Page 92 of Bulletproof Love

I gesture toward the end table where a Gatorade, a water, and a lukewarm cup of coffee sit untouched next to a box of protein bars and package of Oreos. “I think I’m all good there. Come closer, I want to feel you.”

She hums and as gently as possible, inches closer, resting her head on my chest. Her fingers trail circles over my pecs, and down until she reaches my upper ribs. “You don’t have to be so hard on yourself. If you need them, you need them. We’ll work through it when you’re healed.”

Her gentle voice and matching touch almost makes me want to relent. “No. I’ll be fine. The pain’s less every day.” She moves to kiss my jaw but I hold her cheek, kissing her sweet lips until I groan with need. “The worst part is not being able to fuck you like I want.”

“Just becauseyoucan’t doesn’t meanIcan’t,” she says with a devilish gleam in her eye that makes my cock hard in spite of the pain. “You just lay there and let me take care of you.”

“Fuck, baby, don’t look at me like that. You’re going to kill me.” She sits up and pulls her shirt over her head, baring her gorgeous tits. My mouth waters as she trails her fingers over her nipples, toying with me. She crawls down the bed, slowly so she doesn’t jostle me. Not that the pain matters right now, I want her too badly.

She arches a brow. “At least you’ll die a happy man.” Her fingers gently reach beneath the waistband of my shorts, shimmying them down just enough. “With your cock in my mouth.”

Fucking hell. “You don’t have to?—”

“Shh. What makes you think I don’t want this as much as you?” She wraps her soft hand around my length, pumping up and down. “That I’m not soaking wet picturing the taste of your cum running down my throat?”

Her mouth. Christ. It’s a miracle I don’t come on the spot.

“Trouble,” I groan. “You’re so goddamn hot.”

She spits on my tip, getting it nice and wet, before pressing her tits together and sliding my cock between them. So soft and warm and oh fuck… I can’t lift my hips like that. I must wince because she stops, sitting back with worry in her eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. Never, baby.” I breathe through the pain. “I’m an idiot and moved my hips and?—”

She holds my hip down with gentle firmness and I see the shift in her eyes, the intensity. Her other hand starts to fist my cock again, but her eyes hold mine. “If you move, I stop.”

My chest heaves. I love this side of her. Bossy and in control. I nod, knowing staying still will be even harder now. She hovers over my cock, spitting on my head again, her warm saliva dripping down my shaft. I fight between closing my eyes and keeping them wide open, watching her every move.

“Good boy.” The second my cock slides between her plump lips, I almost lose it. Grabbing the sheets to stop from moving, I groan. Her head bobs as she takes me deep, humming and moaning like she loves every single inch of my length hitting her throat.

Her cheeks hollow as she sucks, her hand pumping my shaft. “Baby, your mouth is too good. I’m gonna come.”

She ups her pace and I feel it all at once, my balls tighten, my hips instinctively lift, and I spill every drop down her throat with a groan that could wake the dead. I don’t care if I’ll be sore. I don’t care if I might have pulled my stitches. Her sucking me dry is worth every second of pain.

I watch her swallow, her tongue darting out to catch an escaped dribble and my chest swells. How’d I get so lucky? “Have I told you how much I love you?”

Pulling up my shorts, she laughs. “Just a couple times.” She kisses my chest, right over my heart. “I love you too, dummy.”

“There she is. My Trouble.” I pull her in, too in love to care about the pain as my abdominals clench, and kiss her like she’s mine.

* * *

After three weeksof laying low and healing, one of the first things I want to do, now that I’ve gotten the all clear to move around, is check in on the victims we saved from the house in the Bronx. I want to see their faces as we tell them the bad man is gone forever.

They don’t need to know about the others yet—the countless monsters still out there. That knowledge will come soon enough. They’ve been through unimaginable things… the kind I can’t even let myself picture Bailey enduring without bile rising to the back of my throat. They deserve whatever childhood they have left. Before we go to London and continue our search, I need to know they will be okay.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I ask Leon. He’s been on the computer nonstop since that night, which isn’t out of character for him, but he’s been quieter than usual.

I know he blames himself for Ray’s death, for the deaths of the four others. It’s no more his fault than it is any of ours, but he’s Leon. It’ll take time until he sees that.

“I’ve just been going over those financial records again,” Leon says, his voice rough from lack of sleep. The harsh computer light shows every minute of insomnia under his eyes as Falin sits beside him.

She peers at his monitor. “What did you find?”

“It’s all right here.” A slight smile curves the corner of his lips, the first one I’ve seen in days. “The money trail. I’m going to take him down.”

I hover next to him, trying to see what they see. “Talk to us.”

“Look at this.” He clicks away on his keyboard, pulling up account statements and wire transfers. “Every shell company, every front business like that club we took out, they all lead back to these three accounts. And the beautiful thing?” He highlights a line of transactions. “They’re all right there. Not hidden. Or at least, not hiddenwell.”

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