Page 77 of Beautifully Reckless

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Having Abbey in my personal space is doing something to me. Something I’m sure she’s not fucking ready for if I don’t get a fucking grip, and fast.

“Oh wow,” she gasps as she rounds the corner behind me, her big eyes locking onto my massive bed.

My room at the Western might have been a dump, but here, I live like a fucking king.

Turning away, I hide the smirk tugging at my lips, feeling a little smug that she’s impressed by my moody, oversized room.

My four poster bed was custom made to accommodate a big prick like me, and it suits the space with the dark charcoal panels stretching up the wall at the head of the bed, and the gold-framed mirror centred on top. I’ve imagined Abbey on top of me, riding me, watching herself come undone in that mirror.

Fuck. Now I’m hard.

I should haveleft her to explore my room alone and made myself scarce out in the fucking barn.

That would have been smarter. Safer.

Instead I’m pacing like a caged lion, because part of me is ready to pounce. Pin her down. Claim her with a brutal thrust.

But fuck, the other part of me, a part I don’t fully understand, just wants to hold her. Much like last night in the chair, when she curled up on my lap and fell asleep.

As much as I want to taste every inch of her with my tongue, and hear those soft little whimpers spill from her lips like they did that night at the Western, before everything went to fucking hell… I’d also just be as happy to simply keep her safe and protect her with everything I’ve got until my last damn breath on this Earth.

See? Fucking confusing.

Ringo, the fucking Sergeant-at-Arms of the Southern Sadists MC doesn’t fucking snuggle.

Until now, apparently.

And it’s all because of an angel I shouldn’t want like I do.

“I take it my bedroom gets your seal of approval?” I tease, biting back my smirk as I eye her again.

“Duh. Who wouldn’t like this?” she deadpans, a grin tugging at the corner of her plump lips.

Even though she’s still too skinny for my liking, she’s filled out more now. The apple of her cheeks are a closer match to her portrait in her parent’s house. Her tits… well, they are hard to miss now, the pregnancy obviously contributing to her already plump melons.

And then there’s her baby bump.

Fuck.

I’ve finally stopped seeing ghosts of Kylie’s gaunt strung-out face now. And all I see is Abbey. A fighter. A survivor. A mum to be, willing to risk it all to protect her child.

She’s fucking beautiful.

As she moves to the bedside table, I watch her scan over the book resting on top, before flicking her gaze back to me.

“Hypothetically speaking, if I were to snoop in your drawers here, am I going to find the same thing I found at the Western?”

Even as the words leave her mouth, her cheeks flare to life with a rosy tint.

She’s referring to my fleshlight. Probably remembering how I caught her touching it. How she slid her finger inside it.

Jesus.

“You will,” I confirm, my voice low, and those caramel orbs flare as she shakes her head.

“Sorry. That’s none of my business. I don’t even know why I asked that.”

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