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Fifty-One
Leo
Skye froze from his words, perhaps alarmed to find him standing there, in front of her, in the entrance room of his apartment.
She looked him over, and he wondered what she saw. Did she notice the wrinkles in his suit shirt, the way his hair had fallen into disarray, the smell of his sweat mixed with his cologne? Did she see how stressed he was not knowing where she was?
He kept his face guarded. “I tried calling you back, and when you didn’t pick up, I went to the marina straightaway, but you were already gone.”
She was sad, and normally she’d attempt to hide her sadness from him, but it was too late for that. She whispered, “Hunter picked me up.”
He looked her over, and now his stress shifted to realization, and oh, it felt like a cold prickly feeling.
Attempting to remain calm, and failing, he forced out, “I’m glad you’re here, and that you’re safe, but you’re crying, and I have a feeling Hunter hurt you, and now I want to find him and beat the shit out of him—”
“He did nothing—”
“He fucked you.” He wasn’t asking. He said it simply, his voice still gruff, his face unreadable. “I can see it. I know the look you get when you’ve come. He fucked you, and now you’re crying. So…he didn’t donothing.”
She didn’t reply. She watched him, shaking. Could she sense his quiet rage? It felt like rolling waves of molten lava in his veins. He shoved his hands into his pockets because—still,still, he was fighting hard to remaincalm, andstable, and fuckingnormal—
“You’ve got his come inside you, and I’m hurting real hard right now, Skye, because I want you so badly, and I feel like Hunter is always coming out on top and he’s barely even around.”
She stepped to him, and he stepped back to keep the distance. Her face flashed with pain and guilt, and fuck, he didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to know it was there because they had allowed this to happen. They had given her permission to touch them when she desired it, but it didn’t stop the rage from simmering, the twisted jealousy from growing. Jealousy he had never known even existed inside him until their time at the cabin. She stepped to him again—
“Don’t,” he snapped, shaking his head. “Don’t. Not right now. I just—I need a minute.”
She looked miserable. “I’m sorry—”
“What are you sorry for?”
He wanted her to be sorry for letting Hunter inside her. For not taking Leo’s cock instead. Fuck, he’d been sharing that bed with her for countless nights, wanting to feel her, wanting her to reach out for him.
But it was Hunter—
ABSENT FUCKING HUNTER, THAT GOT TO FEEL HER????
Leo was not okay.
No, he was not okay.
He was not feeling like a gentleman right now. His rage could not be contained. It was an unfamiliar sort of one. This one stemmed from possessiveness. He was animalistic in his sudden desire to mark his territory.
How could he be a gentleman when he just wanted to throw her down and fuck Hunter’s touch out of her?
He wanted to remind her that just because he was a gentleman it didn’t mean he didn’t have a savage in him either.
But then he might hurt her; he might take her selfishly, and he could not do that. He was not that kind of man. He worshipped Skye.
He would not use her.
“Permit me not to touch you,” he demanded now, his willpower waning. “I can’t—Skye, you need to tell me to leave before I throw you down and take you for myself.”
Her hands shot out to him. “I don’t want to hurt you—”
“This hurt isn’t your doing—”
“I missed him, Leo, and I called him because I wanted us to be okay—"
