Red Cap had at least fifty pounds on Maddox. I pulled out five bills from my cleavage and held them above me. “I’ve got five hundred on Maddox.”

People shot their fists into the air, holding bills, shouting bets and winners. Maddox looked at me with a light in his eye I was sure no one had seen in a while—not even him. He’d just barely broken a sweat; his buzzed hair and dark eyes screamed invincible. Most of the men I’d met were all hat and no cowboy, but Maddox didn’t have to pretend. He lived it, and had the balls to back it up. The apex of my thighs tightened, and my panties were suddenly soaked. I took another step, forcing my way closer to the middle. I’d never seen him before, but he looked a lot like my next mistake.

The way he moved, I could tell he was extending the fight much longer than needed. Blow after blow—none by the bulky douchebag in the backward red hat—more glass broken, more blood spilled and beer sloshed onto Mother’s custom, Italian shag rug.

It became a pattern of Red Cap throwing a missed punch, and Maddox using the opportunity to land his. He was unbelievably fast, precise, and ruthless. I could almost feel his knuckles against my jaw, rattling my teeth, vibrating down my spine.

Too soon, it was over. The tattooed champion stood over his bloody opponent like it was nothing. Someone handed Maddox his T-shirt, and he used it to wipe specks of blood and sweat from his face.

Someone handed me cash, but I didn’t pay attention to how much.

“Tyler … let’s get the hell out of here. I don’t want to get fired, man. There’s about a dozen underage, wasted kids in here.”

Maddox kept his gaze on me. “What’s the rush?”

“I don’t feel like explaining to the superintendent why we got arrested. Do you?”

Maddox pulled the white cotton tee over his head and the defined curves of his chest and abs. When the V just above his belt disappeared behind the shirt, my shoulders slightly sagged in disappointment. I wanted to see more of him. I wanted to see all of him.

His nervous friend gave him a black White Sox ball cap, and he put it on, tugging it low over his eyes.

A friend patted Tyler on the shoulder. “You made me fifty bucks, Maddox. Feels like old times.”

“You’re welcome, dickhead,” he said, his gaze not leaving mine.

The crowd exchanged money, and then, in mass exodus, left for the kitchen where the kegs were tapped and flowing.

Tyler Maddox approached me in a damp and blood-smeared shirt. His eyes and nose were shadowed by his hat. He began to speak, but I gripped a fistful of his shirt and pulled, planting a hard kiss on his mouth. My lips parted, letting his hot tongue slip inside. He reacted like I knew he would—carnal electricity between us—as he gripped the back of my hair, tilting my head up toward him.

I shoved him back, keeping a grip on his shirt. He waited, unsure of what to expect. With a wry smile, I took a step backward, letting my hand slip from the fabric down his arm, and then pulled on his hand. His hands were rough, his fingernails bitten to the quick. I couldn’t wait to feel the coarseness against the soft parts of me.

One side of Tyler’s mouth pulled up into a grin, and a deep dimple appeared on his left cheek. He was the kind of beautiful you couldn’t buy, with his golden-brown eyes and square, scruffy chin—a symphony of perfection only flawless genes could compose. There were plenty of beautiful people in my circles, with access to the best products, stylists, spas, and cosmetic surgeons, but Tyler was real—effortless and raw.

I quickened my pace, climbing the first step backward.

Tyler glanced up from the base of the stairs. “Where are we going?” I didn’t answer, but he still followed. I could have been leading him to his death, but I could tell Tyler Maddox was afraid of nothing. “What’s up there?” he asked, still climbing.

“Me,” I said simply.

He began to move with purpose, his eyes turning from amused to hungry. I twisted the knob of the master bedroom and pushed through, revealing my parents’ California king and two dozen pillows.

“Whoa,” Tyler said, looking around the room. “This house is nuts. Whoever lives here must make bank. Friends of yours?”

“This is my parents’ house.”

“You live here?” Tyler asked, pointing to the floor.

“Sometimes.”

“Oh, fuck. You’re Ellison Edson. Like the Edson Tech Edsons?”

“No, I’m just Ellie.”

“Your dad is like on Fortune 500, isn’t he?”

“Don’t really want to talk about my father right now,” I said between kisses.

He held me at bay. “Sorry about the painting, and the table … and the vase. I’ll replace them.”

I reached down, cupping the hardness behind his jeans. “Stop talking.”

Tyler refocused, reaching down to slide his hands between my leggings and bare skin, his fingers knowing the perfect place to pause and explore. I kicked off my boots, humming while his fingertips glided more easily, slick with my desire for him.

The end of the bed touched the backs of my thighs, and I leaned back, yanking Tyler on top of me. I’d kissed dozens of lips before that night, but none of them had felt like they’d been starving for me, and had been for a long time. Every part of my skin Tyler touched seemed purposeful. He was anything but nervous, as practiced as I was at ripping buttons and pulling at fabric.

The second my bra and panties were tossed to the floor, I yanked down his boxer briefs. He kicked them off the end of the bed, and we rolled. I straddled him, both of us panting and smiling. My red lipstick was smeared on his mouth, and my insides tensed, begging for him.

“Where the hell did you come from?” he asked in awe.

I raised an eyebrow, and then looked over at his jeans hanging halfway off the bed. I reached over, searching his pocket with my fingers and grinning when I touched a foil packet. “Slow your roll, Maddox. I haven’t come yet.”

Three deep lines formed on Tyler’s forehead as his eyebrows shot up. He watched me tear the condom package with my teeth, and then his eyes rolled back in his head as I used my mouth to secure it in place.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. He lifted his hips as I put his entire length into my mouth and throat. His fingertips raked through my hair and pulled, and I hummed against the latex. He arched his back, sending his tip even deeper.