Chapter 6
Declan Buchanan
She lifts her phone.
“Are you calling him? The man who did that to you?” I snarl.
After only dialing three digits, she aims for the send button.
I lunge across the room and snatch her phone out of her hand. She screams, kicks my shin, and rushes toward the door. Despite the blinding pain shooting up my leg, I reach it first and slam it closed with my momentum, trapping her between my bulk and the solid surface.
For a horrible moment, I bask in predatory glee as my prey frantically yanks at the door handle, but then reality settles in and I hang my head in defeat.
This is not at all how this meeting was supposed to go. The vision of her beautiful face twisted in terror as she looked at me will haunt me until the day I die.
I’m no better than the asshole who left her covered in bruises.
In fact, I’m worse. Way worse. The violence simmering in my veins is too dangerous for someone as delicate and precious as her, but I can’t push her away.
I need her.
When I stand motionless for several seconds, she calms enough to grit her teeth and pull harder on the handle.
“Open the door. Let me out,” she demands.
“I want to, but I can’t,” I murmur, barely resisting the urge to lean down and bury my face in her hair.
She smells divine. I don’t know what scents she blends to make such a delicious aroma, but I want to eat her alive.
“Get off the fucking door, Declan,” she hisses.
Fucking hell, to see her so discombobulated is its own kind of wonderful hell. I long to both comfort and push her further, but knowing I’ve already pushed too far fills me with an indescribable panic.
“If I do, you’ll never come back,” I lament.
She freezes mid tug and turns to look over her shoulder at me. Our height difference forces her to crane her neck.
“Excuse me?” she snarls.
“I can’t let you go if you’re never coming back.”
I don’t care how pathetic I sound right now.
She was the only person in my entire life who cared enough to push past my defenses to reach the broken soul underneath.
The only one to see my pain and offer a hug instead of a scolding.
The only person who recognized the monster inside the abused little boy but never feared me.
Even my grandmother only pushes me so far.
Karey’s knuckles turn white on the handle, and pure disdain shines from her caramel orbs.
“It would only be right. You left me first.”
Her words punch me in the gut.
I add my other hand to the wall, completing her cage of muscle, and give in to temptation. It’s better than putting my hands on her.
Dipping my head, I nuzzle my face into her hair. Soft strands tease my lips and chin. My hard cock pounds with every rapid beat of my heart.
“I’m sorry, Karey. I was young and stupid and—”
She knocks the wind out of me with a shockingly precise and powerful elbow strike to my solar plexus. I press my fingertips into the wall and door, refusing to budge despite the pain.
“Get off me,” she demands with another jab.
I grunt and fight the growing rage inside me by inhaling her scent. The urge to sandwich her between me and the wall and grind my erection against her delectable curves nearly wins when she kicks backward and nails me in the shin again.
I try again despite the agony.
“I’m sor—”
“No! You don’t get to apologize. I don’t care anymore. I—”
Her breath whooshes out of her chest with a cute little squeak as I give in to temptation and plaster my front to her back.
Fucking goddammit, her curves are pure perfection. She wriggles and writhes, rubbing against my trapped cock and causing delicious friction. I choke back a groan as magma escapes my balls and sears the inside of my shaft.
“Stop wiggling,” I snarl.
“No. Get off me,” she snaps.
I tilt my hips, grinding my painfully hard cock against her back. She freezes as though fully realizing her predicament for the first time.
She curls her hands into fists on the door and grits her teeth.
Her sleeve slips down to reveal an inch of the bruise covering her arm. Ice travels down my spine.
I’m an asshole.
With grim realization, I recognize her clothes as the same ones she wore to the party yesterday.
This room was supposed to be her sanctuary, but I invaded it.
A normal man would feel guilt. I merely want to make it worthwhile.
I pull her away from the door by her shoulders and scoop her off her feet. Her shriek and arguments fall on deaf ears as I bridal carry her across the room. Despite her demanding I set her down, she clings to me as though afraid I’ll drop her.
Never. I’d rather cut off my own dick than fumble such a precious gift.
“I’m too heavy. Put me down!”
I stop in my tracks and silence her with a glare.
“Your boyfriend is a piece of shit. You should break up with him.”
“W-what? You have no right—”
“I have every right. I found you beaten black and blue and spouting nonsense like ‘I’m too heavy,’” I mock.
She opens her mouth to refute me, but I talk over her.
“At the very least, your boyfriend is a weak little liar, but at the worst, he’s an abuser. Either way, you should leave him.”
I lament the many layers of my suit as she curls her nails into my shoulder, but the tightness around my throat as she fists my tie adds a sensual note to our exchange.
“Or maybe I just don’t like to be carried around. Put me down,” she says through gritted teeth.
I hum a disbelieving note and spin. She squeaks and clings to me.
“I don’t think that’s the case at all,” I say into her hair to hide my smile. “You just haven’t found anyone you trust enough.”
“If you want me to trust you, you’re going about this all wrong,” she mumbles against my chest.
Despite the delicious jiggling of her curves, the misery in her voice dampens my enjoyment, so I step toward the bed.
“What are you doing?” she demands.
I lean forward, putting more of her weight on my arms, and hold her more than a foot above the mattress. She claws at my chest and shoulders.
Her breasts heave with her erratic breaths and brush against me.
“Do you trust me now?” I ask.
It’s childish. I shouldn’t. I can’t resist.
She was always the one coaxing me out of my shell in middle school.
I never knew a playful version of me existed, and maybe it didn’t before she came along, but now that she’s in my arms, I don’t want to deny myself the pleasure of taunting her.
The role reversal shouldn’t amuse me so much, especially knowing she’s in some kind of trouble, but if I can make her forget about reality for even the tiniest of moments, I will have succeeded.
“I will never trust you if you drop me,” she declares.
I smile. Her pupils dilate.
“Then I’ll just have to hold on to you forever,” I quip.
As I rise and settle her more firmly against my chest, she hisses in pain.
I drown in eyes made of liquid honey.
“It hurts,” she admits.
All traces of levity flee at the return of my fury.
“Where?” I demand.
“Just put me down and—”
“Besides your arm, where else are you hurt?” I interrupt.
She rolls her eyes—actually rolls her eyes—at me before jabbing my shoulder with her finger.
“You are hurting my leg. Put. Me. Down.”
Knowing I’ll ruin any chance of earning her good graces if I chase her down again yet unwilling to let her go, I sit on the edge of the bed.
My cock jerks in delight as I settle her in my lap.
She tries to push away, but I cup my hand around her upper arm, pull her tight against my chest, and splay my long digits around her thigh.
Manhandled and pinned, she wriggles for a moment before huffing and crossing her arms over her chest. Her breasts pillow over her forearms and offer me a truly splendid view of her cleavage.
I curl my toes in my expensive dress shoes and fight back my release with sheer force of will.
Her ass fills my lap. I long to test the resilience of her thigh with my fingertips but don’t dare move for fear of losing control.
One brush of my thumb against the juncture of her thighs and I’ll combust.
To calm my overeager dick and feed the hunger for closeness with her, I gentle my touch and smooth my hand up and down her arm.
Despite how sideways the altercation has gone and how badly I’ve fucked up—repetitively—peace flows into my soul.
Karey Justice is on my lap and in my arms.
I’ve caught her. She’s mine.
I’m never letting go.