She’s right.
She’s right—I should leave.
I’ve murdered and suffered so much since the last time we were together that I am not fit to be around this sweet girl. I also know damn well I won’t leave her alone until my pulse stops beating. That’s a dead certainty, more reliable than the tide.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, setting down her messenger bag.
When I see the sketchpad sticking out, I find it hard to swallow. “Yes.”
My growl turns her cheeks pink. “I’ll make you something while you’re in the shower.” She walks to the kitchen sink, opens a cabinet and bends down, stretching the jeans across her gorgeous ass and I automatically unzip my jeans, because I’m swelling so fat, the goddamn thing no longer fits inside the denim prison. When she straightens, holding a garbage bag in her hands, she gasps at the sight of my cock jutting out from the V of my fly. “Um…”
“Tatum…”
“We should put our clothes in this bag and get rid of it, right? S-so there is no, um…evidence…”
“Baby. Come get this cock.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s the only idea.” I stroke myself a few times and watch her eyes turn glassy. “Horny as ever, aren’t you?”
“I haven’t been. Not until now.”
“Because I wasn’t here.”
She wets her lips. Nods. Thank Christ. I knew she wouldn’t let another man touch her, but I don’t even like the idea of her being wet unless I’m here to take care of the problem.
“I’ve never been…” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”
I surge forward, desperate to hear what she was going to say. “What? Tell me.”
When I tilt her face up so she can’t avoid eye contact, she confesses her secret in a whisper. “I’ve never wanted to be with anyone else. Like we were…in your truck. I thought there was something wrong with me.”
“There is nothing‚ not a damn thing, wrong with my princess.” I jack off while looking at her mouth, those swollen pillows that were made for kissing me. “You were just waiting for your king.”
“Don’t you mean my prince?”
“No. I mean your king.” I snag her hand and place it on my throbbing dick, hissing through my teeth at the softness of her palm, the mere fact that I’m with her and she’s touching me is almost overwhelming enough to make me ejaculate on a dime. “I’m the king and you’re the princess. You remember how we play, baby.”
Her eyelids flutter closed and she fists me, finally, the soft circle of her hand giving me a gentle pump, then a rougher one. “Yes. I remember.”
“Good girl,” I whisper beside her ear, licking the lobe crudely. “Show Daddy your bed.”
Her hesitation causes a roar to build in my throat. I look around for something to put my fist through, frustration welling inside of me. The need to be destructive. I’m bad for her. I’ve lost my mind and she knows it. The knowledge is right there on her perfect face. I’m lucky she even let me inside her apartment.
“I shouldn’t…” she says quietly.
“Yeah,” I return in a hoarse tone. “Maybe you shouldn’t.” I take her wrist and drag her along behind me to the bathroom. “Shower with me, Tatum. You’ve got blood on you, too. And Christ, I can’t let you out of my sight. I’m already teetering on the fucking edge. I need eyes on you or I’m going to lose whatever sanity I have left.”
“Shower?” she squeaks when I lock us into the small bathroom. “Together?”
“I’ve seen you naked before, Tatum,” I say, shoving down my jeans, stepping out of them, along with my socks. “I see you like that every time I blink.”
Again, I’m made painfully aware of how thoroughly I’ve lost my mind, because the fact that she’s shielding her body from me starts a vein ticking behind my eyes. A growl builds in my throat and I have to concentrate on not ripping the garments from her body. Calm down. Calm down, she’s scared of you. I settled for backing her against the door and, as calmy as possible, unfastening her jeans and pushing them down her hips.
“Show me what I need to see,” I demand, lips to her forehead. “Show me those big tits and that luxury pussy, before I starve to death from missing your skin on mine.”
Her head falls back and she’s dazed, denials growing weaker, weaker by the second.