I’m risking everything. But it’s worth it.
Nobody threatens Rose.
End of story.
When he’s gone, I turn to find her watching me. Her chest rises and falls in panic. Her big beautiful tits heaving. Her little mouth twisted in anxiety. Her hands wrapped across her middle, her fingers clutching her side, sinking into her voluptuousness. Head askew, eyebrows unknitted, but raised.
My savage need to fight transforms into something else. Lust punches through me again. Hot fire aches up and down my length as her fingers sink into her fleshy form.
It should bemyhands gripping her like that.
Turning away from her is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I walk quickly toward my house.
But then her voice stops me, high-pitched, mesmerising.
“Wait.”
I turn towards her.
Already, she has power over me. I can’t deny her.
2
ROSE
The stranger is at least six and a half feet tall. A tower of a man wearing a loose-fitting T-shirt that shows off his muscular form, ink covering almost every exposed part of him. Layers of tattoos over his marbled hugeness.
He stops a few feet from me, his dark eyes scanning me up and down. Something in the simple movement makes my lips ache, wetness swelling inside me. I almost press my legs together to hide it, but that would just make it more obvious. I’m aching justlookingat him.
No, that’s not true.
He saved me.
It takes me a frantic moment to remember I’m not the kind of girl who needs saving. Never have been.
Still, I’ve never been rude either.
“Thanks,” I say. “You didn’t have to do that—but thanks.”
He clenches his jaw. Adjusts his jeans. My gaze automatically follows the motion. I’m almost certain there’s a swell in his pants. Matching the heat throbbing within me. My nipples are suddenly ultra-sensitive against my bra.
I wonder if the rest of him is covered in tattoos. If his muscular belly is as inked and chaotic as the rest of him.
“No problem,” he says, his voice a low growl.
“I didn’t know anybody lived next door.”
I gesture at the rundown house. The exterior falling apart. The yard overgrown.
“Perfect place for a … man like me.”
“Oh yeah? And what sort of man is that?”
A long pause.
My mind fills in the blanks. He’s the sort of man who could tear at my shirt with those inked hands. Grab my bra in his teeth and pull it free, reveal my breasts and look at them like he’s looking at me now. Like nothing else exists or matters.
