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“There’s clean sweats just in the closet,” he called from the kitchen. “Help yourself to whatever you need.”
I slid from the bed and padded into the closet. A small wall safe was open, and a pile of cash and a gun sat on top of some folders. The money I didn’t care about, but the gun…my mind slipped to mine, tucked away in my own closet. A gun I wanted to use. I would, if there was no other way out.
The clatter of a frying pan tore me out of the thoughts. I grabbed a pair of soft sweat shorts and pulled them on before grabbing a white tee.
The smell of frying butter drifted through the air as I pulled it over my head.
And the soft rumble of…singing?
That panicked quiver came from my belly once more at the sound.
I pressed my palm against my abdomen, whispered a prayer to whoever was listening, and stepped out.
30
Lazarus
She stepped into the kitchen and my heart stuttered. Her red hair was damp and curling around her shoulders, shoulders covered with my damn tee. The sight of her dressed in my clothes made me fucking hard…again.But I focused on the pan in front of me, pouring the pancake mixture into nice even rounds.
“That smells delicious,” she declared.
Her belly gave another rumble, which made me smile. “Sounds like he agrees with you.”
“He?” she whispered quietly, drawing my attention.
I glanced her way, finding a look of shock before a flicker of panic cut through.
Her fear only made me chuckle louder. “The ravenous beast in your stomach,” I explained, and shook my head.What else did she think I meant?
“Oh,” she murmured, and slid up onto a stool on the other side of the kitchen island.
I flipped each pancake, making sure to rotate the pan and get them cooking evenly, just how Taken had taught me, before sliding the first one onto the waiting plate, then poured another.
I grabbed butter and maple syrup from the refrigerator and turned with the plate in one hand, fork, butter, and syrup in the other. “Now, you’re not one of those women who says they’re starving and eats like a mouthful and that’s all, are you?” She just grabbed the plate and the fork, then the butter and syrup, spreading and pouring generous amounts onto the soft fluffy morsels, then stabbed the things with single-minded ferocity. “Obviously not,” I answered myself.
She smiled and ate, chewing carefully before taking another bite. Before I knew it, or was even ready, she wanted more. I focused, my damn heart pulsing in the back of my throat, and worked the damn pan before sliding another onto her plate.
She ate that one too.
I’d made pancakes for the guys a hundred fucking times…and not one of those times had I felt like this.Proud. Powerful.She closed her eyes as she chewed and swallowed, and I was captured by the movement of her throat. My cock twitched, reminding me the fucking hard-on wasn’t going away anytime soon.
Even though I'd just had her…I wanted her again.
I was torn between wanting to see her dressed in my clothes and tearing the damn things off to find that delicious heat underneath. I wanted her, my wrists tied, or untied. Her pussy rubbing all over my damn face, any way she fucking wanted, I didn’t care. I was all fucking in…
And as always, a single thought broke through to ruin it all.
A memory of Kat curled against that fucking sofa, her knees drawn tight together. I wasn’t stupid. I knew the haunted look of someone who’d seen shit. I knew what that fucking distant stare of someone hurting looked like. And this woman in front of me, this woman stabbing and chewing the damn packaged pancake mix and loving it like it was some five-star masterpiece, had fucking suffered.
Hell, she was still suffering.
The only thing I didn’t know was what to do about it.
I lowered my gaze to the faint bruises across my knuckles starting to darken.
Or maybe I did…
Kat made a low, satisfied moan and lowered the fork, the second pancake mostly eaten. “I can’t do it,” she complained with a shake of her head.
