Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RATTLER
I’d seen her naked. I’ve seen her in her figure-hugging jeans and in the tight shorts and t-shirts she wears, but the clothes only hinted at the banging body she was hiding underneath.
It’s probably down to the fact I haven’t had sex in days, but when I thoughtlessly barged into her room, believing she’d had ample time to strip and redress, and had seen her as bare as the day she’d been born, my mind had been completely blown.
Her breasts were perky, obviously natural, and looked just the right size, even though she’d quickly covered them with her hand.
Her pussy? Well, she’d tried to hide that, but her toned legs and flat stomach led me to believe that was perfect as well.
And when she turned that pear-shaped ass toward me?
I damn near lost my mind. I knew she was a runner, but she obviously does some strength training shit too.
Her whole body was toned, her waist slim, and her hips just meaty enough to hang on to.
The thought had occurred to me, I’m married to her.
She’s mine. But she gave no sign she was interested in me, though I hadn’t missed the way her eyes had gone to my quickly swelling dick.
She was nervous, on edge. If she’d been a club girl, I’d have made a move, but luckily, I’d come to my senses and had refrained.
The only inappropriate action I made had been the suggestive wink she’d studiously ignored.
This morning, she’d surprised the shit out of me when she quickly learned how to fire that gun. I’d seen prospects take longer to achieve the accuracy she’d demonstrated after only a couple of shots.
Then, this afternoon, after she’d gotten over her embarrassment at me seeing her naked thing and relaxed, I’d had more fun with a woman that didn’t involve sex than I could remember. I’d been shocked as hell to find it wasn’t a hardship to be with her.
Damn this fucking ankle though, it pains me much more than I’d like. I can move it so it’s not broken, but maybe it’s not just strained as I’d hoped, but sprained, which means healing would take longer.
I’d seen how unsettled she was, and yesterday she’d shown me how much she loves to run and stay active. But I’d be a piss-poor protector if I allowed her to go out into the woods without me beside her. At least our game playing kept her entertained.
It’s not just that I’ve seen what she looks like unclothed that’s made me look at her in a different light.
In my head, I go over all the little things she’s done without asking, without wanting thanks, and without complaining about my lack of appreciation.
She’s practical—a surprise, seeing how clumsy she was at Royals.
She’d found those boots and immediately knew how to use them, while I wouldn’t have given them a second glance.
She’s actually smart, fun, and did I say? She’s got a banging body.
Perhaps it’s not such a hardship to be here with her.
Up to now, in my view, women have been good for only one thing.
With her, that’s out of the equation. With that fucking marriage certificate, I can’t take the risk of her starting to think that shit is real.
As long as the wedding remains unconsummated, I’ll be free to leave her and go on my own merry way.
Women get twisted in the head once a man sinks his dick into them.
What should have been a simple annulment could turn into a messy divorce.
That I’m attracted to her but can’t touch her should leave me frustrated as hell. Except, despite myself, I’m enjoying getting to know her. She’s so different from the image I’d built up in my mind.
I give her a genuine smile when she returns from the bathroom and wishes me a goodnight. I’m no longer surprised when she hesitates before climbing the steps to her room, to ask whether I need help.
To be honest, I’d rather crawl to the pisser then put the burden on her.
So I shake my head and tell her, “I’ll be fine.
” Forcing my foot back into the rubber boot, I make my way outside, do the necessary, then return to the bed she’s already made up for me, and, after stripping down to my underwear, lie down.
Fisting my cock, I find myself thinking of her.
Starting with slow, even strokes, I imagine her bent over the back of the sofa as I feed my thick length into her tight, greedy cunt.
Would she writhe? Beg for more? Plead for me to fuck her harder?
In my mind, she does. My hand starts to move faster, “Fuck me Rat.” No, that’s not right.
I’d asked her to call me Flynn. “Fuck me. Just like that. Fuck, Flynn, I’m close.
” “I’m right there with you darlin’.” My breath catches, my hand tightens, and then I’m flooding my stomach with my cum.
As I catch my breath, my brain comes back online. There’s no fucking way that woman turns me on. Only, she just has.
I’m married to her. I could take her whenever I want.
No, I can’t, and for all the reasons I was thinking earlier. She’s not a club whore, nor even a woman from town out for a one-night stand with a biker. Going there would only complicate things, and as for her age, she’s little more than a child.
If I recall right, from what she said while we were locked in that store closet, she’s never had a man before.
And even if she hadn’t intimated it, the way she covered herself up so fast when I saw her naked and how she wouldn’t meet my eyes for hours after, would have screamed that she’s innocent.
And if I were the bastard who took her virginity, I’d destroy her when I did my usual disappearing act after.
She’s the kind of woman who’d have stars in her eyes and think this fucked-up arrangement was real.
I’m an ass, I’ve broken hearts. But hers? Can’t fucking risk it. She’s club business as much as she is mine. There’s money on the line for us. If I did anything to fuck this up, Bullseye would have my ass.
I’ll just have to keep thoughts of her in my private spank bank.
As for now, I need to clean myself up. I use yesterday’s t-shirt to mop up the mess, then throw it on my pile of dirty clothes. I’ll tidy it in the morning.
My release has relaxed me. I take one more dose of ibuprofen, then rest my head.
I’m woken by her clattering around in the kitchen.
Fuck, I should have known she was up as soon as she’d stirred.
Annoyed with myself for my lack of situational awareness—some fucking bodyguard I am—I grab a set of clean clothes from my duffle.
Then, I pull on my boot, putting the borrowed oversized one on the other, and go out to meet her on my way to the bathroom.
When she doesn’t meet my eyes, my brows furrow in surprise. Last night didn’t end with any cross words. I thought we’d been quite cordial. Shrugging, I decide that’s women for you. Perhaps she’s on the rag? Ignoring her, I go out to the bathroom, do my business and then return.
I couldn’t have upset her too much. There’s a full plate of food waiting for me when I re-enter, along with a steaming hot cup of coffee. But she’s unnaturally silent as she picks at her food.
It seems I don’t like the silence as I try to start up a conversation.
“I slept like a log last night.” I shrug.
“I didn’t hear you get up.” Then I admit, “Pretty poor showing for a bodyguard.” She blushes for some reason and stays silent.
I continue to make up for her lack of words. “You sleep okay?”
At least now I get a quick nod.
“You taken a vow of silence or something?” I ask in a joking tone.
“I’m good.” Two syllables, spoken overly brightly.
What the hell? I give up and finish my food.
When I’ve swallowed the last mouthful, a sound reaches my ears.
A low rumble, which I’ve heard before from the utility shed, tells me the tumble dryer is running.
Suddenly, having a sneaking suspicion, I put my silverware down, rise and enter the living room.
Fuck. She’s picked up my dirty clothes, and on top was my t-shirt, soaked with my cum. Now it’s me who’s feeling embarrassed. Fuck knows why. The prospects or the club girls pick up my shit all the time—towels, shirts, and used condoms, and I’ve never had one second of remorse.
At least she doesn’t have any idea it was her I’d been thinking of as I’d come. I didn’t shout her name, did I? I’m ninety-nine percent certain I did not.
Yesterday I’d started to get used to her being around. Today I’m hating getting the cold shoulder. I decide to face it head-on.
Returning to where she’s clearing the plates, I begin, “You don’t need to do my laundry.”
She doesn’t turn to face me, but mumbles, “I was putting a load in for myself.”
“Babe,” I start. Her back is still turned toward me.
“Ames?” I try again. I grin to myself. Yeah, I’m fuckin’ sure of the problem.
“Look at me.” This time, she obeys my direct command.
I take the plates from her and set them down, then I take both of her hands in mine.
“Men wank, darlin’.” Oh yeah, I’m right on target.
I didn’t actually know faces could get so red.
“I don’t normally go long without sex.” I pause, then sigh.
“But I don’t expect you to clean up my mess. ”
Her eyes open wide. “You didn’t. I just… I…”
Letting go of one of her hands, I bop her on the nose. “Can we just mark this up to experience? And next time, I’ll be prepared with tissue.”
She does that thing where her teeth worry her lip, and fuck me, but my dick starts to thicken as I’m drawn to thoughts about what else she could do with that mouth. As long as it stays in my head, it’s all okay, isn’t it?
“This is so unfair to you,” she finally says. “I’m sorry, Rat... Flynn.”