Page 95 of The Sea Witch's Son

“I have a key.”

“You... what?”

“A spare, although they really should give you a replacement.” He lets out a sigh, “And I’m here to make sure you don’t die from secondary drowning.”

I stare at him, candle holder still in hand.

“Did you really think I would have gone to all that trouble just to let you suffocate in your sleep? That would have been a terrible waste of effort on my end.”

My eyes narrow, “Why are you in my bed?”

“You looked lonely.”

“Get out.”

“I’m tired, little saint.” He looks at me from beneath long lashes, “Even bad men need sleep.”

“Then go home.”

“I can’t.” Another long sigh, “Not until I know you will make it through the night.”

I hate the feeling his words put in my chest.

“I’m breathing. Your job is done.”

“Can you not be difficult for once?” Tired eyes flutter down, “It’s just one night, little saint. I’ll go back to being your villain in the morning.”

It’s a mistake, but I make it anyway.

Setting the candle holder down on my nightstand, I slowly crawl back under the covers. Marlin immediately pulls me closer, tucking me against his chest and folding me in a blanket of his body heat.

The smooth glide of his skin presses against my back and I let out a shriek.

“Why are younaked?!”

“I wasn’t about to sleep in my dress pants.”

“Where is your underwear?” Shifting in his arms, I try to wiggle away, “Go put your boxers back on.”

Those stupidly muscular arms pull me back against him, trapping me in place with an equally muscular leg.

“I don’t wear underwear.”

The whispered confession sends a flush to my cheeks. Awareness buzzes through my body as Marlin crushes me against his very hard, verynakedbody.

Now is not the time to get turned on.

But fuck, if his dick doesn’t feel good pressed against my ass.

“Marlin.” There’s a growl in my voice, “Get out of my bed and go put some clothes on.”

“A tempting offer, but I am rather comfortable.”

He slips a hand under my t-shirt, resting it carefully against the tender skin. His other arm sneaks under my pillow, propping my head up and giving me a clear shot of the tattoo peeking out the other side.

Squinting against the darkness, I study the waves unfurling along his forearm.

When I first saw Marlin’s tattoo, I thought it was a boat sailing over treacherous waves, battling the ocean for control. But now that I can see the details of the ship, the splintered mast and the ripped sails, I realize it’s not a sailboat at all.

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