Page 117 of Damaged Protector

She looked vulnerable as hell, and that bothered me. If this woman needed to be reassured, I would motherfucking reassure her.

Cupping her chin, I lifted it until our eyes met. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, Mal. I. Will. Take. Care. Of. You.” I enunciated each word and punctuated them with soft kisses against her full, pink lips.

Then Mallori nestled her face into the side of my neck, caressing my skin with her nose. “I know you will. I trust you.” Her words worked their way inside me, filling me until I wanted to burst. The nervousness in her tone was gone, the statement resolute, and my dick stirred to life.

“I like you wearing my shirt,” I told her, plucking at the U.S. Navy tee she had on. The damn thing swallowed her, but to me, it was the sexiest thing she’d ever worn. “I’m going to go take a shower, and then I’ll come find you. We can watch a movie and relax for a while.”

I didn’t want to watch a damn movie. I wanted to bury myself inside Mallori Fitz until I forgot my own name. But I also wanted her relaxed and completely at ease. Maybe some Hawk cuddles on the couch would accomplish that. Then we would see where the night led.

Walking out of the bathroom, I rubbed at my hair with a towel and then draped it around my shoulders. Wearing only black boxer briefs, I headed to my dresser to get some pajama pants when my feet stopped working.

My eyes fixated on the black door across the room. More specifically, they were locked onto the gap between the door and the frame and the soft light spilling out of the Den of Sin.

That door had been closed when I went into the bathroom. Hadn’t it? The tiny nerves leading from my brain to my feet finally reconnected, and I was once again able to walk. That ability was stolen from me once more when I pushed open the door and took in the room.

Mallori was on the bed against the left wall, her lightly tanned skin creamy against the black satin sheets.

Yeah, yeah, a cliché, I know. But there was a certain sensuality about the slide of the silky fabric over a person’s skin while they were entangled in the most carnal of acts.

My Bee looked tiny on the California King. A small, welcoming island in a sea of black. She was curled up on her side with one hand tucked beneath the pillow she rested on, the top sheet covering her. Her eyes met mine.

“Hi.”

My breath lodged halfway between my lungs and my mouth—seriously, was I having some kind of brain stem stroke?—before finally exiting my body on a question. “We’re not watching a movie?”

“No,” she said with quiet decisiveness, “unless that’s what you want.” She pushed up on one elbow and lowered the sheet to reveal what she was wearing.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. If I’d been a cartoon character, my eyeballs would have shot across the room on springs before popping back into my sockets with a snap.

Mallori had on a black bra made of lace so delicate I could see the color of her areolas through it. Matching panties were cut high on her legs, a thin string arching above her hips. The triangle covering her pussy was minuscule. Barely a scrap. The kind of thing that made one wonder, why wear anything at all?

But the answer was evident: because the effect was alluring and so fucking feminine it made my molars ache. My Little Bee was seducing me and doing a goddamn fine job of it. Beneath all that sass and sweetness hid a vixen, and tonight… she’d come out to play.

And I was ready to enter the game.

“No, I don’t want to watch a movie,” I replied, turning away to close the door with an audible click. Before facing her again, I inhaled a deep breath, attempting to rein in my dark desires. For a man who prided himself on his control, I was struggling to find even an ounce of the stuff.

This room was my domain, and yet I felt slightly off-kilter with Mallori here. It wasn't an unwelcome feeling though.

Straightening my spine, I crossed the room on bare feet, loving the feel of her eyes on me. For as long as I could remember, I had everything that attracted women to me like flies to honey. Tats. Finely honed muscles. Scars. A dark and dangerous demeanor. Big dick.

But all I cared about right now was what Mallori thought. If the gleam in her eyes was any indication, she liked what she was seeing.

She drank me in like she was dehydrated and I was the only glass of water left on Earth. From my dark, tousled hair, down over my tats and abs, and directly to the bulge in my Calvin Kleins.

When I reached her, I didn’t say a word, just pushed my index finger against her shoulder until she reclined onto her back. Then I began seducing the seductress.

The tips of my fingers traced every feature on her face, without hurry, appreciating every soft curve. Mallori’s blinks slowed at my touch, telling me she was falling into the moment.

Then I moved down to her neck. She really did have a lovely neck, and after learning every inch of it, I tested her, placing my hand around the smooth column. Fingers on one side. Thumb on the other. Palm against her throat. Not squeezing, simply holding.

Her lips parted on a soft gasp, but the infinitesimal curl at the corners had me growing harder. Moving my hand to one shoulder, I trailed two fingers lazily along her bra line, down to one breast, across the other, and up the other side.

I was looking only at her—at the pretty flush that followed my every touch—but I could feel her aqua gaze locked onto my face. “Did you wear this for me?” I asked. The question was rhetorical, but I wanted to hear the answer anyway.

“I did. Do you like it?” Boldness mixed with vulnerability in her tone, and it made my toes numb.

Yep, definitely experiencing some kind of neurological defect.

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