When He's Wild (Walker Security - Adrian's Trilogy 3)
His woman.
His need to be a decent man for me.
His fear that he can never be even close to decent. Somehow he still doesn’t understand just how bad my bad was at one point.
“Adrian,” I whisper. “You do know—”
“I know I’d do it again. No,” he amends, “I’d stop it from happening next time. I would stop it from happening, Pri.”
He was protecting me. He is protecting me. He is always protecting me and I don’t let myself think about where that could lead him. Because that leads me to push him away again and I don’t want him to leave. Right or wrong, now or ever. My mind skips back to that bathroom, to Logan attacking me, to the entire Walker clan hearing it happen, and my fingers twist around Adrian’s shirt. “Make me forget he ever touched me. Make me forget and—”
His mouth is on my mouth once more, his tongue a sultry lick against mine. I moan with the taste of him, whiskey and man, and already he’s untied my robe, his warm hands sliding under the terry cloth and over my skin. His hands are all over my body, running up and down my back, one palm scooping my backside and dragging me closer, the thick ridge of his erection pressed to my belly. “Logan will never kiss you or touch you again,” Adrian vows, nipping my lip.
I gasp with the unexpected pinch, but already Adrian laves the ache with his tongue. Somehow that tiny act is a promise of protection.
I breathe out on a pant, aware I’m probably overthinking everything, too in my head. He drags me back into the moment with a kiss, a fast, seductive lick, before our lips part and his hot gaze lowers, traveling over my naked breasts. And when his gaze returns to mine, he repeats his words. “He will never touch you again, Pri.”
And then my breasts are in his hands, his fingers on my nipples, and he’s kissing me again, drugging me, and in that moment, all the cold I’d felt earlier, evaporates. It’s simply gone, and there is nothing left but heat, burning hot heat. My body is on fire. My body craves him and only him. I tug at his shirt, my fingers sliding underneath the tee, my palm pressing to hot, taut skin and rippling muscle. Adrian reaches behind him and pulls the shirt over his head. Before it ever hits the ground, my hands are back on his body. I’m touching him, I just need to touch him. And for him to touch me. He cups my head and kisses me even as he slides my robe down my shoulders and pulls my naked body against him.
My breasts are heavy, my sex aching, and when the robe falls to the ground, I am naked in every possible way with Adrian. This man has the ability to hurt me in a way no other human has ever possessed. Because he possesses me. He owns me in ways I didn’t know I could be owned and he doesn’t even really know it. Which only makes him own me all the more.
His eyes travel my body in an erotic inspection that puckers my nipples and clenches my sex. And when his gaze lifts and meets mine, I swear I melt right here where I stand. He leans in closer, that masculine spice assaulting my senses, and he nuzzles my neck, his breath warm where it fans over my skin. Goosebumps lift on my skin and his lips press to the sensitive spot under my ear.
He murmurs something low that I can’t understand and then cups my backside, lifting me from the cold tile floor. My legs wrap around his waist and then he’s carrying me to the bedroom, where the lights are dim and the burn between us is hot. He lays me on the bed and then stands to undress.
I sit up, oblivious to my own nakedness as I watch him pull off his boots and then reach for his pants. A moment later, his cock juts free, thick and lightly veined, his entire body lean but muscular. He is a work of art, a man who knows excess in only one thing: self-hate. I vow in that moment to change that or at least love him more than he hates himself.
He moves toward me and as he does, I lay back. Then he is over me, his hands on either side of my head, his big body over my body. His lips find my neck, my ear, and he whispers something in Spanish. It seems he has things to say tonight that he doesn’t want me to understand when I need to understand.
My fingers dive into his thick, dark hair and I’m rewarded with his mouth, his tongue, his kiss that devours me, and almost makes me forget to ask, “What did you say in Spanish?” I whisper. “What did it mean?”