“I’m so fortunate I walked into the right bar tonight. Watching my back every day is exhausting,” she admits, her voice carrying a mix of relief and weariness.
“It is,” I agree. “Do you know how to defend yourself?”
She shrugs. “Kicking a guy in the balls and running, yeah.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not enough. I can teach you a few techniques. Do you know how to use a firearm?”
“Yes,” she replies, her tone shifting as a hint of nostalgia creeps into her expression. “Growing up, my dad had every firearm imaginable. He taught me how to shoot a Glock—the one he gave me for my sixteenth birthday—right before he was killed.”
Her voice softens, and her gaze drifts to the fire. “My father was a powerful man. We had everything at our fingertips. But he got tangled up with some dangerous people who wanted to take it all—and they did.”
A tear slips down her cheek, but she quickly straightens, her shoulders squared. “I keep that Glock with me at all times. Still, I wasn’t about to kill five guys in my house that night. Adding a murder charge to my already chaotic life didn’t seem like the best move.”
Our eyes meet, and I nod. “No, that wouldn’t have been a good idea. Leaving was the right call. But we’ll brush up on your gun skills. You need to be prepared for anything.”
“Thanks, Declan,” she says, offering a small, grateful smile.
We spend another hour talking about our hobbies and favorite movies until she dozes off on the bearskin rug. I take our mugs and place them in the kitchen sink.
Returning to the living room, I scoop her up into my arms. A soft sigh escapes her lips. “Hold me tight,” she murmurs in hersleep, her voice barely audible. Those words go straight to my cock. It hardens against her back. Hopefully, my hard on doesn’t wake her.
“Don’t worry. You’re safe with me,” I mutter as I walk up the stairs.
She buries her face in my chest. “You’re staying here with me, Meridea, at four twenty-three King Lane.” A sly smirk spreads across my lips.
Once inside the guest room, I pull back the gray duvet and gently place her on the bed before tucking her in. I stand in the doorway, watching her sleep for a few minutes.
My hard cock refuses to go down. I close the door and head to my master bathroom. I crank the water to steaming hot and strip off my clothes.
The heat hits me as I step under the spray, my muscles relaxing even as my mind stays locked on her. My hand moves instinctively, gripping my shaft as I press a hand against the tiled wall.
“Fuck, Meridea,” I mutter, my voice rough.
My mind flashes to her on her knees before me, taking me deep into her mouth.
She has no idea what she’s done. Asking me to hold her tight.
Damn it.
Meridea has made it impossible for me to let her go. When I first saw her at the bar, I wanted her. But I knew why I couldn’t have her - because I don’t do relationships. Yet as soon as I brought her back to my place, I knew I would never be able to let her go.
With that thought in mind, I stroke myself until I release, hard. My cum coating the navy tile wall in front of me.
“I’m not letting you go,” I whisper, determination etched in every word.
CHAPTER FOUR
TWO WEEKS LATER
DECLAN
Meridea flits around the restaurant dining room, checking on her tables with a natural ease that draws smiles from every customer she encounters. She mentioned waiting tables at the Atlanta Country Club as a teenager, and it shows. Her charm and efficiency have quickly made her a favorite among the regulars. Of course, I looked her up. Meridea Spencer—born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia. Her father was a wealthy man once until drugs dragged him down and took his fortune with him. Looking at her now, you’d never guess she’s living in a constant state of fear. But I’ve seen the signs. Yesterday, when I approached her in the back room, she nearly jumped out of her skin. I hate the haunted, deer-in-the-headlights look she gets sometimes. It eats at me.
I ran an idea by Hassle about how we could catch the assholes. He said the plan could work.
Suddenly, my mom interrupts my thoughts by placing her hand on my arm. “Declan, what are you doing?”
My brows pull together. “I’m working, Mom.”
