast. His thumb brushes my nipple and my back arches without my permission.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “No bra either? You really came dressed to misbehave.”

He finds one nipple, bends to close his lips around the peak, tongue flicking then sucking hard enough to make my thighs clamp together.

And of course he notices.

“Already rocking those hips?” He grins against my skin. “Needy little thing. You want me to touch you?”

“You’re already touching me.”

“Not there, sweetheart.” His hand trails down, stopping right at the edge of the open suit. “You want my fingers? Say please.”

I glare at him, breathless and undone. “You say please.”

“I did lose the bet,” he murmurs, dipping a single finger between my damp folds.

I try to shift, chasing the whisper-soft friction, but the weight of him and the grip on my wrists pins me in place.

“I’m gonna get there, sweetheart,” he rasps against my skin. “But not until you’re fucking soaked for me.”

His lips cover mine, heat sinking straight into my mouth, running down my backbone, burying itself deep in my core.

He strokes slow at first, fingers teasing, circling, as he savors how wet I already am.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, even as he slides a finger inside me, then another.

I shake my head almost violently.

“Didn’t think so,” he growls, pumping sloftly, his gaze fixed on my face as if memorizing every single twitch of pleasure. “Look at you. Writhing. Clenching. And we haven’t even hit the good part yet.”

I can’t think. Can’t breathe. All I can do is feel—his mouth, his fingers, the dirty words that unravel something inside me every time he opens that smartass mouth.

“I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget we’re supposed to be at that haunted house,” he murmurs, thumb swirling across my clit with devastating precision. “Hell, I’m gonna make you scream so loud they’ll hear you from here.”

His fingers thrust deeper, slick and relentless, every stroke calculated to keep me trembling right on that edge.

“You feel that?” he growls, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “That slick little squeeze when I crook my fingers just right? That’s your body begging to be fucked.”

I gasp, hips bucking. He holds me still with one arm like it’s nothing, like I’m not writhing beneath him, every muscle strung tight and ready to snap.

“When we get home later, I plan to strip this suit off you inch by inch, lay you out on our bed with your legs spread wide.”

I moan, high and broken, my back arching as the pressure builds too sharp to contain.

“Gonna eat you till you cry, baby,” he continues. “And then fuck you until you’re too wrecked to stand.”

That does it.

My orgasm slams into me harder than a goddamn freight train, shredding every nerve ending. My thighs shake, my vision whites out, and I cry out his name as I pulse around his fingers, again and again, clinging to the only thing still holding me together.

Him.

It takes me a minute to remember how breathing works. Another to stop trembling.

Trick releases my wrists, a bone-deep satisfaction gleaming in the eyes that never leave my face. He zips me up with surprising care, then he hauls me to my feet.

I’ve barely found my footing when he curls a hand around the back of my neck, drawing me back to his mouth for another drugging kiss. He slides his other hand down my back, over my hip, then lower to grip my ass like he’s still deciding whether to drag me to the nearest flat surface.

The floor will do.

Footsteps thump into the house, and we both jolt, turning as Emmett strolls into the room, takes one look at us and drops his bag on the floor.

“Are you seriously groping my baby sister while dressed as a billionaire rodent?”

“Try Vigilante Icon.” Trick smirks. “But I can switch to full frontal cowboy if that makes you feel better.”

Emmett frowns. “Do not make me beat you with your own utility belt,” he drawls. “I don’t care what kind of trauma bonding you two did after the fire, give my sister room to breathe so she can welcome me home properly.”

A wide smile splits my older brother’s face as he switches his attention to me, and I fly into his open arms. “I didn’t think you were coming home for another few days.”

Emmett drops a kiss on the top of my head. “Didn’t want to miss Halloween.” He arches a brow at Trick. “The tights are a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Right?!” Trick exclaims.

I roll my eyes.

Trick snags the cowl and gloves off the floor, muttering, “Next time I’m picking the damn wager,” as he follows Emmett toward the front door.

I trail after them, watching my big brother finally home, already bickering with his best friend like no time has passed. My heart squeezes watching them, one man who’s always had my back, the other who finally has my whole damn heart.

I smile, soaking in the moment.

And then start counting down the hours until those tights clinging perfectly to Trick’s ass hit the floor.

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