Chapter 12
Tyson
T he next morning, consciousness returned in pieces—the weight of Lena's body half-draped across mine, her hair tickling my chest, the warm press of her lips against my neck.
Her mouth moved with deliberate intent, trailing heat down the column of my throat while her small hand mapped the planes of my chest. Each touch sent electricity straight to my cock, my body responding before my mind fully engaged.
"Morning, Soldier Boy," she purred against my skin, and the vibration of her voice made me groan.
I was instantly, achingly hard. Especially when she threw a leg over me, the heat of her core pressing against my thigh through the thin barrier of her sleep shorts. She rocked slightly, a barely-there movement that told me exactly where her mind had gone.
"Someone's feeling better," I managed, my hands finding her hips automatically. The smooth skin under my palms made rational thought difficult.
"Much better." She lifted her head to look at me, hazel eyes bright with mischief and want. No trace of yesterday's vulnerable little girl—this was Lena in full bratty glory. "And very, very grateful."
She punctuated the word with another roll of her hips, this time with clear intent. We both groaned at the friction, and my fingers tightened on her waist.
"Want to show you how grateful," she continued, her hand sliding lower, tracing the trail of hair below my navel. "Want to worship every inch of you. Want to taste—"
"Fuck, baby." My control hung by a thread already. Morning wood was one thing, but morning wood with Lena actively trying to seduce me? Torture.
Her hand slipped lower, fingers brushing the waistband of my boxers, and I caught her wrist just before she could wrap those talented fingers around me.
"You're killing me," I growled, using my grip to still her wandering hand.
"That's the idea." She leaned down to nip at my jaw, teeth grazing the stubble there. "Want you to lose control. Want you to flip me over and fuck me into this mattress until I can't remember anything but your name."
Christ. The mental image nearly undid me—Lena face-down, ass up, my hands in her hair while I drove into her hard enough to make the headboard slam against the wall. My cock throbbed painfully, and she must have felt it because she made a pleased sound and pressed closer.
"Such a greedy girl," I muttered, but there was no censure in it. How could there be when she was warm and willing and grinding against me like my own personal fantasy?
"Your greedy girl," she corrected, finally succeeding in getting her hand inside my boxers. The first touch of her fingers made me buck, a curse tearing from my throat. "And I've been so patient. Didn't touch myself even once last night"
"Proud of you," I managed as she stroked me with maddening slowness. "So good for me."
"Then let me be good for you now." Her thumb swept over the head of my cock, spreading the moisture there. "Let me make you feel as safe and cared for as you made me feel yesterday."
The parallel hit deep. She wanted to return the comfort, the protection, in her own way. By taking me apart with pleasure until I couldn't think about threats or responsibilities or anything beyond her touch.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
We both froze, her hand still wrapped around me, my hands still gripping her hips. The outside world intruding on our bubble of morning desire.
"Ignore it," she whispered, squeezing gently.
The phone buzzed again. Then again. The pattern I recognized as Duke's "urgent church" notification.
"No," I groaned, dropping my head back against the pillow. Reality crashed over me like ice water. "Fuck. I have to go."
"What?" She pulled back slightly, indignation replacing seduction. "Right now? But I'm—we're—"
"I called church to deal with your stalker problem." I checked the time on my phone, wincing at what I saw. "Duke’s scheduled a meeting's in thirty minutes."
"Thirty minutes is plenty of time," she argued, hand still moving in slow strokes that made thinking nearly impossible. "I can be quick. Just let me—"
"Duke'll have my balls if I'm late to my own meeting." I gripped her hips harder, physically lifting her away from my aching cock. The loss of contact was painful, but necessary. "Rain check?"
"No fair." She pulled back completely, sitting on her heels with her lower lip jutting out in a pout that made me want to bite it. Or kiss it. Or watch it wrap around—
"You call a meeting about protecting me, then leave me all worked up and alone?" Her fingers trailed down her own chest, a deliberate tease. "That seems counterproductive."
"Such a brat," I growled, surging up to steal a quick kiss. She melted into it immediately, trying to deepen it, but I pulled back before we could fall back into that spiral. "But this is important. Cruz needs to understand you're under our protection."
"Fine." She flopped dramatically beside me, the bounce making her breasts move in ways that tested my resolve. "Abandon me in my time of need. Guess I'll just have to take care of myself while you're gone."
"No." The command came out sharper than intended, dominance bleeding through. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating at my tone. "That's mine to handle."
"You can't just—" she started, but I was already moving, cupping her jaw to make her meet my eyes.
"I can and I will." My thumb brushed her lower lip, feeling her breath quicken. "You don't come without me. Clear?"
The power dynamic shifted palpably. Her bratty defiance melted into something softer, more submissive, though the spark of mischief never fully died in those hazel eyes.
"That's not fair," she whispered, but her body language screamed arousal—thighs pressing together, breath coming faster, color high on her cheeks.
"Didn't say it was fair. Asked if it was clear."
She held my gaze for a long moment, testing my resolve. Whatever she saw there made her swallow hard.
"Yes, Daddy," she finally agreed, the title making my cock jerk despite my best efforts at control.
Christ, she was going to be the death of me. But what a way to go.
"Good girl." I pressed one more kiss to her forehead, then forced myself out of bed. "Behave while I'm gone."
"Would I do something naughty? That doesn’t sound like me. . ." The innocent act didn't fool me for a second. She was already planning something—I could see it in the way her fingers traced patterns on the sheets, the calculating glint in her eyes.
"Lena," I warned, pulling on jeans with more force than necessary.
"I'll be perfectly angelic," she promised, stretching like a cat in a sunbeam. "Just lying here. Alone. Aching. Thinking about your hands on me . . ."
I should have known better than to leave her unsupervised when she was in this mood. Should have recognized the signs of impending chaos. But church waited for no man, not even one leaving a purple-haired temptation in his bed.
"We'll finish this when I get back," I promised, grabbing my cut from the chair.
"Looking forward to it," she purred, and the tone sent warning bells through my head.
But I was already late, Cruz needed handling, and surely she wouldn't actually disobey a direct order.
I'd learn soon enough how wrong I was.
I 'd claimed my usual seat at Duke's right hand, manila folder thick with surveillance photos and property records spread before me. I’d stayed up late last night researching Cruz. His patterns, his business holdings, the web of connections that made him more than just an obsessed ex.
"Brothers," Duke called the meeting to order, gavel coming down with practiced authority. The conversation died immediately, respect for the office absolute. "Tyson called this church. Floor's yours."
I stood, tapping the first photo—Cruz's jewelry store in Sunview, all glass and pretension. "Vincent Cruz. Runs Sunview Luxury Jewelers, about forty minutes north. Been in business three years, mostly selling overpriced shit to tourists who don't know better."
"And he's stalking Lena," Thor added, voice dangerous. The table tensed at the mention of one of our protected.
"Showed up at her shop yesterday. Played mind games, made veiled threats." I kept my voice steady, professional, even as the memory made my hands itch for violence. "Made it clear he's not done with her."
"Fucker needs to learn about boundaries," Tank rumbled from down the table.
"My thoughts exactly." I tapped the next photo—financial records I definitely hadn't obtained legally. "Here's where it gets interesting. Store's profitable, but not forty-grand-in-inventory profitable. Money's coming from somewhere else."
Duke studied the numbers with sharp eyes. "Laundering?"
"That'd be my guess. Question is for who." I spread out the next set of images—Cruz meeting with unfamiliar faces, expensive suits and careful body language. "These were taken last week. Haven't ID'd them yet, but they're not local."
"Cartel?" Rico asked from his spot with the other prospects.
"Could be. Or could be he's just trying to level up, make connections that give him leverage." I closed the folder, meeting Duke's eyes. "Either way, he needs a clear message about touching what's ours."
My phone buzzed against the table.
I ignored it, continuing my presentation. "Suggest we pay him a visit. Trash the store, make it clear—"
The phone buzzed again. Then vibrated with an incoming message.
"Something important?" Duke's voice carried that edge of suspicion I'd been dodging for days.
I glanced down at the screen and nearly choked.
Lena.
Naked.
Her hand between her thighs, back arched, purple hair spread across my pillow like spilled wine. The caption read:
Thinking about you ??
Every drop of blood in my body headed south. The little brat had deliberately disobeyed, and documented it, and sent it while I was surrounded by brothers who couldn't know I'd been the one to mess her sheets.