Page 22 of My Damaged Protector

She blushes hard as soon as my eyes land on her. Her eyes quickly leave mine, but it takes only a few seconds before they are back exploring my body.

My dick jerks between my legs when her eyes reach it. She gasps softly as the thing starts to harden right before her eyes.

The way I see this: I can let her continue staring long enough until I can no longer take it and drag her in to tend to the bear she's poked awake, or I can just turn around and get back to what I was doing before she entered.

I choose the latter.

Turning around, I pick up the shorts I intended to wear and bend my ass to put them on, knowing full well I'm giving her a show.

When I'm done, I turn back to her, and she's still rooted in the same spot.

Clearing my throat, I jolt her out of the filthy thoughts her mind is no doubt conjuring right now.

“Good morning,” I say.

She blushes harder at my words. Her hand leaves the door as she steps properly into the room and then closes the door behind her.

“Hi. I brought you food,” she says, offering me a cup of coffee and some toast.

Judging by the clothes she has on, I'm fifty percent sure she didn't go home last night. Wanting to be certain, though, I ask her. “You stayed?”

“Yeah, I, um, I couldn't leave you alone.” She says a little too fast, leaving me feeling uneasy.

I nod regardless, stretching my hand to receive the food she's offering me before I sit my ass in the now familiar spot on the edge of the bed.

“Thanks,” I say, tipping the items in my hand in clarity.

“No, don't thank me. This is all the motel's. I just happened to be the delivery lady,” she speaks jokingly, and I let out a chuckle to humor her.

I can sense there's something on her mind as she sits. While we've been apart for years, there are a few things about her that haven't changed. One of them is trying to be funny when she's nervous.

I take a few bites of the bread, very conscious of her eyes following my every movement before I wash it down with the coffee.

“What's on your mind?” I ask her.

She's surprised by my words but makes no attempt to deny it. Her upper teeth pull her lower lips into her mouth, and she sucks the flesh gently before she releases it and then faces me head-on.

“How's Justin?”

Talk about being knocked in the face.

The small bite of bread that I just took turns sour in my mouth, and my interest in the food instantly dies. I get up from the bed and close the distance between me and the small table in the room. I place the remaining toast down, drink the rest of my coffee in three gulps, and then slam the cup on the table a little too hard.

I must have spoken in my dreams again. I remember dreaming about him, but most of my dreams don't stay on my mind when I'm awake, so I usually don't remember them until I share the same room with someone, and they start to ask questions.

“I don't want to talk about it,” I say, hoping she'll leave it at that.

She doesn't, and I can't say I'm surprised.

“Aren't you tired?” she snaps, getting on her feet.

Why do I sense an argument coming?

I pretend not to hear her, but she won't let me be. Walking up to me, she grabs me by the arm, forcing me to face her.

“I'm talking to you, Ian.”

“And I told you I don't want to talk.”

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