CHAPTER TEN
Once I settle Blair under the blankets on my bed, and I’m satisfied that she’s breathing normally, I walk away from her against my will. I never want to leave her side again, but I need to take care of something before I spend the night watching her sleep.
I walk out into the hall and see the female doctor we called handing Benjamin a piece of paper ripped from her notepad.
She gives me a two-finger wave of acknowledgment before walking away.
That’s one nice thing about being a Moretti—you can get just about anyone to do a house call at any time of the day or night.
“She can’t be sure what it was without further tests.
But she’s sure they’ll be fine, and Blair specifically is already out of the haze, but just tired.
She must have been drugged before Paris or given a lesser amount.
She said her adrenaline could have affected how well the drug worked as well,” Benjamin tells me, crumpling up the paper and shoving it in the pocket of his sweatpants.
“The worst they should have now is a headache, and she’s certain they weren’t physically or sexually assaulted. "
I nod, taking it all in, and I try not to show how much relief is flooding through me right now. The drugging is awful, but I couldn’t handle the thought of someone violating her. I won’t leave her alone another second, that’s for sure.
“We’ll regroup tomorrow, and figure this shit out,” I say, turning back toward my room.
He only lets out a grunt of approval. I hear his door close before I can close mine behind me.
He isn’t going to let this go lightly, and I just hope our father is prepared for the absolute war he allowed to be started tonight.
I stand by the bed and take in my girl’s sleeping frame.
She’s so fucking beautiful. Her chestnut hair is fanned out on my pillow like she was made to sleep in my bed.
Her long dark lashes kiss her cheeks, and her hand is tucked under her chin like she’s getting the best night’s sleep she’s ever had.
I’m glad I covered her up because even with my hoodie covering her to her mid-thighs, the way the white socks with pink bows cling to her perfect legs has me fucking hard.
I’m at war with myself because I’m livid that someone drugged her and changed her into those clothes, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to crawl into bed next to her and hold her like I’ve always wanted to.
Even being best friends, pushing boundaries a little too far, we never slept in the same bed.
It was too risky that we’d get caught, and I was smart enough to know that she would be the one who would be punished.
I’d get a slap on the wrist, told off by an Elder during a meeting, but Blair?
She would be put through a battery of exams to ensure I hadn’t compromised her innocence, as they’d say.
It makes me so fucking mad just thinking about it.
I never really cared about what The Society was doing or who they were doing it to.
I grew up with all of these things presented as acceptable, but when I thought about Blair, it changed things for me.
I’ve always had the innate instinct that I don’t want anyone touching her for any reason, except for me.
Maybe I’m a psychopath like my father suspects, or maybe she’s the outlier in my otherwise cruel existence.
I don’t really give a fuck why or how; I just know that I will scorch everything in my way to ensure she’s happy.
I hadn’t realized how touch-starved I’ve actually been since Blair’s absence in my life.
I don’t let anyone else touch me. Ever. That’s non-negotiable.
Sure, it’s because I consider myself owned by Blair Winthrop, but I also just don’t fucking like anyone else near me.
Her touch soothes my soul, whereas anyone else irritates me to the point of anger just by touching my hand.
I stomp over to my desk. I can’t trust myself with her.
I’ve always craved her touch, but tonight is different.
I don’t know if it’s because I’ve already started a war with The Society or if it’s because the Choosing Ceremony no longer matters.
Maybe it’s the way her hand sifted through the waves of my hair at the nape of my neck.
I want her hands on me, and I want my mouth on her.
I’ve had one fleeting taste of my little dove’s lips, but I want to taste every inch of her.
I want to suck on her nipple and lick her pussy until all she can do is gasp my name.
That’s really what I want. I want to hear my name roll off her tongue like a plea only I can grant for her.
I pace around my dark room for what seems like hours while Blair sleeps.
I text Caiden Grey, letting him know everything that’s happened.
He, of course, doesn’t say much. He’s not the type of guy who is going to get caught up with incriminating text messages.
Instead, he just tells me, “Sounds like you should come visit me. Beers are on the house.” He probably knew what happened tonight the moment I stormed into the cathedral and started throwing a fit.
Caiden Grey is the Hayden Lockwood of bull riders.
I’ve never seen him practice his craft, yet he’s the reigning champion of everything he does.
He has connections that would embarrass the Italian Mafia and he also isn’t out to ruin anyone’s life who doesn’t deserve it.
If you ask him why he does the things he does, putting his neck on the line for people, with only the promise that they’ll someday reciprocate when he needs them to, he doesn’t give a straight answer.
The best I’ve gotten out of him is, “Someone’s gotta be in charge. ”
Blair stirs in my bed, and the movement brings me out of my thoughts.
I’m trying to fight the urge to touch her, taste her, and fuck her for hours.
My mouth practically waters as she shifts, bending one of her legs at the knee and kicking the covers off of her.
I can tell by her movements that the doctor had been right.
She was nearly out of the haze when I brought her up to my room, and now she’s just fitfully dreaming.
The thought of her dreaming about what they did to her at Onyx Dominion makes my stomach clench.
But when my girl rasps out my name, I realize that she is not thinking about any trauma she’s been through.
Desire fills her tone as her hand swipes over her stomach and finds the juncture of her thighs.
This is wrong; I should wake her up, tell her that she’s not alone, but when she opens her legs and I get a peek at the pink lace panties she’s wearing, I’m a fucking goner.
I’ve imagined what Blair Winthrop would look like naked and pleading for me a million times, but nothing could have prepared me for this moment.
I tip my head back, closing my eyes, and one of my hands finds its way down my jeans to grip my cock.
I’m aching, heavy, and so fucking hard for her.
If she let me push inside of her, I’d come instantly.
There’s no question about it. I’d have to empty myself inside of her three or four times to be able to give her the pleasure she deserves.
That’s the downside to my inexperience with sex, but I plan on spending the rest of my life building up my stamina.
“I’m awake.” My head snaps to look at her when I hear her clear voice. “Will you come lay with me?” My dick jumps at the double entendre. I’m not sure if she means it the way it sounds, but the possibility has my pulse jumping with need.
“You and Paris were drugged and left in the Saints’ cathedral,” I tell her, but even I can hear the raw need in my voice.
I want to make sure she’s coherent, knows what happened to her, and wants whatever is about to happen completely.
I didn’t wait my entire life to be with Blair Winthrop to have her regret it.
She sits up, slipping my hoodie off and tossing it to the floor.
“I don’t remember anything before you carrying me out of the cathedral,” she says, her voice shaking.
I move closer, carefully taking in her eyes in the dim light of my room.
A little glassy, but otherwise breathtaking.
“I’ve been trying to keep you safe this whole time.
I’ve been trying to keep my distance, and it’s really hard. ” She looks away, biting her lower lip.
I reach down, cupping her face to force her to look at me. “I feel like I’m dying when I’m away from you. It physically hurts. I can take anything but that,” I say earnestly. She’s the only person I’m fully honest with. Except everyone I threaten. I mean that shit with my whole fucking chest.
“I hate it too.” She leans her cheek into my hand like she hasn’t had a gentle touch in the longest time.
My stomach twists when I realize she hasn’t since we’ve been apart.
“Can we just pretend none of this is happening tonight? Pretend we’re just regular people?
” She reaches up and flattens her hand on my lower stomach, her fingers immediately find one side of the V that disappears beneath my pants.
My cock jumps, and instinctively I press my hips toward her touch, a groan leaving my lips.
“If we were regular people without The Society bullshit, you would have been mine a long time ago,” I tell her, and she tips her head to the side slightly, looking up at me as she presses a kiss to my palm cupping her face.
“Oh, Elijah, I’ve always belonged to you, haven’t I?” Her words hit me straight in the chest.