Sinful Protector (Roughshod Rollers MC 2)

When I blink my eyes open again, I’m lying on top of Kyle’s heaving chest. His arms are around me, and I feel oddly safe, as though nothing in the world can touch me.

I don’t need protection, a tiny part of my mind tries to say.

“Shut up,” I slur lazily.

“What?” Kyle asks with a yawn.

I look up at him with a smile. “Nothing. Let’s go to bed.”

“Bed sounds fucking good right now,” Kyle says with a rumbling chuckle.

I lift myself off him with some difficulty. My limbs have turned into jelly, but I can’t say I care right now. My body is aching pleasurably, and I collapse on the right side of the bed with a quiet hum. I feel him laying down beside him and I unconsciously scoot closer to him, wanting to be near the warmth and security he offers.

I remember my worries about tomorrow. Suddenly, though, I can’t care about that. Tomorrow will bring whatever it does.

Right now, I just want to lay here and pretend that I can bask in this comfort forever.

Chapter Fourteen

Allison

My head is pounding.

“Ow…” I groan.

How much did I drink yesterday?

I can feel movement in the bed. Someone is getting up. Kyle… It would be Kyle because I invited him to my bed and we had sex again. Is he leaving again?

My heart stutters in my chest and my breath catches. I don’t want him to sneak away, not like last time. My hand shoots out and brushes against warm skin. I open my eyes a little. I can see his wrist right in front of me, and I grab it.

“Allison?”

“Don’t go,” I groan piteously.

For a moment I think he might ignore me. Then he chuckles.

“I wasn’t leaving,” he says. “My head is killing me. I was going to get some aspirin. Do you want some?”

That sounds absolutely heavenly right now.

“Yes,” I say with feeling, forcing my eyes to open a little more.

Kyle’s face swims into focus. He’s smiling slightly as he slides his jeans on, not bothering to put his boxers back on.

“I’ll be back,” h

e promises.

It sucks that he’s in better condition than I am when I know he drank more than I did. I groan again and collapse back against my pillow. Why do I do this to myself?

When I open my eyes again, Kyle is back into the room. He’s still wearing only his jeans, and I appreciate the view as he approaches. He’s holding a glass of water in one hand and two pills in the other. It occurs to me that he must have rummaged around in my kitchen to find either, but I find that I don’t care about that right now as I sit up, wincing at a particularly harsh thump in my head.

“Here,” Kyle says, sitting on the side of the bed and offering me the water and pills.

This all feels oddly domestic. I suppress a smile at the thought.

“Thanks,” I say.