Page 10 of Gooey

Forcing my stride to move faster, my arms tighten around her. “I’m not sure you want me to answer that, sweetheart,” I warn, voice husky as I attempt to keep my composure.

“Silly man,” she giggles. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

A chilled shiver rolls down my spine as her tongue teasingly touches my neck. She’s licking me and I’m about to fall to my goddamned knees and beg her never to stop. Her mouth alone is going to make me spiral.

“I like it way more than I should, sugar,” I groan.

“And this?” she asks softly, grazing my nape with her blunt teeth.

A groan catches in my throat. Once again, I can’t believe this is even happening. Winter should not be here. The rig is a place for men who don’t want to be found. Disgruntled, hard men who do better with machinery than they do people.

But her being stowaway is the least of my concerns at this point. She was held here for God knows how long and kept in a fucking closet to remain hidden. She’s almost been killed. She watched her father kill himself. And instead of staying in bed to sleep away the pain of these events, she seeks me out to kiss me for being her hero.

No one has ever accused me of being a hero and yet, I can’t tell her she’s wrong. For all intents and purposes, jumping off the rig’s edge to attempt to save her was idiotic. The chances of losing my own life were ridiculously high but even knowing that, I didn’t hesitate. There was just something about how she looked out there. So small and alone.

I didn’t want her to be alone anymore.

Hero or not, I never imagined saving Winter would lead to this. Maybe a tearful thank you, not this infatuation. An apparent crush that I can’t understand but can’t force myself to put a stop to. Better men would consider her mental state too fragile to allow anything further to transpire.

I can’t possibly be what Winter dreamed about as a girl. The kind of man who looked like a prince and acted as honorably as one. Still, if Winter is intent on touching me, kissing me, and… pursuing me, I’m not going to be stupid enough to push her away.

“You taste so good,” she rasps, dragging her tongue from the base of my throat to the bottom of my chin.

Fucking hell.She’ll be the death of me with her sweet little mouth.

My shoulders release a bit of held tension as we approach my quarters. I need to be getting her into bed so that she can rest and recover, not imagining how she would react to my tongue on her for a change. I may not be moronic enough to refuse her advances—whatever they may be—but I am protective enough to make sure she’s in the state to do it.

I won’t allow myself to go too far whilst she’s too sore to even stand on her own for too long. I’ll have her healthy before I have her writhing under me in our bed.

Shit…

Our. Bed.

I’m already considering it to be ours.

I need a stiff drink immediately.

Getting her into the room is easy, getting her to let go of me, not so much. Her pouts and protests feel like a knife to the gut. It can’t be helped. She needs to eat and I can’t feed her and hold her at the same time. Not with warm soup.

Eventually, I get her tucked under the comforter, her head propped up enough to eat. The edge of the mattress dips under my weight as I take a seat by her side. Her eyes track my every movement, watching as I unclip a small spoon from the side of the thermos. It’s a to-go system that works well for some of the men, and extremely convenient for a time like this.

“It smells nice,” she tells me, taking in a breath of air through her nose.

“It shouldn’t be too hot to eat,” I respond, stirring the liquid. Scooping up a small bit, I blow on it gently before bringing the spoon to her lips.

In a manner that should be considered illegally seductive, she takes the offering, wrapping her lips around some of the metal tool. I would do pretty much anything to feel those pretty pink pillows wrapped around my tool.

Focus.

When she swallows, her throat bobs and my fingers tighten around the spoon. Winter may be small in size, but fuck if she isn’t powerful. Everything she does makes me feel like I’m going insane. It’s illogical in every way, and intoxicating all the same.

“You called me sweet, but I think you’re the sweet one,” she muses, a teasing smile on her lips. “Blowing on my soup for me like a proper gentleman. Perhaps there’s something I can blow for you later, hm?”

I nearly choke on my tongue but give her another sip of soup before my control snaps. “Where did you learn to talk like that, sugar?”

She chuckles. “I may have been stowed away here for two years, but I went to public high school before that, you know? I know about these things. And I’m a reader. You’d blush at the things I’ve got on my Kindle, Moore.”

Though her words warm my core, I shake my head. “Don’t think there’s much of anything that could make me blush, sugar.”

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