Page 29 of My Masked Savior
“I think you’re incredibly cocky.”
“And you’re incredibly beautiful when you blush like that.”
Morgan groans, hiding her face against my shoulder. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not? It’s true.” I tilt her face up again, stealing another kiss. “Every single word.”
She shivers, and I feel that response like a physical touch. The way she reacts to me—open, unguarded, desperate for something she’s clearly been denying herself—it’s intoxicating.
I could watch her like this forever. Study every expression that crosses her face, catalog every sound she makes, learn exactly what it takes to break through that careful control she wraps around herself.
I’m in deeper than I’ve ever been with anyone.
The realization should concern me. It should send up red flags about how this complicates everything I’ve built, how easily Morgan could unravel my life.
But all I can think about is keeping her here. Making sure she comes back. Finding excuses to see her again and again until the idea of being apart becomes unbearable for both of us.
She has no idea how much I’ve already crossed the line. How I watched her through her bedroom window, followed her across state lines, orchestrated chances to be exactly where she needed me.
And she never will.
11
MORGAN
I’m back at work the next day, my brief time off over. I’ll be working extra hours around New Year’s, so my single coworkers can dance the night away or whatever it is normal people do. People who aren’t in hiding, afraid their abusive ex might pop up behind every corner.
I felt safe yesterday morning, though. For the first time in years, I woke up without that ever-present feeling of dread that’s been stalking my every step ever since Marco revealed his true colors. And it’s all thanks to my EMT.Damien. My savior. My… man? He says he is…
A pleasant shiver runs down my spine and somehow ends up between my legs. When I squeeze my thighs together in response, I feel a pulsing echo of our activities, reminding me how he owned my body, played it like a virtuoso plays their chosen instrument.
“Girl, if you daydreamed any harder, you’d be projecting it on the walls of this fabulous cubicle.”
Basia’s voice brings me back to the present, and I turn to see her standing next to my chair, arms crossed at herchest. I didn’t even notice her approach me. What happened to my hypervigilance?
“Did you have some sausage for Christmas or something?” Her eyebrows wiggle comically. “An old sweetheart, maybe?”
My stomach twists at her words. Definitelynotan old sweetheart.
God. I need to tell her. Everything.
I guess my expression must be reflecting my thoughts, because Basia drops her arms and gives me a look full of concern. “What? What did I say?”
“Nothing, babe. It’s not you.” I chew on my lip before taking a shuddering breath. “Let’s go to happy hour after work. Alone. There’s something I want to tell you. And some things I should have told you about years ago, to be honest.”
Basia’s eyebrows now hike up into her blonde hairline. “Morgan Cole and happy hour? Did you get body swapped in Connecticut?”
I laugh and shake my head at her irreverence. Basia’s always been good for me, even though she doesn’t know some of the most defining parts of my life.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter awkwardly.
I’ve really let life pass me by, haven’t I? It’s taken Damien to awaken a yearning to be a little less safe, experience a little more. I’m reminded of him finishing inside me, and heat rises up my chest to my cheeks. Good thing I’m close to my period…
“Okay, I need to find out what’s going on with you like yesterday,” Basia says, interrupting my thoughts again. “Let’s skip lunch so we’re done sooner and eat at the bar.”
I don’t think I’ll be able to eat, I think to myself, but just give her a tight smile and nod.
The rest of the day passes in a flash, as time usually does when you’re dreading something. I find myself seated in a corner booth of a medium-dingy bar, Basia across the table from me, leaning in with her hands on the scratched surface.
