Sliding a hand into her hair, I curl my fingers into a fist and hold her head immobile as I stare into her eyes. “You. Will. Eat. Understood?”
“Sure. Hey, guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m not wearing any panties.”
The little devil knew exactly what that would do to me. We stare at each other as my dick throbs.
So it’s war.
Challenge accepted.
I take another chunk of eggs from the pan and lift it to her lips. She instantly opens her mouth and accepts it, which makes my dick throb again. When she swallows and sucks on my fingers, I exhale an uneven breath. Then she slides a hand between my legs and gently squeezes my hard shaft.
When I tighten my hand in her hair as a warning, she whispers, “I promise I’ll be good and won’t do anything else.”
“You’re a liar.”
“Yes. Feed me more eggs, please.”
My heart races. My head pounds. My balls ache. It’s as if she has the button that operates my adrenaline, and she keeps pushing it over and over again.
I take another fingerful of eggs from the pan. When she opens her mouth for them, she strokes her hand up, squeezes the crown of my cock, then strokes down the length again. She chews and swallows, all the while looking into my eyes.
I pull my fingers from her mouth and loosen the tie on her robe. It parts, revealing her naked breasts, her soft belly, the curve of one plush hip.
I stare down at her hard nipples, listening to her hitching breath and watching the pulse flutter at the base of her pretty throat, and realize that what I want from her is the truly dangerous thing.
I want to own her, body and soul.
Even more than that, I want her to own me.
I want to be the only man who makes her laugh, the only man who makes her pulse fly, the only man who fucks her. The one who dries her tears and holds her hand. The one who takes care of her. The one she dreams about and fights with and makes up with. The one she promises herself to. The one she loves above anyone else.
And the force of how much I want all those things staggers me.
This isn’t who I am.
Or at least it wasn’t, until I met her.
I pull away abruptly. Then I yank her robe together, tie the sash around her waist, and pick her up in my arms.
As I’m carrying her back to her bedroom, she sighs. “Oh look. Mr. Dark and Stormy’s back.”
“You need to rest. So that’s what you’ll do.” Striding through her bedroom doorway, I carry her to the bed and gently set her down on the mattress. Then I pull the covers up all the way to her chin.
She stares up at me in obvious disappointment, shaking her head.
“Not a word. I’m going to get you a glass of water, which you’ll drink. Then you’ll sleep. And when you wake up, I’ll feed you a proper meal.”
Her look of disappointment turns to one of hope.
“Not that kind of meal. Christ. You’re worse than I am.”
She smiles. “Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
Yawning, she closes her eyes. “You silly man. Of course it was.”
Within seconds, her breathing slows. She makes a small sound in her throat and turns her cheek to the pillow.
Then I’m standing there watching her sleep, counting all the reasons I should walk out and never return, fighting with myself to do the right thing and leave this beautiful woman in peace.
I can’t have her. Not the way either of us wants. It’s an impossibility.
My chest aching, I leave the room, closing the door quietly behind me.
Shay
When I open my eyes again, I can tell by the way the light has changed that it’s late afternoon. I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart hammering. Then I throw off the covers and run to the door.
I know as soon as I open it that he’s gone.
I walk around my apartment anyway, sniffing the air. Cole’s scent lingers, a ghostly reminder of the man who saved me from disaster.
On the kitchen table, he left a full glass of water. Beside it on a plate is a turkey sandwich on wheat bread, and beside that is a note.
Ms. Sanders,
Please eat the sandwich I made for you and drink the water. Then drink another glass. I’ll see you Monday morning.
Yours,
Mr. McCord
Oh it’s like that, is it? We’ll see.
I crumple up the piece of paper and toss it into the sink. Then I sit at the table and stuff the sandwich in my mouth because I’m starving, all the while thinking about Cole. When I’m done eating, and I’ve polished off the water, I rise and take the crumpled note out of the sink. I flatten it carefully on the counter, smoothing the bent edges. Then I go into my bedroom and stash it in my underwear drawer.