Free Collared (Going to the Dogs) by Zoe Dawson

female, she had to bring out every primal instinct in any man who looked at her. Including him. Especially him. He wasn’t civilized. He was a cop and he had cut his teeth on the street. Rough, coarse and brusque. He didn’t know how to handle a delicate and refined princess like Harper.
    She was elegant, sophisticated and cultured, and he was a guy who ate ravioli out of a can and slept in the buff, for chrissake. He couldn’t have her. Hell, he didn’t even know her, and if she was half as smart as he thought she was, she sure as hell wouldn’t want to know him—and he didn’t blame her. He was no catch, even on a good day, even if she could overlook the fact that he was just a cop. This case that brought them together would eventually be over.
    So that just left hot, sweaty, out-of-control sex.
    “Everyfuckingthing! Do you have any idea how your ass looks in those jeans, especially when you were bent over the pool table putting it on display for everyone…and that top leaving your shoulders bare! Awww, hell, you could have walked in there wearing a burlap bag. It wouldn’t matter! It’s the way you look.”
    She wasn’t just pretty. She was beautiful, and he was insane. There was no other way to account for his slow, unstoppable landslide into desire. It was impossible for any sane man to look at her and not think about satin sheets, naked skin, and getting deep inside her.
    “I always look like this!” she shouted, like he’d just insulted her.
    “That’s exactly the problem!” he bellowed back. They stood there for a few minutes, both breathing hard.
    “You need an escort for that kind of bar, and any fool man who brought you here deserves to be throttled.”
    “What? I don’t need an escort.”
    “Harper! That’s a rough bar and it was open season on you. I knew you wouldn’t last five minutes.”
    “I was playing pool for thirty minutes before you got here!”
    “I don’t care!”
    She gripped his polo shirt. “Stop yelling at me! You are the most exasperating man I have ever met!”
    He got right in her face and shouted. “You are the most exasperating princess I have ever met!” Too close. He was too close, and that was completely the end of his patience. His resolve broke at nothing more than a whisper of her heated breath between them.
    With a soft exhalation, he said, “Fuck!” and he dropped his mouth on hers, his kiss hard, a bit out of control. She tasted amazing, rich, forbidden, and decadent. Something raw and consuming overtook him. Whether it was a part of his nature or his reaction to the taste of Harper, he didn’t know. He didn’t give a flying fuck. He had to have her. He pressed into her, and her response tightened everything in his body.
    Her low sob broke against his mouth, and he shoved his hands into her hair, and all of it came tumbling down, warm and silky. Strands of buttery yellow cascaded over the backs of his hands, jacking up his breathing and the fierceness of his mouth sliding over her lips.
    The flowery scent of her filled him like invisible energy with a complex mix of light, wild musk that said “woman” to him, one-hundred-percent pure female. And a deeper, un-nameable element that was simply her. Now that he’d breathed her deep into him, he wasn’t sure he could do without it.
    He held her still as his mouth sizzled, hungry, and ravaging against hers. Locking her arms around him, she yielded, melting against him like hot, expensive chocolate, her hands delving into his hair, trailing fire over the nape of his neck. Her touch drove him bonkers.
    Widening his stance, Caleb dragged her up against his groin, his dick so hard it ached. He forgot where he was. Forgot who he was and just sank into the sensation of her.
    He was so fucking crazy, he told himself. He couldn’t think of a damn thing she’d done to slay him like this. In truth, she hadn’t done anything except be herself, and he might have accused her of being provocative, but that was