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Yet all I wanted to do was to protect him and turn this bubble he’d created for himself into a bubble for us both.
Mike strolled through the door around four, closing it and making a point of turning the deadbolt and adding the small security chain before turning. He’d called out as he unlocked the door so I knew it was him. Mike dropped his briefcase by the front door and moved toward me, sniffing the air and arching an eyebrow. I continued to stir the pot, smiling as he came to stand behind me. Mike hesitated and stood for a moment while I simply enjoyed the feel of his presence behind me, watching and protecting me.
“What are you making?”
Tapping the spoon on the side of the pot, I replaced the lid and turned, leaning against the counter. He was so close—his hips inches from mine and our chests almost touching—he leaned forward, looking down at me. When he lifted a hand to my hip, the images of him working out returned to the forefront of my mind, and I placed my palms on his chest. Mike was watching me as though I was going to shatter into a million pieces before his eyes or simply disappear from his life. Whatever front he put on, however arrogant and suave he appeared, it was clear it was mostly bullshit.
“Minestrone.”
“From one of my books?”
“Nope, just from here.” I tapped my temple, and he smiled delicately, moving his jaw so the hints of gray in his five o’clock shadow caught the light.
“Smells great.”
“Thank you.” After a moment of silence, I asked. “How was your day?”
Mike barked out a laugh, almost instantly replaced with that look of worry he’d had this morning when he left. “All right. I’m sorting some things out.”
I began caressing his chest through his shirt, and Mike hummed, closing his eyes for a moment before watching me again. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” I asked.
“Nothing. Just be patient for a while as I sort it out.” My tongue darted out between my lips as he watched me, and his gaze took on a hungry quality.
“Did you get your security?”
His jaw tensed, and he nodded once. “They’ll be watching the place while they can, but they can’t be here twenty-four-seven.”
“Who are they?”
“Friends.”
“Aren’t there services you can use or something?”
Mike hesitated. “Tate is a… special case. I need people who understand what he’s capable of.”
“How did you ever get caught up with someone so dangerous?”
Something in his face changed, a mishmash of emotions passing across his eyes—guilt, regret, sympathy, anger—as if to sayI’m the dangerous one.
I didn’t believe that.
“How long until dinner?” he asked, halting my train of thought.
“Twenty minutes? Give or take.”
“Good, time for a shower.” Mike shifted to move away from me, and I grabbed his shirt, stepping forward and pressing my body against his. Images of his body had been haunting me all day. I’d had him once, and now I wanted him again. Mike became an animal when we fucked, and I wantedmore.Because there was freedom in it, and it felt like there was a part of him that he could only let go in those moments. I recalled the feeling of biting him last night, harder and harder as he begged me to do it until his skin broke under my teeth. I’d gasped, guilt filling my throat as I experienced the faint metallic taste of his blood. But then he’d come so hard I could feel the ropes of it shooting inside me as he gripped my hair, keeping my head pressed against the nook of his shoulder.
My cock twitched at the thought. It looked like Mike had a kinky side.
“Care for some company?”
Again, there was a flash of emotions across his face. As I gently dragged my fingers down his chest, coming to rest over the front of his pants and gripping his cock through the fabric, his expression settled. It was dark and hungry, and I shuddered.
Mike answered by grabbing my head, gripping my hair, and tilting my head back so he could claim my mouth with his. Any sense of hesitation he had when he first stood behind me when he came home was gone, and he took control of the kiss, shoving his tongue into my mouth and groaning with me as I gripped his cock harder. He broke the kiss only to guide me to the bathroom and made quick work of removing our clothes, no longer bashful about his scars, it seemed, and desperate only to be naked with me.
A twenty-minute shower turned into forty, and even as we dried each other, Mike was hard, ready to go again.
Dinner was passable, as the integrity of most of the vegetables had been compromised with the additional unplanned cooking time. I had the stove up too high—my fault. Mike didn’t care, and apart from the fact I wanted to show him the best of my cooking and only ended up displaying the mediocre, I didn’t either.
