It was never deeper than that.
And because of the way we girls were raised, we knew that prospects were simply not relationship material.
Did that rule sometimes make the girls, especially Layna and Billie, somehow want them even more? Sure.
For me, though, there was a mental block up about the club guys. While I had eyes and could plainly see that they were all objectively good-looking, I didn’t actually feel any attraction to them.
Until Perish’s body was pressed to mine.
Until my breasts were crushed to his chest, making them suddenly feel hyper-sensitive and heavy. Until his pelvis was against mine, making me have to actively fight not to let my legs butterfly open so he could slip between. Until his spicy scent was overwhelming me. Until he was pulling back and his hands were roaming all over me, making me momentarily incapable of doing anything but feel those giant palms sliding over my neck, chest, hips, legs, even grazing beneath my breasts.
Desire hadn’t just stirred.
It had pooled.
My blood hummed.
Need fluttered.
Every nerve ending felt like it was sparking, each cell aching.
Had it been a while for me?
Fine, yes.
But still.
An insane reaction.
To a club member, no less.
All because he’d saved my life.
My mind whipped from desire to the panic of seeing that muzzle tip, to imagining a dozen bullets lodged in my body, to bleeding out in agony, to slowly drifting out of consciousness, never to awaken again.
A strange little whimpering sound escaped me as I realized just how close I’d come to dying, to leaving my parents to grieve me.
“Gracie,” Perish’s voice called, softer than I’d ever heard it. A man his size shouldn’t be capable of softness like that. Or the gentle way his hand reached out to settle on my shoulder, fingers curling in, offering comfort.
I didn’t fight the urge to turn, to lean into him. There was no one else around to seek comfort from. And everything in me was crying out for a hug.
For a long moment, even as my arms wound around him, that Perish stood there with both arms held outward from his body. Like I was a bomb. Like I was too delicate to touch.
But slowly but surely, I felt the tension sliding out of his body. Then one hand slipped around my hips, holding me to him. The other followed, moving across my back, his warm skin teasing the bare skin of my back through the tiny straps.
“You’re alright,” he said in that deep, rough voice of his. “Wasn’t gonna let anything happen to you.”
“What if you weren’t so close?”
“I was.”
“What if you went home earlier?”
“I didn’t.”
“What if I was—”
“You weren’t. Stop this,” he demanded, but his voice was gentle enough that the words lost their sting. “What-ifs ain’t gonna help anything. You’re okay. Everyone’s okay.”
