Page 57 of Craving Dahlia

“You should get help before that bleeds out,” I growl at him, stepping back. I turn around, looking for Dahlia, and I see her staring at the scene in front of her, her face bone white. In two quick strides, I’m next to her, my arm around her waist as I shove my gun back into the waist of my jeans and lead her towards where my motorcycle is parked.

“My driver?—”

“Tell him I’m taking you home. Tell him to keep quiet about all of this. Now,” I tell her sharply. Dahlia stares at me, and for a moment I think she’s in too much shock, that she’s not going to be capable of doing any of that. But to my surprise, she nods, swallowing hard, and reaches for her phone.

“Are you alright?” I ask her sharply as she sends the message, shoving the phone back into her pocket.

She gulps again, glancing back at the mess in the parking lot. “His hand—” she whispers faintly. “Part of it was?—”

I look back at the man peeling himself up off of the gravel, mangled bits of his fingers left behind where I shot them. “He shouldn’t have fucking touched you,” I growl. “Get on the bike. We need to get out of here.”

Dahlia nods stiffly, and I can feel her fingers trembling as she wraps her arms around my waist as we both get onto the motorcycle. I have the sudden urge to pull her in closer, to wrap her up in my arms and hold her close, and the feeling startles me like a shock to the heart.

I haven’t felt that in so long. It’s not a feeling I thought I’d ever have again—it’s not one Iwantedto ever have again. I can feel myself rebelling against it, trying to ice out the emotions that this woman makes me feel.

Why her? I made a mistake, going home with her that night. And yet, it’s a mistake that I’ve wanted to repeat every night since, that I want to repeat tonight, and tomorrow, and…

I shove the thought out of my head, revving the engine of my bike as I peel out of the parking lot, Dahlia clinging to me. I drive as fast as I think I can without her potentially losing her balance, the urge to get her home and to safety needling at me.

The rage I felt when I saw that man’s hands on her was something feral. Something so primal I couldn’t contain it. And now, the need to protect her, to get her to safety, feels like it’s overwhelming everything else, even the part of me that wants to find out how the fuck these men—if they are who I think they are—have found me again.

Right now, all I can think about is Dahlia. And that’s dangerous in more ways than one.

I nearly skid as I pull into the mansion’s courtyard, leaving my bike there as I help her off of it and scoop her into my arms.

“What are you—” she starts to wriggle against my chest, and the scent of her fills my nostrils, sweet and enticing and warm. “I can walk!”

“You’re undoubtedly in shock. I’m taking you upstairs.” My tone of voice brooks no argument as I carry her up the stairs, and I give in to the urge that I felt on the bike, the urge to hold her as close to me as I possibly can.

I stalk to her room, grabbing the doorknob and shoving the door open, kicking it closed as I carry her inside. Dahlia wriggles again, sucking in a breath that almost sounds like alarm as we near the bed, and I set her down gently just in front of it.

We’re too close. There’s maybe an inch of space between us, and my body is rioting, screaming for me to take what I’ve been craving ever since that first night. Instead, I push her jacket off her shoulders, reaching for her sleeve and nudging it up as I look at the bruising fingermarks on her arm where the man grabbed her.

“Alek, I’m fine…” she starts to protest, trying to wriggle away from my touch, but I don’t let her go.

“I should have shot off his whole fucking hand,” I growl, the sound low and dark as I look at the bruises. “How dare he fucking touch you? I should have fucking killed him, and sent one of the others back as a message?—”

“What do you mean?” Dahlia looks up at me, her eyes widening, and I can see that she’s still too pale. I should go and start a hot shower for her, get her into bed and leave her there—anything except acting on any of the filthy thoughts rioting through my head right now. “Alek, what’s going on?—”

Without meaning to, my thumb drags down the side of her arm, over the unbruised flesh, and I hear her suck in a sharp breath. When my gaze meets hers again, I see that her eyes are hooded, suddenly glassy with desire just from that small, gentle touch, and arousal roars through me like a wildfire.

Before I can stop myself, I slide my other palm behind her head, fingers twisting in her hair as my mouth drops to hers.

A groan tears from my lips as they press against her mouth. She tastes so fucking sweet, her lips soft and plush and full, giving way underneath mine as her back arches and she lets out a shuddering moan. Whatever either of us have said to the other, it’s clear that every protest of not wanting the other, of sayingI wouldn’t fucking touch you if you were the last person on earth, was all a lie.

My cock stiffens at the first touch of my mouth against hers, from soft to painfully hard so fast that it makes me dizzy, thethick shaft straining against the front of my jeans. I close the inch of distance between us, backing her up against the bed, and when I feel her legs hit the side of it I keep going, taking us both down to the mattress as my knee pushes between her thighs, wedging them open.

The pressure of my cock against the front of her body makes me groan against her lips again, and I sweep my tongue into her mouth, desperate for more of her. Her hands drop to the edge of my shirt, trying to pull it up, and I grab both of her wrists, pinning them above her head as I grind into her. The motion rubs the seam of her jeans against her, and Dahlia cries out, her hips bucking against mine as she seeks out more of the sensation.

I need more. I feel like I’ve been drowning, desperate for a gasp of air, starving and begging for a bite of nourishment—and Dahlia is all of that. It’s the same hungry feeling that I had when I took her home from Hush, and as I grind into her again, moaning as the friction races down my shaft, I can’t help but think that no matter how many times I fuck her, I’ll never stop being hungry for more.

Is that what I’m going to do? Fuck her again?

I know as well as anyone else that feeding an addiction does nothing to cure it. But goddamn it, my addiction is here every fucking day, staring me in the face, sniping back at me, tempting me with her gorgeous body and setting me on fire with every infuriating word that comes out of her mouth.

I need her. I can’t fucking stop.

Dahlia moans into the kiss again, writhing under me, and I tear my lips away from hers, dragging my mouth over the edge of her jaw. I nip at the corner just beneath her ear, biting and sucking my way down her throat, and her head falls back, her hips arching in a steady rhythm as she bucks against my cock.

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