Page 20 of Protect Me

I throw my hands up to my throat and cough, turning the dramatics way up as I pretend to choke.

He releases my face with an annoyed huff. “Stop being a brat.”

“No can do,” I whisper as I fall to the floor in feigned death.

He pounces on me, pinning my hips with his weight. “Do you not understand the gravity of what just happened? If that was your husband to be, he could have seen us in your bed. Do you know how bad that would be for me? For us?”

I deflate beneath him and sigh. He’s right, but I don’t think he saw us. He would have killed us then and there, not left a gift. “I know, but?—”

“There’s no but. What happened last night can never happen again.”

I meet his gaze. “You didn’t like it?”

He scoffs. “I fucking loved it, and that’s the problem.”

Despite his words, he leans into me and raises my hands above my head. His lips draw closer to mine, and his tongue slips out to swipe chocolate from my lower lip. I expect him to kiss me, but he doesn’t. He draws away from me.

“Whatever this is, it has to be over,” he says. “From now on, this is a strictly platonic gig between us. And until we get new locks on your door, you won’t be out of my sight for a moment.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Vance

Everything is a game to Isabella. The lack of self-preservation is unbelievable. Who eats a gift from someone who broke into your house to leave it?

She shouldn’t trust any of them when most of that family is so unhappy about the union. I certainly don’t, so that’s why I wasn’t kidding when I said I planned to change the locks.

I don’t trust people within their network, so I called my friend. He’s away at the moment, but he agreed to come late in the day tomorrow. I guess she’ll just be attached to my fucking hip until then. Hopefully, we don’t get any more visitors.

We’re watching some TV together. No one is talking, which I expected. Isabella didn’t like feeling my mouth on her cunt and then being told she won’t get it again. She can’t seem to understand that it’s for her safety. If it weren’t for people sniffing around here, I’d bury myself in her pussy every chance I get, but people are coming around when they shouldn’t. I have to stay far away from my temptation while simultaneously keeping her as close as ever.

She uncurls her legs from beneath her as she gets up from the couch, and I grab her wrist as she walks by.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Bathroom,” she says, ripping away from my touch. “And I don’t want company.”

I let her huff her way down the hall, and then I wait for the bathroom door to close before I get up and follow. I lean my ear against the cool wooden door and listen. It’s not that I want to hear her peeing, but I don’t believe she’s only taking a bathroom break.

Isabella likes to ruffle feathers when she’s upset. She likes to get people like me going.

Just as I suspected, a low moan rolls beneath the door. The sound warms my blood and brings me right back to the moment when her thighs clamped against my cheeks.

I shake my head. I’m not playing her game, and that’s exactly what it is. A game. Isabella is used to acting up to get what she wants, and what she wants is more of me.

But we can’t, no matter how much we want to. She’ll soon be married off, and I’ve already taken too much of her innocence and shattered it with my fingers and tongue. I can’t risk taking anything more.

Then she moans my fucking name.

The singular syllable rolls off her lips on a pleasure-laced breath, and I want to be the one forcing that sound out of her. She shouldn’t be giving it to herself. That was one of my rules.

Against my better judgment, I barge into the unlocked bathroom.

She gasps in feigned surprise, but she knows what she’s doing. She’s perched on the sink, her shorts on the floor beneath her. Her thighs are spread, and she’s not wearing panties. Her fingers move along her swollen clit as she bites into that perfect lower lip.

I step into her, putting my hand on the wrist lying against her mound, and stop her motion as I lean into her.

“Stop it, little girl.”

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