Then she walks in and I swear to God everything in my body stops working.
Holy shit. I knew she would be beautiful, but I didn’t expect her to be so stunning that it feels like my chest is cracking open with need.
My hand shoots to my chest before I even realize I’m doing it because my heart is beating so hard it fucking hurts.
She has no idea how many days, how many hours I’ve spent working toward this moment, but she will. Not right away, because I can see by the way her eyes dart around, taking in her surroundings, she’s guarded. I don’t know what she’s been through, but I know I’m going to fucking murder anyone who has hurt her while we’ve been apart.
For a second, I honestly think I might pass out because I’m holding my breath. Ten years of searching. Ten years of chasing a ghost across cities and countries and empty leads that always turned cold. I told myself a thousand times that if I ever found her again, I’d be ready.
I’m not ready for this. She needs me to protect her, and all I want to do is rush over to her and fall to my knees and beg for even a moment of her time. And that’s why I have to stay at a safe distance. I’m going to scare her off before I even get the chance to tell her how much our one interaction meant to me. She has shaped my entire life. Everything I’ve done in this world has been for her.
She’s taller now, but easily a foot shorter than me. Her hair that was shoulder length now cascades down her back is light blonde rolling waves.
But I’d know her anywhere, she still has those sea-green eyes that make me feel like I’ve known her before in other lives. I was obsessed with her then too, in every single one of them. I spent every moment focused on her. It’s not something I can explain, and I don’t really want to. I know it’s true. I feel it in my bones, in my soul, in my heart.
She pauses by one of the large tables, and I instantly see something that makes my chest clench. It’s the way her eyes sweep the room before she takes another step, looking behind her, turning fully to check out the room for any sign of danger.
She’s learned to be alert, careful, and always watching for a threat.
My stomach twists like there’s a knife lodged there. The world taught her that, and I can tell this doesn’t just stem from the traumatic night her parents were murdered in front of us while we hid under a table.
My girl has learned how to survive because her life has not been easy.
Her green eyes move slowly across the library, scanning corners and empty tables before she finally walks farther inside. Even the way she moves is careful, deliberate, like she’s always expecting someone to come out and grab her.
It makes something feral inside me rise to the surface.
No one should have ever made her live like that.
She sets her bag down at one of the long tables and pulls out a notebook.
And I can’t stop staring because I’m completely fucking transfixed.
The moonlight pouring through the stained glass windows makes her glow where she sits, the colors catching in her hair and on the curve of her cheek like she’s something holy.
Something untouchable.
To everyone else, she is because Livingston Rhodes belongs to me, and I plan on proving that to her every single day.
My gaze drifts slowly over her. I’d be pissed if anyone else was taking her in this way. My eyes eat up every curve of her body.
The sudden urge to kiss the long line of her throat when she tilts her head down to write overtakes me, and I feel my whole body jerk. I have never craved physical touch from anyone else, but right now? I’d cum in my pants instantly if she so much as looked directly into my eyes right now.
The way her lashes brush softly against her cheeks has my fists clenching at my sides. The delicate curve of her breasts beneath the St. Killian uniform sweater should be studied.
But only by me, because I’ll fucking stomp on anyone’s skull if I catch them looking at how well she fills out her sweater.
Now I’m mad just thinking about it.
Even that ridiculous navy and plaid skirt can’t hide the shape of her body. The soft swell of her hips and ass as she leans over to get a pen out of her bag makes my fingers twitch with the sudden, overwhelming need to feel them in my hands. I imagine sliding my hands up her thighs, over those tall white socks she’s wearing. Her skirt would slide up, and my fingers would grip her hips so roughly that she’d wear my marks for days. But I’d make it up to her by burying my face between her thighs. I want to taste her. I’ve never touched another woman, and I’ve certainly never had my tongue anywhere near one, but I have a vivid enough imagination to know what I want. My mouth is watering because I know she’s soft and sweet, and I know I’ll never get enough of her.
I need to calm down.
But it’s impossible because all I can think about is stepping out from my hiding spot. I’d close the distance between us in two strides, cupping her hips and lifting her straight out of that chairso I can crush my mouth against hers. I want those soft thighs wrapped around my waist.
Ten years.
Ten years without her.
