Chapter Three
Noah
I don’t know why I keep going back to that diner.
It’s not the food. Not the coffee. I can make my own and drink it in silence at Wilder House, away from the noise and the people. But every time I walk past that place, every time I catch sight of Cammi through the window, something shifts.
I get protective. Possessive. Maybe both. Maybe something I don’t even have words for yet.
I catch myself scanning the diner from across the street before I even register doing it. Every man who lets his eyes linger on her too long makes my blood heat. I tell myself it’s instinct. Bullshit. I know better. This isn’t protection. Not anymore.
She’s beautiful, and I can’t look away even though I want to. I’m not the right man for her. She needs a real protector—not someone who blacks out at a loud noise. I tell myself that every day. Yet I walk into the diner again.
Tonight, Millie isn’t working. Just Cammi, moving behind the counter the way she always does—taking orders, checking trays, refilling coffee. Her movements are quiet and careful, precise but with a natural grace that draws my eyes without me thinking about it.
She glances up and sees me. Her hazel eyes widen, and under the surprise, I catch it—the same flare I feel. Knowing I’m not the only one wrecked by this makes my cock jerk.
A faint pink blooms across her cheeks. My chest tightens at her softness. She’s so small and innocent. I cross to the counter, keeping my expression neutral even though nothing else about me is.
“Evening, Cammi,” I say, voice low.
Her lips part. She gives me a shy but welcoming smile. “Evening, Noah,” she murmurs, and I catch that slight shake in her hands as she fiddles with the notepad.
Control, Noah.
“Coffee, please.”
She nods, already moving toward the machine. “Black. As usual?”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling faintly. “You know me too well.”
Her lips twitch into a tiny smile, and it goes straight south. I quickly make a beeline to my usual corner and watch her work—the quick, sure glide of her hands, every step careful, like she feels me watching.
“Here.” She sets the coffee down. “So…want something to eat with that?” she asks.
I raise a brow. “You know I always do. Just needed my coffee first.” I wink and watch her cheeks brighten as she smiles.
She leans in a little—close enough that I can see the smattering of freckles across her nose. I like it when she does that. When she gets a little more confident. More comfortable around me. Especially knowing she’s not like this with everyone else.
“Hmm. I just might make coffee scarce the next time you come in. You like it a little too much,” she says with a shy smirk.
My eyes drop to her mouth, and my cock grows with every lift and curve. It’s self-torture, coming here knowing I can’t have her the way I want. She deserves better.
“Or maybe I like you a little too much.” The words slip out. I should be thrown by saying it. I’m not. It’s the truth.
Cammi flushes, clears her throat, and looks everywhere but at me. Flustered. “Um…let me grab today’s special.”
I hide a smile as she practically runs from my table. Maybe I should’ve guarded my thoughts more. But my control slips from its leash whenever I’m around her.
The door swings open, scattering my thoughts.
A man walks in, not like the usual crowd. Not like the regulars who nod or wave politely. Something in the air shifts immediately. Cammi freezes mid-step. Her cheeks pale, her eyes widen. Her hand grips the counter tighter.
I notice. My eyes track the stranger. One glance, and I know he’s trouble. He walks deeper into the room, and his oily gaze doesn’t leave Cammi’s for a second. My eyes dart back to her, and she’s gone sheet-white. Clearly, she knows the fucker.
Instinct moves me before my brain catches up. I’m on my feet, putting myself between them like a wall. Every muscle pulled tight.
“You okay?” I ask quietly, eyes scanning the man.
Cammi’s voice trembles slightly as she murmurs, “I’m fine.” But her gaze won’t leave him.
I don’t know who he is. Never seen him before. But I know enough. She’s afraid, and I don’t care why. I step closer. Make myself the wall she can hide behind.
“Hey, man. I need to talk to my stepdaughter.” The man speaks, calm, casual, but there’s something in his tone that makes my skin crawl.
Stepdaughter? Fuck that.
Before I can say anything, Cammi responds in a shaky voice. “You’re not my stepfather, Rick. And you’re not welcome here.”
I exhale gently. “You heard her. You need to leave.”
I see a flash of anger before Rick masks it. “Cammi and I have business to discuss. You need to step aside, man.”
I don’t answer. I just stand there. Silent. My protective instinct unwavering. Cammi relaxes slightly, just enough to slide a little behind me. I catch the faintest sigh escaping her lips. Her safety. That’s all that matters.
I watch the anger grow in Rick until he’s nearly foaming. He snaps, “Get the fuck out of my sight, asshole!” The whole diner goes quiet. “Cammi, if you know what’s good for you, come out here now.”
The manager steps out from the kitchen, scowling at the commotion. His name tag reads PAUL, SHIFT MANAGER stamped underneath. “Cammi! What’s going on here?”
She flinches under his glare. I can see it in her shoulders. She doesn’t need this right now.
“That’s your third strike,” Paul says. “You’re causing a scene, and I can’t have it anymore. Get your things. Leave. Now.” He turns and marches straight back into the kitchen before I can make him understand what’s actually happening.
My hands clench, jaw tight.
Rick’s laughter fills the silence. “Come here, Cammi. Maybe I can talk your manager into keeping you.”
I don’t think. One second I’m shielding her, the next, I’ve got Rick slammed against the nearest wall, my hand around his throat. All I can see is the fear he stirs in her, and I squeeze harder. My control lies in shambles.
His own fear surfaces as he struggles to breathe, and I feel nothing but satisfaction. He should remember my face because no one touches what’s mine. I don’t know how or when I started thinking of Cammi as mine—only that she’s lodged somewhere I can’t shake loose.
A soft palm lands on my back. Cammi.
“I’m fine,” she reassures me.
I ease off, leaning in close to Rick’s ear. “You don’t ever come near her again,” I say. Low. Calm. Final.
He stares at me a beat too long. “This isn’t over,” he vows, then stalks out.
I turn back to Cammi, taking in her hunched shoulders and defeated look. “Grab your stuff and let me walk you home,” I say, gentle now.
She nods and goes around the counter to grab her bag.
Outside the diner, she’s silent. I want to ask questions. About Rick. What she’s going to do now with no job. But I can’t. I keep quiet and let her be.
Then, I hear a sniff. I glance over and see her trembling, tears threatening to break free. I take a careful step closer.
“Hey,” I murmur. She looks up at me. Eyes wide. Vulnerable. And in that moment, something settles in me. “You’re safe,” I say softly. “I’ve got you.”
She blinks, nods, and wraps her arms around herself, fighting to steady her breathing. I watch her, quietly, letting her catch herself. She swallows hard, then nods. “Thank you,” she whispers.
The city hums around us—distant horns, faint laughter from a nearby bar, the usual bustle—but all of it fades the second she leans into me, still clutching her bag.
“Cammi.”
She shakes her head, trying to hold herself together, but the tears come anyway. Slow at first, then faster, sliding down her cheeks. I catch her hands before they can fumble with the strap of her bag and pull her close, just enough to steady her.
“Shh. It’s okay,” I say softly. My chest aches at the sight of her tears. “Don’t cry, please.”
“I can’t…s-stop,” she stammers, the words snagging in her throat. Panic flickers across her face.
I gather her against me. “Don’t cry, angel,” I murmur.
It was a slip. But the name feels right. It’s what I’ve been calling her in my head since the first time I saw her, and now it’s out, spoken into the night. Her eyes widen as she looks up at me. Vulnerable. Shy. So beautiful.
I wipe her tears with my thumb. Then I walk her the rest of the way home, slow, her bag on her shoulder and her steps falling into rhythm with mine. She’s quiet for a while, gathering herself. I keep my eyes ahead, but I want to know everything.
Finally, she breaks the silence. Small. Hesitant. “My mom’s an alcoholic. Has been that way ever since I’ve known what it meant to be drunk.”
I keep my pace easy beside her, giving her room. “Go on.”
“She’d come home drunk and angry. After I started school, it got worse.
I’d find her passed out somewhere in the apartment.
There was never any food. I learned early to take money from her purse just so I wouldn’t go hungry.
” She exhales. “For a long time, I kept hoping someone would come take care of me for once. Then I gave up on that.”
I don’t fill the quiet. I just let her know I’m listening, my shoulder close to hers.
“Then Rick came along. Her new boyfriend. I thought he might be different.” A bitter breath.
“Didn’t take long to see what he really was.
The way he looked at me made me feel filthy.
I always knew he’d stop just looking eventually.
” Her voice trembles. That night, he came for the rent.
I said I didn’t have it. He told me I could pay another way.
My jaw locks. “And then?”
“I pushed him away and locked myself in my room. I called Millie. She and Wilder came and got me.” She wraps her arms tighter around herself. “I still don’t get why he won’t leave me alone.”
I flex my fingers at my side. The picture of a kid fending for herself, and now, a grown woman running from a predator, makes me want to do real damage. My anger is a loaded weapon, waiting.
“You’re brave, Cammi,” I say, firm. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.” My hand brushes hers lightly. Careful. Light.
“Thank you,” she says.
“You don’t have to handle it alone anymore. Not ever. I’m not going anywhere.”
She meets my eyes—shy, hesitant, but trusting—and something shifts in me. Something older, darker. Protective, and yes…possessive. I don’t care. I only care that she’s here. That she’s safe. That she’s mine, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
We walk the last stretch in silence, the night wrapping around us. At Wilder House, I take her to the door. The air between us pulls tight and charged. She digs in her bag for her keys, then opens the door.
“Goodnight, angel,” I say as she turns back to me.
She rises up on her toes—and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “Thank you. For everything,” she whispers.
And that’s all the restraint I’ve got.
I catch her chin and bring her mouth to mine.
It’s soft for half a second. Then it breaks open like a dam.
My hand slides into her hair, cradling her head, and I feel the slight tremble in her lips against mine. Every nerve in my body lights up. Heat unfurls low in my gut. It sends sharp jabs of current to my cock.
She’s hesitant at first, uncertain, her hands climbing my chest in shy, uncertain movements to the back of my neck, and it drives me out of my mind.
I want more. I want everything. So I take a little—I sweep my tongue past her lips. She gasps softly and shivers in my arms.
I bet she didn’t know it could feel like this. This might even be her first real kiss. The thought drives my possessiveness even higher, and my dick grows thick and hard. I swallow her soft, breathy moans as her tongue tentatively meets mine.
I take one last nip of her lower lip and pull back just enough to press my forehead to hers. “You’re going to be the death of me, Cammi,” I rasp, our breaths mingling.
She eases back, eyes wide, lips parted and swollen, cheeks flaming. “I—I should go,” she stammers. “Goodnight.” She hurries inside her room, and the door clicks shut.
I smirk at the closed door, my pulse still racing. I’m amused and…wrecked. “Yeah,” I murmur.
A few seconds later, I’m still staring at her closed door. Dick hard and mind racing, very aware of just how much I want her.
I head down the hall to my place with my blood still up. The second the door shuts behind me, I’m done pretending. Back against the wall, I grasp my cock, already hard, already aching.
I let the night replay—her mouth opening under mine, the little gasp, the way she shivered when I licked into her. The taste of her. The tremble in her lips. The way her hands circled my neck like she didn’t know whether to pull me closer or hold herself up.
I work myself slow at first, then not slow at all.
I think about what she’d sound like if my hands were on her.
What she’d look like underneath me, flushed and wrecked and saying my name the way she whispered goodnight.
I think about being the first—the only—to touch her like this, and the thought rides me hard.
It doesn’t take long. I come with her name on my tongue, head pressed against the door like she’s on the other side of it. Like if I press hard enough I’ll feel her through it.
I stay there for a moment, breathing. It doesn’t take the edge off. If anything, it’s worse now—I know what she tastes like.
I thought she was too good for me. Wanted her anyway. And I couldn’t let myself have her.
Now that I’ve tasted her, she’s all I want. I should keep my distance. Instead, I can’t wait to see her again.