Page 9 of Her Older Protector

“I was thinking,” he says. “When’s the last time you went on a real date?”

I thought for a second. “Years, at least. Patrick wasn’t really—uh, dedicated to romance.”

“I’d like to change that,” he replies. His smooth, deep voice sends a shiver down my spine, and I cross my legs as I remember our shockingly hot sex the day before.

“I’m listening,” I reply.

“I found one of those wine and painting things. Would you...would you go with me?” His voice is adorably uncertain. “If you don’t want to, we can pick something else. I thought that since you like art, it could be fun for both of us.”

A warm feeling spreads in my chest. I’m so touched that he went out of his way to find something that he thought I might enjoy, something we could enjoy together.

“I would love to, Jake,” I tell him. “It sounds wonderful.”

After I hang up with Jake, I can’t stop smiling for the rest of my workday. It’s so incredible to know that it’s not just sex or a protector thing for him—he wants to do something that I enjoy. He cares about my interests in a way that no one has for a long time.

If he’s as big and bad as I think he is, maybe I really do have an opportunity to stay here in Oakwood City. To build a life, with people who care about me and want the best for me.

A lifewithsomeone.

Jake might not know it, but he’s giving me the best and most precious gift I’ve ever received.

A chance.

Chapter 6

Jake

“Ah, shit,” I mutter as I lean forward to dab at the errant glob of paint with my brush. “It’s supposed to look like a boat, but it looks like a big blue dick.”

Leah snorts with laughter as she elbows me, earning both of us a dirty look from the exasperated instructor. She reaches out for her wine and takes a sip before she swipes the tiniest bit of paint on her already-perfect canvas. Her painting looks practically alive, and even though the project is nothing complicated, her talent and love of art is unmistakable.

My shitty painting doesn’t matter. I would do this every night just for the opportunity to see Leah look so happy and have so much fun.

“So what do you need to do if you want to be an art teacher?” I ask. I keep my tone casual, even though I’m desperately interested in the answer. “What classes and stuff do you need to do?”

“Before Patrick made me leave school, I was about three-quarters of the way through my art education degree,” she says. “So not a lot, honestly—I’ve looked into what it would take to finish it up here, and it’s pretty doable, except for the cost.”

Fuck the money, I have tons of money,I want to tell her, but I keep my mouth shut, unwilling to scare her off by throwing my cash around. My line of work is lucrative, and even if she decides that she doesn’t want to pursue a relationship with me, I have every intention of giving her a chunk of money to finance whatever she wants to do next. School, moving away, anything.

Even if it breaks my heart to let her go.

I set down my brush and scoot back from the easel a few inches. “I think it looks kind of like a boat. If I blur my vision a little bit.”

“And have a few more of these,” Leah adds as she takes one last swallow of her wine. “It’s really not so bad, honestly. Don’t be hard on yourself.”

I roll my eyes. “It definitely sucks, but I’m not here to make amazing art, I’m here to have a good time with you.”

She flushes, and it’s so goddamn cute that I want to pull her into my arms and bury her with kisses. “Well, I had fun. I hope you did, too.”

I grin at her and grab the little hair dryer next to my station to dry my canvas. “Believe me, I did. A blast.”

She’s practically glowing with pleasure as I collect our freshly-dried paintings and we walk out hand-in-hand. I don’t know if it was the wine or the ability to paint in peace and safety, but she opens up more than she ever has on the drive back to her house. She tells me all about art and her life and her dreams, and I soak it up like dry grass during a rainstorm. For the entire drive, she clutches my right hand in her two smaller hands while I drive, and the simple contact practically makes me dizzy with pleasure.

This is real,I think. It’s not just a fling or a trauma thing for her. What we have is genuine and important. I’m a little older, sure, but who gives a shit? I’mcrazyabout her.

I walk her up to her front door, unsure what happens next. Do I come in and stay the night? Does she want to make love? I’ll do anything she wants, I decide. Hold her all night, eat her sweet pussy again—hell, I’ll even sleep on the couch while she rests alone, if that’s what she would prefer.

She turns to me with a shy smile, and I don’t waste any time. I bend down and press my lips against hers, sweeping my tongue inside her mouth in a hungry, consuming kiss. I almost drop our paintings as she moves in closer, my lapels gripped hard in her little hands, and groan when she nips my lip sharply with her little white teeth.

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