When He's Dirty (Walker Security - Adrian's Trilogy 1)

The words are an unwelcome jolt of reality, her offering me understanding that is really an excuse, the same excuse I gave myself for far too long. I sit back, pulling away from her touch. I expect her to recoil. Instead—fuck me—she climbs on top of me, straddling me, trying to kill me as she presses the sweet vee of her body along the line of my crotch. My cock is instantly stiff and there’s no way she doesn’t know, but somehow, someway, I think of her, not me. My fingers curl at my sides and I don’t touch her.

“What are you doing, Pri?”

She leans forward and presses her hands to my shoulders, pinning me in a stare. “Making you see me, really see me. And hear me. I need you to hear me. I defended monsters and I did it well. Nothing you tell me will make me hate you. If we’re ranking good and bad, I’m just as damaged.”

That does it. I snap, angry with her, angry with myself. I slide my arm around her, my hand finding her shoulder blades and I mold all those sweet curves into me. “You felt dirty. I am dirty. I’m bad. You’re good. I shouldn’t be here with you. Do you understand me?”

“Then why are you here?” she challenges.

“Because you’re a damn witch,” I say. “You just keep driving me fucking wild.” I pull her mouth to mine, my tongue pressing past her teeth and she tastes like sweet champagne and innocence. She tastes fucking delicious. She moans and my cock twitches, her soft hands sliding up and down my arms. Oh yeah, she’s a witch all right, a good witch being bad, and I want to fuck the bad right out of her.

But I can’t.

I catch her arms and pull her back. “I don’t have another condom. I didn’t come to Texas planning to need it.”

“I’m on the pill,” she murmurs, “and I don’t need your medical record, either. For all I know, Waters might kill me, too. For once, I’m going to live in the moment.”

Logan’s comment about her “just fucked” look or whatever that shit was he said grinds through my mind. A nerve tics in my jaw, an unfamiliar brand of possessiveness taking hold and control of me. I cup her face, tilling her gaze to mine. “Were you on the pill for Logan?”

“No. I do what I do for me, and I—I haven’t—never mind. This is a bad idea.” She starts to move.

I capture her waist and hold her steady. “You haven’t what?”

“Had sex in two years, if you must know, I stayed on the pills because, well, I just did.” Her hands come down on my arms. “Let me go.”

The unexpected response has my attention. Everything about Pri has my attention. “Since Logan?”

“Yes. And don’t start reading into that. I needed time for me and I took it.”

Time to herself means time to heal. I know then just how deeply he hurt her and I have this ridiculous moment of jealousy, followed by a deep need to find him and punch him. Her hand presses to my face and I’m back in the moment, and I land there with one realization. She’s recoiled all right, from men in general. Until tonight.

“And here I am,” I say softly.

“Because I thought you were Rafael,” she teases, but I’m not laughing.

This gorgeous, intelligent woman who is ten shades of damaged and sheltered in place to protect herself has offered herself to me, at least for “the moment” as she called it. She deserves better than me and she doesn’t even know it. Proven by the fact that I’m too damn selfish to save her from herself and me.

My hands slide to her face and I dare to tell her exactly why I’m still here, and why I don’t care about the way we complicate this trial. “I haven’t chosen anything in my life in years,” I say. “But I chose you, too, Pri.” I kiss her then, and when my tongue slides against hers I can feel her soften against me, melting into a place we both crave—a place where tomorrow doesn’t matter.

Our shared confessions seduce, provocative in their very nature and so is the way we undress each other. She’s back on top of me, my hand low on her back, when I press inside her, I can taste her soft gasp on my lips. She slides down my cock and now I’m the one groaning with the tight, wet squeeze of her body.

“Damn, you feel good, Pri,” I whisper, cupping her face, my lips at her ear. “Impossibly good,” I add, my voice rough, my body pulsing inside her.

I mold her close, my hand low on her spine, my touch possessive, a brand I want her to remember. The air thicken around us, the connection I feel with this woman a living, breathing thing I cannot control. It’s controlling me. I think it’s controlling us both and inside the passion lives our pain. Two people, two kinds of pain, that are somehow lost in the passion. At least for now, we are the sum of a new beginning, two people lost in each other and it’s powerful.