Page 90 of One Bossy Disaster


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One second, I’m on the log, keeping a nice safe distance, doing all I can to keep her safe from me.

The next, I’m thunking my coffee cup down on the sand and crossing the gap to her.

Before I have another coherent thought, I drop down on my knees and push her back, pinning her to the sand.

My body hovers over hers like a man possessed and every breath feels like napalm.

Fuck, I don’t know what I’m doing.

Some kind of primal impulse takes over. This manic urge to remind her I’m not harmless, to tell her not to get too close or think she can slide into my life like it’s a pair of slippers.

She can’t fuckingknowme.

Nothing good has ever happened with the people I invited in.

She should consider me dangerous.

Tainted.

Unhinged.

All logic deserts me as my brain catches up to my body, which is far too close to hers.

I can feel her under me.

I’m not letting my lips brush hers.

I’m not gripping her shoulders hard.

I’m not losing my shit.

And Destiny, she’s barely breathing now, her chest pushing against mine with shallow breaths that make me feel her tits behind that thin layer of fabric.

Is she afraid yet?

For both our sakes, she should be.

My anger softens the longer I stare at her, though, replaced by a sharpening awareness.

The darkening night deepens around us.

The crackling fire grows louder.

The distant roll of the evening tide echoes in my ears, almost as loud as my heartbeat as I stare down at her like prey, willing myself to rip away the next second.

The softness of her body against minekillsme.

She’s slender, but lush.

All graceful curves and toned muscle and unbearably soft skin.

Her lips are parted in a devilish invitation, calling my hands to all the wrong places, begging my brain to switch off.

I feel my cock swelling as I try to get a grip.

As I try to find my familiar ice-cold kingdom again where I’m alone and safe with emotions I understand.

Anger.

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