Page 38 of Scorched King

I walked out to the truck, slamming the door after putting her first suitcase in the backseat and climbed in.

What the fuck had I been thinking?

She’d been out of the hospital for less than two days and already I was mauling her in her apartment. Taking advantage of her in a weak moment. I needed my fucking head examined. I’d just taken sick fuck to a whole new level.

I closed my eyes, trying to breathe through the throbbing in my dick. I couldn’t stop thinking about the sight and smell of her drenched cunt. It had taken every ounce of willpower I possessed not to bury myself in her tight body the minute she exploded in my arms.

I wanted her more than air right now.

Not for the first time, I questioned why I kept punishing myself when it came to her. On several occasions she’d made it clear she was down with whatever, though I didn’t fully trust sheunderstood what that meant. She just didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who wanted to spread her legs for the MC at will and leave it at that.

She deserved more. She wanted more. I could feel it down to my bones. I could see it in the way she behaved in her juvenile record. And I could see it in the way she interacted with the club. Hell, I could taste it in those fucking delicious orange rolls she was always making.

Which meant I had to stay the fuck away from her.

And yet, I still couldn’t stop thinking about her cries as she came from our hands working her clit together. That scream that I’d ripped from her throat had nearly sent me over the edge as I drank it down. The look in her eyes. The intensity. Fuck, who was I kidding? She’d sent me over the edge a long time ago. I was just hoping I could find my way back without anyone else getting hurt again.

Especially her.

I really didn’t want to hurt her. I cared about her well-being. She was one of my girls. My employee. Of course I wanted what was best for her.

With her though, all bets were off. It was my job to protect her from harm, but who the hell would protect her from me? Bear? I bristled against that thought. Fuck no. I could take a lot of shit, but watching that? That wasn’t a position I could put myself in.

Bear was loyal to the bone, but watching him with Sasha made something dark twist in my gut. She deserved his kind of devotion—just not from him.

As for me? I was fucked no matter what I did next.

I wasn’t going to forget this moment any time soon.

Her perfect little cries still echoed clearly in my ears, especially that breathy little “Daddy” that had nearly broken my control.

Fuck. In that moment I would have given anything to put her on her knees so she could take my cock down her soft, slender throat and swallow me down. I wanted to come down her throat and watch what she couldn’t swallow dribble down her chin only for me to push it back into her mouth and make sure she didn’t miss a drop.

I wanted to see that look in her eyes again. That worshipful stare that said she liked what she saw in me and made me feel fourteen feet tall.

A roar erupted from my chest and I slammed my hands against the steering wheel with all my strength.

Not once in my life had I ever had a thing for a daddy role, but with her, everything I knew got turned upside down and inside out.

When she whimpered it like she couldn’t help herself—I fucking felt it. Right in my gut. Like it belonged tome.

Whatever she wanted, I ached to give to her. All it would take was that look and a sweet pretty please from her lush lips and I would do it.

God I was so messed up when it came to her. I seemed to have no control, and it was getting worse. Any other woman I would have just taken what I wanted, given them a hard fuck, and then after we were both satisfied, I would have thanked her and sent her on her way.

That was my MO and everyone knew it. I always went out of my way to make sure every woman I was with understood that there would not be anything more than a good time, and I chose women who felt the same way.

So how the hell had Sasha missed the fucking memo?

Or how had I failed to give it to her and make sure she understood? Because I’d fucked up. That’s fucking why. I’d had ample opportunity before the bombing to send Sasha on her way, and every time I tried, I couldn’t do it. Whether we were fucking or not didn’t seem to matter. She was the first person I wanted to see in the morning and the last person I wanted to see at the end of the night.

My thoughts spiraled with every passing second I waited for her text, and she was taking her sweet fucking time. Was she up there right now using her vibrator to finish what we started? Parting her sweet pussy lips with a piece of cheap silicone instead of the real thing?

FUCK!

I slammed my hand against the steering wheel again. Once…twice…three times.

No amount of want could change the outcome. This couldn’t happen. Look what keeping her close had already gotten her. Her scars were going to haunt me. Not because they made her ugly—nothing could do that. She had the kind of beauty that radiated from the inside out that nothing in this world could take away from her.

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