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“I’m fine,” I finally respond, my voice a little shaky, and he must assume it’s from the cold as he reaches into his gym bag and takes out a dark leather jacket.
“Put this on. It’s clean and it’ll help you stay warm.”
I take the jacket and resist the urge to draw it to my face and inhale his strong leather and woods scent because that’ll only make me appear like a creep. I settle for wearing the oversized jacket, and I sigh at the warmth that spreads not just over my skin, but through my heart from the little gesture.
“Thank you,” I say softly, looking down shyly, so he can’t read the emotions displayed on my face.
No one has looked out for me in years, and as crazy as it sounds, I want this big bad boxer to take care of me. He is much larger than I am, with arms covered with tattoos. The man has a menacing scowl, and his scars alone speak of his experience in the fighting world, and heck, I don’t just want him protecting me from bullies such as Dennis.
The thought of Gunner wrapping his massive arms around me, those firm lips on mine as he takes my first kiss . . .
I want him to take me. All of me.
Roughly. Possessively. I want him to make me his.
Like in the movies when the guy can’t get enough of the girl, I want him to claim me hard and rough, and later, when we’re both sweaty . . . he can spoon me, brush my hair, and kiss my temple.
I need him to own every piece of me. Body, mind, and soul.
I want to be his!
My thoughts have my nipples pebbling painfully behind my bra as a wave of moisture spreads through my core. The strange pulsing heat makes me dig my fingers into the leather of his jacket and my teeth bite into my lower lip to hold back a moan.
“Your cheeks are flushed, are you still cold?”
I can feel myself flush deeper, and I avoid his gaze as I respond. “No, I’m fine.”
“Good, then you’ll need this.” I am silent as Gunner slips his helmet over my head and adjusts the straps before climbing onto the bike in front of me. I wrap my arms tightly around him evenbefore he asks me to, locking them over his abs. “Are you sure you are okay? I can get us a taxi and—”
“I’m fine,” I cut him off. I am the furthest thing from fine having never ridden one of these before, but I trust him.
Liar.
Fine, of course, I trust Gunner, but a taxi would not require this closeness, and God knows I need to feel this connection with someone. With him.
“Right, hold on tight, pixie.”
My breath catches at the familiar nickname, one my father had used more often than my given name, but we’re off before I can respond, and I cry out as I dig my fingers into his firm stomach covered with a thin layer of cloth. I should feel guilty that I am hoarding the man’s jacket, but the feel of his strong, warm body against mine is enough to push those feelings back.
I lay my head on his back as the streets sweep by, taking comfort in the fact that we’re driving in the opposite direction of my home. I close my eyes, reveling in the feel of Gunner’s muscles, and let his comforting presence calm me.
Too lost in my head, I lose track of time. I have no idea how long we’ve been on the road when Gunner drives past a massive black gate to a modest two-story family-style home. Gunner stops, but he doesn’t immediately climb off, and my brows draw in confusion even as my mind runs with all the possible reasons why he’d hesitate now, and then it hits me.
He’s delaying going in because he has a wife!
What if Gunner is married with kids, and we’re stuck in his driveway until he figures out how to tell his wife he just brought home a stray?
I can’t believe I fantasized about this man owning me when he could be promised to another.
“You’re killing me, pixie,” Gunner grunts in a strangled voice.
“W-what do you mean?”
“Your hands,” the man pants, and it takes me a second to understand what he’s talking about, and when I do, I gasp in mortification. I hadn’t realized I’d slipped my hands beneath his shirt to grasp at his bare stomach. I quickly drop my hands, which brush his tented track pants.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” I cry out, drawing my hands from his lap so fast, I almost send us both falling off the bike, and perhaps I would have if not for Gunner’s fast reflexes.
“It’s okay,” he says roughly, straightening me up before loosening the straps on the helmet and pulling it off me. I have no doubt my cheeks are bright enough to light our way up the steps to his home, but Gunner doesn’t say a word as he climbs off his bike and slides his hands under my thighs.
