Page 38 of Bullet

He leans down, his breath hot against my face, delicious and fragrant, just like the tea we drank. “You’re beautiful. I’m not changing my mind about that. Everything else, you’ve done because you had to. You’re a fighter and you had someone worth fighting for and protecting. That’s called love, and I think it’s remarkable.”

Unlike most other men, he’s not just saying the words. The sincerity of his words blankets me, a comfort I didn’t know I needed.

He’s so close that if I arched up, he’d take it as an invitation and lower his mouth to mine. The dark bloom in my lower belly and the buzz in my thighs nearly doubles me over. I need to move, to protest that we can’t do this, to put space between us, but it’s hard to do anything when I can’t even draw a breath.

I sweep my eyes over his face, pleading silently, but I don’t know that I’m giving him the right signals. I don’t know that I’m asking for him to let me go. My body is an inferno, begging for him to draw me in.

My hand is drawn to his cheek against my permission. I rest it there, his beard tickling the underside of my wrist. He inhales sharply, which draws a gasp from me in turn. He bends his head, but instead of claiming my lips, he ducks lower, inhaling along my jawline by my ear, right where I dab perfume every morning.

His grunt is involuntary, but ends in a growl.

My nipples bead so hard and fast, and the throbbing between my legs is so brutal that I can’t ignore it. I know my panties are soaked, and for a second, I’m panicked he can smell it. Me. Like a beast.

I want him to.

What would it be like if he picked me up, slammed me onto the table, and tore my clothes off my body, scraping his teeth over my nipples, worshipping between my legs with his hot mouth? I’d part my legs for him after, wrap them around his waist and welcome his thick cock into my body.

Fuck.

His lips caress my leaping pulse, kissing along the column of my neck. His beard tickles my tender skin, arousing me strangely, throwing me into painful awareness.

This is what it would be like to feel alive when I didn’t even realize how dead I’ve been.

His kisses scald me, but he never goes for my mouth. His lips are tender at my jawline and then he chastely kisses my cheek. It’s not even sexual, but it is intimate, which sends both tendrils of heat and panic twisting through me.

It’s the latter that finally gives me the strength to pull away.

“No,” I plead brokenly, wrapping my arms around myself. “I can’t do this, Bullet.”

I can’t look at him, though I want to trace my eyes over his body to see if there are signs that I’ve affected him the same way he’s done to me. He has more control that I do, because he’s able to control his breathing, while I’m all over the place.

He backs off immediately, walking over to the table and pouring himself another mug of tea. His hands are firm and steady on the teapot, not a shaking, trembling mess like mine.

“Get a few hours of sleep,” he says, nothing angry or offended in his tone. “I’ll keep watch. You can trust me with your safety and with Willa’s.”

If an army was coming for us, I know one man couldn’t hold them off, but for some crazy reason, I want to believe him.

If I stand here a second longer, I’m going to lose my resolve. I’m going to beg him to taste me, to drink me like he’s drinking that tea, scalding hot with steam curling all around his face.

I’ve never known myself to be such a coward, but I give a nod he can’t see, and race away from the kitchen.

I lock myself in the bathroom and run the tap on cold, splashing my face with the water until my hands are numb. I attack my teeth with my toothbrush, then throw open the door and creep stealthily down the hall like it’s strewn with traps.

I shed my clothes and throw on a set of silk pajamas. I love the feel of the fabric against my skin, but tonight, it might as well be burlap.

My body is a livewire, sparkling crazily as I slip between the cotton sheets and turn off the lamp on the nightstand.

My first instinct is to thrust my hand between my legs and take care of the aching sensation, but if I do that, I’ll be thinking of Bullet. I’ll want it to be his hands, his mouth, his cock.

It’s wrong.

It’s wrong and I won’t allow myself to go there. Even in my mind, it’s still dangerous.

I’m three hundred percent sure that I’m not going to be able to sleep, but after a few minutes of listening to Bullet’s steady, low tones from the living room as he talks to someone from his club, I feel my grainy eyes close.

Lulled into a sense of security that comes from having a virtual warrior in the house, standing between us and whatever is out there, I find the darkness soothing, not frightening, andit’s easier to lay down my spinning thoughts and give myself up to the stillness than it usually is.

Chapter 10

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