Page 64 of Decoding Morse

Few thoughts troubled my mind as she stood before me in only her underwear, but that mantra played on repeat. It didn’t matter that she’d just issued an invitation so blatantly there was no misinterpreting it because she was in pain, recovering from a traumatic ordeal, and we were in her parents’ house. Only an asshole would shove her against the wall, tear her pale pink panties away, and plow into her like a fucking animal.

It would be wrong on so many levels.

So, why did I keep imagining myself doing it?

You’re no better than the rest of them, you piece of shit.

No. I needed to resist. To prove I wasn’t like my father, the priest, or the general who conquered and destroyed, leaving shattered pawns in their aftermath.

I had been summoning the fortitude to walk out the door when Amelia dropped her bra, knocking any remaining resistance out of me with that one hit. Now, I was nothing more than her goddamn puppet, willing to dance, sing, and fuck ather command. The devious smile that stretched across her lips pulled every single one of my strings toward her.

She could have fucking died today.

It wasn’t the first time the thought had blindsided me, and it wouldn’t be the last. Fear punched me in the gut without regard for the way she stood in front of me now, alive and well.

What if she hadn’t been lying back?

What if Morgan had been behind her?

What if the snipers would have hit their mark?

This shit would drive me crazy if I didn’t put a stop to it. The fucked-up voice in the back of my head kept insisting that if I got my cock inside of Amelia, everything would be okay, and I’d find utopia. But that was bullshit. Her pussy wasn’t responsible for solving my problems.

She wasn’t mine.

And I’d been keeping shit from her.

That should have been reason enough to keep my goddamn hands to myself, but I was too far gone to pay reason any mind. Especially when she stepped beneath the spray, watching me beneath wet lashes. Her pale pink panties turned completely translucent, and she palmed her tits in an offering I could never deserve.

This woman. She’d never played games, which was likely the trait I admired most about her.

I couldn’t fuck her, but I couldn’t walk away.

Especially not when vulnerability flashed in her eyes.

Water ran over her curves in rivulets that made me feel instantly parched. I wanted to fall to my knees and drink from her, lapping every drop from her skin.

Don’t make it weird, dumbass.

But I would get as freaky as she wanted. I’d do anything for her, a truth I’d proven when I’d let her talk me into bringing her here to this place where she so obviously didn’t want to be.

Why?

If someone here had hurt her….

“You okay?” Amelia asked, her expression falling.

Locking down my rising anger, I said, “I’ll feel better if you let me wash your hair.”

Surprise widened her eyes, dulled by disappointment as she glanced at her body.

I was screwing this all up and making her doubt herself. Determined to rectify the situation, I slackened my leash and let every filthy thing I wanted to do to her play out in my head. Selecting the least likely option to send her running, I lunged forward, snaking an arm around her waist to tug her against me as I pounced on her inviting lips.

Despite the hot water, she was still so cold. I deepened the kiss, warming us both up under the spray as my hands roamed over her curves before focusing on those perfect tits. She moaned into my mouth, and I reached for her panties, only to stop myself before I could tear them off.

What am I doing?

If I was giving in and doing this, I would damn well do it right, which meant we weren’t rushing into anything. I could make her feel better, but stop before I ruined everything.

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