ONE
EVISCERATED
Several months ago…
I didn’t know how it happened.
One second I was standing just inside my apartment door and Gabe—my hot guy acquaintance/friend who had recently turned into my bodyguard—was moving through my space to make sure it was secure, no bad guys lurking in the closet, no ex-boyfriends planning on doing something (else) that was immensely stupid.
The next second, he called out all was safe, I stepped in further and shut the door behind me.
The second after that, he appeared in the mouth of the hall.
And then, for some reason, I was staring at him. (Okay, I knew the reason, he was breathtakingly handsome in a scary, uber masculine way.)
He was also staring at me.
How we made it across the room to each other, that was the part I didn’t know.
How we collided in the middle of my drab living room, again, no clue.
Though, I didn’t miss how his mouth crashed down on mine. How his arms crushed me to his tall, hard body. How my fingers skated over his thick, close-cropped, coal-black hair. How his neatly trimmed beard deliciously abraded my skin. How I opened my mouth to him practically before our lips touched. How he didn’t hesitate to thrust his tongue inside like my mouth was his to claim.
Like it had always been his to claim.
Before we met.
Before we were born.
Before the universe even came into being.
Uh…no, I didn’t miss how good his kiss was.
And I didn’t miss how good he felt, strong and warm.
Further, I didn’t miss how good I felt: wanting him, him wanting me…
Belonging to him.
Already.
I belonged to him.
With…just…one…kiss.
One kiss that wasn’t even done yet!
And I didn’t miss how safe…
How safe…
Safe.
Safe.
With all the mental and physical strength it took—and mind you, it took a lot (straight up, all I had)—I yanked from his arms and retreated two very wide steps, only stopping because I ran into my secondhand (but not all that bad) armchair.
Gabe was staring at me, his broad, proud chest visibly rising and falling with his breaths.
