Chapter 14 Gunner #2
My cock is hard as a rock, straining against my jeans with an aching intensity that I’ve never felt before, and I rock my hips against her once.
Twice.
I shouldn’t be doing this, a small voice in my head murmurs.
This is wrong on so many levels. Being in her bed is a violation, and the thoughts running through my head of her naked and pushing back against me would send me straight to jail if anyone knew about them.
But something about Christmas and the lights and having this girl in the house again have me going sideways, and I don’t know how to stop the slide.
The world is flipped on its side and making very little sense, and with the business not doing well, the comfort of this girl and her smile. ..
They’re doing something to keep me tethered here, and I don’t have the heart to let go of that.
Not yet.
I pull her closer, not caring if I wake her.
My need is so big, so powerful, and though my cock is screaming for her body, this is more than just a physical want.
This is emotional, a wave so demanding I’m having trouble holding onto myself.
I can’t breathe for wanting her, can barely think for how much I need her.
It occurs me that I could have gone my entire lifetime without feeling this, and would have survived, but now she’s in my home, helping chop wood and decorate and cook.
She’s forcing her way into my shop and making Gabe smile for the first time in years, and. ..
I exercise every ounce of self-discipline in my body and stop rocking my hips against her, telling myself that I have to control this urge.
I take long, slow breaths and try to calm my raging hard-on, and before I know it, darkness is coming for me, courtesy of the small, comforting presence of Taryn in my arms.
And for the first time in years, I go to sleep feeling like I’ve found something that finally, exquisitely, makes sense. A safe space in a world that’s become cold and hard and unwelcoming.
My final thought before I succumb to sleep is that I know I can’t keep it. But for tonight, I’m going to pretend that’s not true.
Just one night. Surely after everything I’ve been through, I deserve that much.
* * *
When I wake, the window across from me is still midnight dark, and she’s gone.
I panic.
I sit up too quickly and let my eyes shoot around the room, half terrified that I’ll find her sitting there staring at me, but she’s not here.
I grow still, panic running through me, and listen closely.
Someone is down in the kitchen banging around, and I know from experience that it can’t be Gabe.
He doesn’t leave his room in the middle of the night, and he avoids the kitchen like it might poison him if he touches anything in there.
And shit, if she’s up, that means she woke up and found me in her bed, up against her, and if I’m lucky, that’s all it was. If I’m unlucky, she also found me hard and aching and ready for her, and has already packed her things.
God, maybe she’s down in the kitchen getting ready to go.
That thought brings me to an even higher level of panic, and I jump out of bed and almost run from the room.
I hit the stairs moving too fast and immediately slip on the hard wood, my socked feet badly equipped for sprinting.
I catch myself on the banister and force myself to slow down, descending the stairs with what pride I can gather.
I find Taryn in the kitchen in what looks like her pajamas, and a quick glance around tells me she doesn’t have any luggage with her.
She’s not on her way out the door. She’s... making cookies. Brewing coffee. And there’s chocolate boiling on the stove.
My brain makes such a U-turn from impending doom to domesticity that I nearly fall over in surprise. Taryn looks up at my sudden appearance, her face caught between surprise and a laugh, and I see that she’s not only baking but has also managed to smear chocolate across her cheek in the process.
My voice is hoarse when I speak. “You’re not leaving?”
Her amusement turns to confusion. “Why would I leave?”
“You’re baking cookies?”
She cocks her head at this question, which has nothing to do with the first. “Midnight snack,” she says slowly. “I do that sometimes when I can’t sleep.”
When she can’t sleep.
Or when she wakes up in the middle of the night and finds her stepfather in her bed.
But she’s not leaving. Instead, she’s in my kitchen baking cookies and making hot chocolate, with a smear of chocolate on her cheek and her eyes bright with something I can’t identify.
Wearing skimpy shorts and a shirt that rides up when she reaches for something, and fresh out of a bed that was kept warm by my heat.
And it’s all too much. Beyond too much. A wave of emotions crashes over me at the feeling of belonging right here with her, the house finally feeling like a home again, and a woman here who is actually choosing us.
She ran here when she was in trouble. And she isn’t leaving the first time something goes wrong.
I can’t explain why it matters. I’m not even sure I know why it matters. But it does, and I move toward her without thinking. I need to have my hands on her again. Feel her warmth under my skin, the solid form of her against my body.
I desperately, mindlessly need this to be real.
I stop in front of her and take her in, my blood too close to the surface and my stomach roiling with something that feels dangerous.
She looks up at me, mouth hanging open, and it occurs to me that I must look absolutely insane.
I’m just out of bed and down here asking her questions that make no sense, my hair no doubt messy and my eyes fever bright.
But I can’t stop myself.
I reach out and clean the chocolate from her cheek, my fingers gentle on her skin, and she gasps slightly.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“You had chocolate,” I answer.
I bring my finger up to my mouth and lick it, the taste of the chocolate sweet on my tongue, and the air around us goes suddenly so thick with tension that I can hardly breathe.
My chest tightens with anticipation, my cock so hard I want to drop to my knees and cry.
And all I can think of is that I want to kiss this girl.
I need to kiss this girl.
I need to taste her and convince myself this isn’t just a dream.
I take another step forward, my eyes on her, and she doesn’t retreat.
Instead, when I put a palm up to her cheek, she leans into me like a cat looking for attention, her eyes on mine and her lips parted.
She arches her back until her tits are pressed against me, and it’s all I can do not to grab her up, shove her onto the counter, and take her.
Hard and rough and fast... or soft and gentle and deep. I don’t know.
It doesn’t matter.
I lean toward her, not daring to breathe or think about what I’m doing, and run my lips across hers. Her mouth parts on a sigh, and I know—I know—that I can have her if I want her. She’s open and ready for me. She knows I was in her bed with her, and she’s not rejecting me.
She’s not leaving.
But if I do this, if I take advantage of her, she might.
And I’m not sure I’ll survive it if she does. Not again.
I pull myself back, forcing my brain to start thinking again, and stare down at her. “Go back to bed, Taryn,” I say, my voice harsher than I intend. “Bad things happen to little girls like you in the middle of the night.”
I turn and leave before I can rethink my words or take them back. I pound up the stairs and into my room, where I slam the door and lock it behind me.
And then I go to the bathroom, my jeans already unbuttoned and my cock already in my hand as I desperately try to forget the tears shimmering in her eyes when I pushed her away. The hurt I know I’m causing her.
Because she’ll leave, eventually, and go back to her life.
While I’ll be stuck here with nothing but memories and ghosts.