Chapter 10 #2
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he snarls, his voice lower and gruffer than before.
“Why?” I ask before I even consider what I’m saying.
“Why?” he echoes.
“Why shouldn’t you have done that?” Jesus, what is wrong with me? Why did I ask that?
“Because I promised you that I didn’t bring you here to fuck you,” he growls angrily.
“Is that why you brought me here?”
“No,” he says quickly, his eyes wide but earnest.
“So why kiss me if you don’t want to fuck me?”
“I do want to fuck you,” he growls. “It’s just not the reason I brought you home. I need you to be safe, to be comfortable and fed and cared for.”
“I wanted you to kiss me,” I admit, not sure why I’m telling him, but doing it anyway.
“You did?”
I nod.
“Good,” he says, his eyes hooding slightly as he holds his hand out to me again. “Because my dick is rock-fucking-hard for you right now.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling stupidly inexperienced.
“But I’m not going to fuck you.”
“Why not?” I ask, my voice a little more shrill than I anticipated.
“Because we don’t know each other and I’m not looking for a hook-up, and I don’t want you to think that’s what this is.”
“So what is it then?” I ask, confused.
“This is the beginning of forever, and that doesn’t start with a fuck.”
“Forever,” I whisper as I let him tug me closer to him again. A part of me wants him to pull me on top of him and to carry on with what we started moments ago. But he doesn’t. Instead, he brings our joined hands to his mouth and presses a kiss against my knuckles.
When he doesn’t say anything more, I don’t either, my eyes drifting to the TV and the hockey match. By the time the final whistle blows, I’m pressed close up against him, our hands resting on my thigh, his body heat warming me while the space between my legs pulses with unexpected desire.
After I go to sleep, my dreams are filled with promises of forever and kisses that bring my whole body to life. By the time I wake up, the sun is high, and the dress I wore to sleep in is drenched with sweat.
Blinking through the haze of sleep, I sit upright and stare around the room.
Instead of pushing the bed across the door, last night I fell asleep with the door cracked open.
I’m not sure if I was inviting Warrick in or just silently telling him that I trusted him not to enter without my permission. Either way, it feels important.
Throwing back the covers, I find a skirt, a crumpled shirt, and clean panties and carry them into the bathroom with me. It’s amazing how after only a day here, having privacy and hot water has already stopped feeling like a luxury and gone back to being expected.
Stripping, I step into the shower and close my eyes, tipping my head back and letting the hot water rush over me.
As my hands coat my body with soap, I try to imagine how it’d feel if it was Warrick touching me—and not myself—and when my sex pulses with arousal, I don’t immediately dismiss the way I’m feeling.
I enjoyed kissing him yesterday. I enjoyed being on top of him and having him touch me. I like being close to him, and as terrifying as it is to have these sensations awoken in me, I don’t hate that Warrick is the reason my frozen body is finally thawing.
I’m not sure of the time, but it feels late when I finally go downstairs.
Warrick isn’t in the living room, but when I head for the kitchen, I spot him working out in his home gym in the garage.
His huge torso is bare, sweat glistening over his mammoth arms as he lifts weights that are intimidatingly large.
Instead of walking away and leaving him to his workout, I pause in the doorway and watch, feeling newly familiar heat starting at my toes and rising upward.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he says when he turns and finds me watching him.
“Hey.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should wake you. You missed breakfast.”
“What time is it?” I ask, glancing around to search for a clock.
“It’s nearly one p.m.”
“I slept till lunchtime?” I gasp.
“Yep. I still have two more sets to finish, then I’ll make us lunch,” he says, picking the enormous dumbbell up off the floor and lifting it over his head in one effortless movement.
I try really hard to turn away, but in the end, I watch his shoulders and arms ripple with intensity as he lifts and lowers the weight, first with one arm, then with the other.
He doesn’t speak again, but the smug grin on his lips says he knows I’m watching. By the time he’s done, my clean panties are damp, and my breathing is loud.
Smirking, he presses a kiss to my forehead as he squeezes past me, his damp chest millimeters from my pebbled nipples as he heads for the kitchen.
After we eat lunch, he turns on the TV for me, hands me the remote control, then heads upstairs.
When he comes back down, he’s freshly showered and dressed in a tight white shirt that seems to cling to his muscles and dark green cargo shorts.
“I think everyone is home, and I’d like to introduce you to my team.
They’re my family,” he says, taking my hand in his and pressing a kiss to my knuckles as he pulls me up from the couch.
“Why?” I ask him, exhaling shakily as I look up at him, suddenly very aware of the difference in our sizes. He’s big, tall, and thick everywhere, and I feel small in comparison. I like it. I want to feel cocooned by him. I want his kisses and the safety that I’m starting to associate with him.
“Because I want them to meet you and for you to get to know them.”
“Won’t they think it’s weird that we’ve known each other for two days and I’m living in your house?” I question, suddenly hesitant.
“No.” He laughs. “Stuff like that is pretty normal here. My entire team knows and understands that when you find something good, you shouldn’t let it go.”
“So I’m not the first homeless girl your friends will have met?” I quip sarcastically.
“You weren’t homeless, you were just staying in an unexpected place while you waited for me to find you,” he says, like it’s the truth and not a convenient lie.
“Bullshit,” I snap.
His brows drop low as he frowns. “Your mouth is too pretty for curse words, amore mio.”
I feel my eyebrows arch, but I don’t really know what to say.
I’m twenty years old; no one has told me not to curse since I was a kid.
A part of me wants to be outraged, but when he cups my chin with his fingers and thumbs at my bottom lip, I feel like I’d do anything he tells me to as long as he keeps touching me.
“I only want to hear pretty words from this mouth from now on. Okay?”
“Okay,” I answer easily, even though there’s a voice inside of me telling me to tell him to go fuck himself.
“Thank you, amore mio,” he whispers, leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss against my mouth. His tongue doesn’t slip between my lips, and a whisper of a second later, it’s over, but I want more. I want everything, and I don’t know why.
“Why do I want you?” I blurt.
“I don’t know, Verity. But I’m so fucking glad that you do.”
“Why do you get to curse, but I don’t?” I question, trying and failing to find the outrage I should feel at his double standard.
“Because I’m too old to stop, and you’re too young to start,” he says, like that should make complete sense. “Come on, let me show you off to my brothers.”
Dropping his fingers from my face, he tows me toward the front door, pausing when he glances down and notices I’m not wearing shoes. “Hold up, amore mio. You need shoes.”
“I don’t actually know where they are,” I admit.
“I took them off you when I carried you upstairs yesterday.” He laughs.
“Oh, I’ll go and get them,” I say, tugging at his hold on my hand.
“No. I’ll fetch them. You stay put.” Releasing me, he turns and bounds up the stairs, coming back seconds later carrying my cheap flip-flops.
“I could have got them,” I say, holding my hand out for the shoes.
“But why would you, when I said I’d get them?” he says, ignoring my hands and instead tucking the shoes under his arm.
Palming my hips, he lifts me off my feet, then sits me down halfway up the stairs, sliding my shoes onto my feet, before he lifts me up again and places me back on my feet beside him.
I gasp, staring from him to my feet, then back again. What the hell was that?
“Come on. We’ll start with Buck and James and work our way around.
But we’ll have to give Knight and Octy a call before we head over there.
Octy works till late at the tattoo studio, and they don’t love unexpected visitors,” Warrick says, pulling me out of the front door and across the street to the first house in the circle of homes.
“Hey, Warrick,” a big man greets as he opens the door.
“Hey, Chief, I wanted to introduce you and James to Verity,” Warrick says proudly.
“Hey, Verity, come on in,” the man says, smiling warmly at me as he pushes the door open and steps back.
To be honest, when I had my own place, I never had guests or ever went to anyone else’s place.
Apart from Warrick’s and Cora’s homes, this is the first house I’ve visited since I was a kid.
Back then, I went on a handful of playdates with other children until I realized that we never stayed anywhere long enough for me to actually maintain friendships.
Unlike Warrick’s house, this place is decorated with pictures, photos, and personal belongings. The layout is similar to Warrick’s with an open kitchen, dining, and living space, but this house feels a little cluttered and incredibly homely.
“James, Warrick and Verity are here,” Buck calls up the stairs.
Turning, I wait for a guy to appear, but instead it’s a stunningly beautiful blonde woman who descends the stairs.
If Barbie was a real-life person and not a doll, I imagine this woman is what she’d look like.
She’s perfect, even her pregnant stomach is perfectly round, and she’s literally glowing, with radiant skin, hair, and clothes that make her look like a model.