Page 109 of Taming Seraphine

“Where did you go?” she asks. “You were gone for hours.”

Guilt claws at my frayed heartstrings. “I was hunting Paolo Rochas.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No.” I toe off my shoes and scoot down the bed, so Seraphine can adjust to an easier angle. “We put him somewhere safe, where he can’t escape.”

She exhales, her smaller body relaxing against mine. “Did you take Miko?”

“He’s the one who tracks them down. It’s faster if he comes along on missions.”

Seraphine falls silent, her breathing slowing. I shift on the mattress, trying to make myself comfortable because she doesn’t plan on letting me go. It’s best to sleep beside her fully-clothed because the thought of her naked body against my skin sends my libido in a dangerous direction.

“Leroi?”

“What?”

“Stop leaving me behind. I can’t be alone with my thoughts.”

My chest constricts. I press another kiss on her temple. “Alright.”

“Thank you,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.

I don’t reply. If I had taken the time to turn over the man I shot in Samson’s bedroom, I would have known he was still alive. The outcome might have still been the same, but there’s a chance that I could have caught Samson while he was hiding out at his fiancée’s house.

My jaw clenches at the memory of sneaking into Joseph Di Marco’s bedroom, completely oblivious that Samson was close by. Now, I’ve driven him underground. It’s only a matter of time before he realizes that the hitman he hired to take out his family’s murderer is one and the same.

I clear my thoughts and force myself into a meditative state. If I can’t fall asleep, then I may as well put my mind to rest. Seraphine can’t confront another of those guards who assaulted her mother without some kind of intervention. Even if she claims she’s unaffected by these killings, it’s only a matter of time before she breaks.

I’ll protect her from the ghosts of her past, and I’ll protect her from danger, even if that danger is herself.

* * *

Hours later, sunlight warms my closed eyelids, and strawberry shampoo tickles my nostrils. A soft hand slides over my bare chest. It rubs slow circles on one pec before moving onto the other. The gentle touches pull me out of sleep, and I’m aware that the hand is sliding down my abs.

I’m still in that state between sleep and wakefulness when a finger circles my belly button before traveling down the trail of hair that leads to my aching cock.

This is entirely inappropriate, and there’s a five percent chance that this is just a dream. Too relaxed to move, I cling to those small odds.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, I kissed her without permission then I buried my face between her thighs and ate that sweet pussy until she came apart on my tongue.

If she wants to touch my chest, I won’t complain.

My morning erection is strangled by the tightness of my boxers and jeans. Each gentle stroke she makes on my skin infuses my veins with an electric current.

Her fingers skim lower, awakening the last shreds of my morality. This is wrong. I should stop her before she escalates. I should end this pretense of slumber before I become trapped beneath her with another knife to my balls.

“Let me take off your pants,” she whispers, her fingers brushing over the fine hairs on my abdomen. “Please?”

“Behave yourself,” I growl.

She pulls back her hand.

I crack open an eye.

She lies wedged against my side, still naked. My shirt is missing, presumably tossed on the floor.

“Is this what you do to people while they’re asleep?” I ask with a raised brow. “Undress them?”

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