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“If you keep saying so, you might make it so. You’re a GTECH. I’m pretty sure you can protect us both from everyone and anything.”
A low growl escapes his throat, more animal than man, which is probably the hottest thing I’ve ever heard in my life, then his mouth closes over mine, and I’m instantly melting into the hard lines of his body, pressing myself close to him, my hands catching his hips.
And then he’s devouring me, kissing me like I have never been kissed, like a starving man, who has found life in me. The hesitation is gone from him, and it was never there for me but there is urgency in him that I recognize now as my own. As if someone will stop us, as if someone will tear us apart. In the back of my mind, I know that someone is my father, and I shove away the thought.
His hands travel up and down my back, and when he cups my backside and squeezes, my hands find their way under his shirt, muscle and taut skin warm beneath my touch. I’m so lost in Creed right now, that I don’t how it’s possible, but there is a dark seed of something trying to surface that I know of my father, and what he might do to Creed if he finds out we were together.
But he has no right.
He never had a right to do anything that deep down, I know he masterminded. I am desperate to escape the reality I am not yet ready to face, and I shove up his shirt, wordlessly telling him I want him naked.
Creed reaches behind his neck and tugs his shirt over his head, muscles flexing with the action. So much muscle. My mouth is dry, and I am slick between the thighs. Before his tee ever hits the ground, his deft fingers are walking my gown up my body and then tugging it over my head. I have a moment of nerves I cannot help but feel. He is gloriously male, a man who could have any woman he wants, and I am but just me. I’m petite, not all that curvy, but blessed with full breasts. For all I know though, he likes big butts and small breasts.
It’s not a fear I have for long as the look on his face, in his blue eyes as they rake over my body, is pure lust and satisfaction. He folds me to him, pressing my breasts to his chest, and I tilt my chin up, meeting his stare, and say, “Make your eyes black.”
“Why would you want that?”
“Because I don’t want you to have to hide from who you are with me. Don’t pretend with me. I don’t want to have to pretend with you, either.”
He strokes my hair back and stares down at me. “How do you pretend and to whom?”
My heart skips a beat and then races, my fingers curling in the springy, dark hair on his chest. “Now is not the time for this.”
“Tell me,” he orders.
“It’s the whole general’s daughter thing. I’m like a soldier. I always have to be in perfect form. I always have to show absolute support.”
“Do you support him absolutely?”
“You know the answer. I’ve told you.”
“Tell me again, right now, in my arms. Tell me.”
“I try. I try hard.”
“Do you?” he demands, his voice rougher now, a push behind his words.
My mind flashes back to that fight my father had with my mother, and a fist twists around my insides. I’ve already hinted at this, told him this, but he seems to really need to hear it again. And I can all but guess that means he blames him, which means he was right when he said—this is headed no place good, but naked in his arms, I can’t seem to care. “No,” I say, “but please don’t ever repeat that. I beg of you.”
“The only thing you need to beg me for,” he says, “is when you want me to stop teasing you and let you orgasm. I’m not going to tell anyone anything you don’t want me to.” And then he’s kissing me again, and I swear it’s laced with a drug so addictive I’ll lose my mind if he stops.
Chapter Fourteen
When Creed looks at me again, his eyes are black, and to me, that says trust. It says he’s willing to show me everything because I dared to expose myself to him. Because speaking against my father to one of his men is exposing myself.
He buries his face in my neck, his hand on my breast, his whiskers rasping against my delicate skin, nuzzling just below my ear. “You smell like roses.”
But I don’t. I can’t. I have on no perfume at all, and in some far corner of my mind, I wonder if he smells things we can’t smell. I also wonder how a man everyone claims to be a brutal warrior can be as tender as he is right now. His lips brush my neck, shivers sliding down my spine, my nipple puckering against his palm. My senses and body are so his right now, there’s really no time for me to process any one thought.
