Page 47 of Her Remarkable Protector

I spread her entrance wider with my tongue, dipping into her with more force.

Her toes curl underneath my bulge, as her writhing intensifies. Only then I realize how hard I am. Oh, how I want to ditch my shorts and slide my erection into her, pinning her down so she really feels me inside her.

“More!” she slips in another command like she’s afraid to lose momentum.

She’s in no shape to explain what she means by ‘more,’ and I’ve already been working my tongue off. But I have to make it happen somehow. Since my cock is off limits—it would’ve been too fast, too soon—I push a finger inside her.Fuck me.She’s so slick that I can’t resist adding another finger.

“Don’t stop, Chase. I swear, don’t stop or… or…”

It’s almost more than she can take, she can’t even finish a sentence. From this angle, her folds, her hips, her boobs, they’re like a trail of fire, like a path untrodden in the wilderness and I’m right in the middle of it.

She tenses abruptly, her hand on my shoulder. A silent call. I retract my tongue and fingers from her center, taking a moment to catch my own breath. As she relaxes, I seize the chance to plant kisses along the curves of her thighs, pausing at my favorite spots.

“What’s there?” she mutters.

“Shh. Just enjoy it.”

She does, though not for long. I sense her pelvis pressing against me. Ah, Lady Huckleberry has made her grand recovery and now graces us with her impatience. I won’t keep her waiting. I promptly return to her center, eagerly licking without pause. This time, I am determined to bring her to completion.

She arches her back. Her climax is unexpectedly serene, yet still breathtakingly beautiful.

Say my name, Honor.

Even in a whisper.

But she remains silent, emitting only a few gentle moans.

I brace myself as I reach out, my fingers just barely brushing her hand before I gently wipe the beads of sweat from her forehead. Her eyelids flutter, too heavy to fully open, her body melting into the kind of deep relaxation she’s clearly been craving. And just like that, she’s asleep. I’ve done it—exactly what she asked of me.

For a moment, I just stand there, taking it all in. I could stay here for hours, maybe until morning, maybe longer. Watching over her feels like the most natural thing in the world. But there’s a line I won’t cross, no matter how much I want to lean down and ravage those scorched lips, no matter how badly I wish I could be more than what she needs right now.

Instead, I carefully pull the covers up, making sure she’s warm and snug. I lower my voice to a whisper, leaning just close enough to speak without disturbing her. “Good night, Honor.”

With a quiet exhale, I turn and step out of the room, closing the door softly behind me. My erection gradually fades, but I still remember the feeling of it throbbing, craving her. Foregoing a release is never smart for me, but right now I don’t even feel the need to masturbate. Knowing she’s sleeping soundly because of me brings me more satisfaction than an orgasm. She’s really that special.

17

HONOR

Morning comes way too soon. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to last night. While I nurse Laramie, she’s blissfully oblivious to the storm of thoughts in my head, and the pulses that still persist in between my legs.

“Yeah, we’re even now,” I whisper with a giggle, brushing her tiny cheek.

She coos, and I swear she’s saying something like, Chase is my hero.

“All right, I’ll let you get away with that.”

Because, let’s be real, he earned it. Chase gave both Laramie and me the first restful night in days. And more.

Yes, he gave me more, all right. The sensation lingers, a constant memory of his skilled oral pleasuring. I must admit, no one has ever brought me to sleep like that. There’s never been a better time to be a woman than when Chase Samson is around—there, I said it. Shamefully, but still.

Even Laramie, my usually demanding little dictator, is so content she falls back asleep right after her feed. Blissful baby, blissful me.

With her settled, I head out to find the man behind this newfound heaven. He’s not in the kitchen, which is mildly disappointing—where’s breakfast? Shouldn’t my guardian angel at least make pancakes?

Second most likely place? The gym.

Sure enough, there he is—not pumping iron but pounding away on a treadmill, running like a man who just robbed a bank. I blink, half-expecting sparks to fly from the poor machine. I mean, how does it not just give up under all that weight and speed? Forget pancakes—this might be the breakfast show I didn’t know I needed.

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