Page 63 of Under His Protection

“I don’t need to be supervised,” I said as he set his jacket on a chair.

He lined his brow, watching me stand still near the door, too afraid to set another foot forward. “You’re not.”

I wasn’t making myself clear. After licking my lips and hurrying to figure out a better way to word it, I said, “I’m not some delicate weakling.” Lifting my chin bolstered my confidence. “I understand that you might perceive me as some young thing to shelter and protect, but I get it, Dante. If you have responsibilities to see to, I don’t need you to hover and keep a close eye on me.”

He huffed, striding toward me as he unbuttoned his shirt. The slow reveal of his taut, hairy chest stole my attention, and I frowned with how easily he could distract me.

“I don’t intend to hover.” He dropped his shirt a few feet before reaching me. “But I do want to keep a close eye on you.”

Before I could register his intention, he gripped the top of my dress and shoved it down. My breasts popped out, free and unrestrained. Yet, he maintained direct eye contact with me, proving his statement.

“I want to keep a close eye on you tonight.” He pushed my dress lower, stretching it as it reached my waist. “Tomorrow.” He leaned closer to shove my dress off completely. “And every day after that.”

I steadied my breath, overwhelmed by what he said. Without his gaze raking over me, he gave the impression that he wasn’t after sex. Not right now. He stared right back at me, confusing me as he removed his pants and boxers. We stood there, naked together, but I realized he was interested in a different kind of intimacy.

He hugged me close, and the flush contact of his hard body against mine felt so familiar and right. I closed my eyes as he kissed the top of my head.

“You intend to keep me?” I asked, thinking back to how defiantly and seriously he told the bikers and Stefan that he wouldn’t hand me over. Regardless of the fact that Ricky lost me in a bet. He didn’t want to, it seemed, but I wasn’t sure how to decipher that.

“I want you with me,” he said as he led me toward the bathroom. His fingers locked with mine, and I relished in how comforting his hold was.

“You don’t have to pretend here,” I reminded him.

“I’m not.” He shot me a serious look as he paused at the shower and turned the dual showerheads on. Steam lifted and filled the air quickly, and I shivered, both from the teasing warmth on my skin and the severity of his gaze.

I stepped under the water with him, distracted by his dick jutting out. He didn’t initiate anything sexual. After how roughly he took me on the balcony, I was curious about getting more, but I was intrigued about why he’d try to ignore his obvious arousal.

Instead, he hugged me close and began to shower with me. Water sluiced over his chest, heightening the rises and dips of his muscles. Callused and strong—but gentle—he lathered me up and rinsed me off. It was an intimate but peaceful experience that we shared, and I would never forget the tender consideration he showed me.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I was still trying to figure out what he meant. He wanted to keep me as a permanent placeholder, to make sure Vanessa didn’t bother him? Or did he plan to make this real between us?

Accepting this need to think and avoid speaking, I followed his lead. Once I was clean, I tended to him. Soaping him up was just another way to feel his rugged physique, but he broke his control as I did so.

Kissing me slowly and softly, he showed me how much he wanted me. Not only as a pussy to fuck, but a woman to be affectionate with.

After I rinsed him off, we exited the shower together. I stood still, smiling sleepily as he dried me off with a thick, fluffy towel. Tucking the edge of the bath sheet against my breasts, he sighed and stepped back. He grabbed a towel for himself and tipped his chin to indicate that I should leave the bathroom with him.

“Sore?”

I wasn’t sure how I could blush around him after he’d already seen all of me. I settled on a shrug. “Not terribly…”

He chuckled, watching me approach the bed. Finished with drying off, he tossed his towel aside and pulled back the covers. I didn’t need him to tell me to get in. I could follow a cue. I lowered my towel and crawled onto the mattress, excited and happy that he got in with me.

“I’m not pretending,” he told me once we were nestled together. On our sides, we gazed at each other. He picked up a remote and shut the lights off. My eyes adjusted quickly, and I fell in love with the quiet, simple comfort of lying with him and gazing into his eyes. He lifted his hand to stroke my cheek, brushing my hair back from my face.

“What does that mean?”

One side of his lips rose in the start of a sexy smirk. “Are you pretending anymore?”

I shook my head, then turned to kiss his palm as he framed my face. “I struggled to fake it from the beginning.”

Now he smiled fully, a self-satisfied, smug expression I wanted to see every day.

“But what does this mean?” I had to know. There was plenty I could assume, but I was too nervous to think he could be true, that he wasn’t too good to be true.

“You tell me. If we’re not pretending to date, then it’s real. We’re together—period. What do you want in a relationship with me?”

I raised my brows, thrilled that he was basically giving me a chance to voice my dreams. My fantasies could become reality, and that was a hell of a change to accept.

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