Page 41 of Stuck with My Bossy Protector

He pushes my legs open and moves his body over mine. I look into his eyes, holding his gaze as he enters me slowly—carefully. A wave of pleasure sweeps over me as he moves with a slow rhythm that sends sparks zinging through every nerve. Our bodies move together guided by instinct and need, passion igniting into an inferno that consumes us both. Every stroke draws out a loud moan of unadulterated pleasure. The man knows exactly where to touch me to give me the most pleasure. We have known each other for a day, and it is like he memorized my body. No other man in my life has ever given me this much attention.

I tilt my head back, losing myself in the sensations. I can feel him tense above me, his body straining for release. His pace quickens slightly, becoming more erratic as he nears the brink. His body trembles, and I run my hand over his back to quiet him.

“I can’t hold back.” His words are strained as if he’s fighting against the inevitable. Seeing him so uncontrolled is the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.

We reach climax together, a crescendo of pleasure coursing through us both, shattering silence with raw cries of ecstasy. My head is spinning, and I’m left shaken after the powerful orgasm. We lay spent, bodies entwined and limbs heavy with satisfaction. I don’t think I could move even if I wanted to.

Noah pulls me close, cradling me against his chest. He kisses the side of my face. “I’m going to get a fire going,” he says and hops up.

I roll away, frustration overwhelming me. I pull my sweater over my head, feeling the rough wool scratch against my skin. My hair falls into my eyes. I brush it away impatiently. “We really should stop doing that,” I say, trying to sound firm.

Noah laughs, a low, rumbling sound that seems to echo in my belly. “Why?” he asks, his voice playful. “If you don’t want me, then don’t wake me up in the middle of the night asking for it. Don’t tell me you want me and kiss me.”

I feel a flush of heat rise to my cheeks. “That’s not fair,” I retort, fumbling with the buttons on my jeans. “This is just a fling because we’re stuck together.”

He nods, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I agree. You’re not my type anyway.”

His words sting more than I care to admit. “Oh really? And what exactly is your type?” I snap, trying to keep my voice steady.

He shrugs, pulling on his shirt. “Does it matter?”

“No, it doesn’t,” I say quickly, too quickly. “Because you’re not my type either.”

“Good,” he says casually. Then, as if an afterthought, he asks, “Are you on the pill? We’ve been pretty careless.”

I hesitate, my mind racing. “I get a shot,” I say, trying to sound confident. “We’re fine.”

In the back of my mind, a small voice reminds me of my last visit to the doctor. I try to remember if I got my shot before heading to Florida three months ago. The memory is fuzzy, tangled with images of my time in South America. But I dismiss the worry. My doctor said it would take a while for my body to level out. I’m fine.

Noah looks at me, his expression suddenly serious. “I have to tell you something, but I don’t want you to panic.”

My heart skips a beat. “What is it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.

Chapter eighteen

Noah

She is going to be pissed. I should have told her right away. But she practically jumped me. I am only a man, and it isn’t like the guy is going anywhere. I hesitate, looking out the window. Dark clouds are starting to blot out the sun. We are not getting out of here today.

“Noah, what is going on?” she asks again.

“When I was checking out the snowmobile, I found something in the shed.”

“What did you find?”

“A body,” I reply. “I think it’s your friend, Eric.”

The blood drains from her face. “Are you sure?”

I nod. “Pretty sure. I haven’t met the man, but who else would be out here?”

She collapses onto the edge of the couch, my mind reeling. “How did he die?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “But it looks like he might have been beaten up pretty good and possibly shot in the chest. I didn’t do an inspection.”

“I need to see him,” she says. “Maybe it isn’t him. Maybe it’s some poor traveler that got stuck out here.”

“He was covered with a tarp,” I tell her, trying to be as gentle as possible.

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