Wicked as seduction, p.18
Wicked as Seduction, page 18
Back in Mexico, Victor had often bragged about tumbling local women. One in particular, he laughed about every time they’d fucked. He claimed he had to close his eyes because she was so ugly, but her amazing tits made up for it. Victor’s attitude was despicable, but she had expected nothing less from him. From either Ramos brother, really.
“I only want a genuine connection.” Trees gripped her arms tighter.
And by his own admission, he felt something for her.
Laila felt something for him, too, though she wished she didn’t.
“I would like to go to sleep.”
Trees glanced over her head at the clock on the wall and cursed. “Yeah, it’s getting late. You’ve got two choices tonight so I can make sure you don’t escape: either I cuff you to your bed or you sleep in mine with me.”
Laila reared back. “I will not run again.”
At least not tonight.
“Sorry if I don’t believe you. I know you’d rather be with your sister, just like I know you’ll do nearly anything to get there. So pick. Are you staying here”—he nodded toward the comfortable queen bed—“or coming with me?”
“You will not cuff me to your bed?”
“No.”
The thought of lying beside Trees, their skin brushing, their eyes meeting in the shadows… It was dangerous, but her heartbeat quickened. Would he touch her? Would he seduce her? If he did, would she say yes? If she got scared, would he truly stop everything with a single word?
Laila wasn’t sure…but her curiosity was gnawing away at her good sense.
“I will sleep with you.”
Trees couldn’t have been more shocked when those words fell out of Laila’s mouth.
“Not here alone?”
“Cuffed to the bed? No.”
“If you’re worried I’ll come in here and take advantage of you while you’re vulnerable, I won’t.”
She took a long moment answering. “I know.”
When had she finally figured that out? “Good. Since I don’t have any night lights, if you stayed in this room, you’d have the overhead light shining in your eyes.”
“You have other lights in your room?”
“Yeah.” The dim LEDs built into the crown molding cast a soft glow onto his ceiling. “It should be perfect for you.”
“All right. I will go with you.”
Probably for the best, but it was going to be a long night. “You need anything else before bed? A glass of water maybe?”
“To finish the dishes.”
“There weren’t many. They’ll wait until morning. Can I talk you into sleeping in one of my T-shirts?”
She shook her head. “I cannot pay for it.”
“Of course not.” As much as he hated this shit, he understood. “How about if I let you do the laundry tomorrow to earn the shirt?”
Laila paused. “That is acceptable.”
“Great.” He took her hand and led her back through the living room.
It was so dark she tensed. For a moment, she clung to his hand, then had second thoughts and let go. Trees held in a curse as he whipped his phone from his pocket, letting the device illuminate the unfamiliar space around her.
Laila sighed with relief, even smiling when they reached his room and he flipped on a light. “Thank you.”
He nodded. Bringing her to his bed was probably a really fucking bad idea. Even the thought of her beside him in one of his T-shirts, asleep and trusting, made his cock ridiculously hard. What the hell would happen when he actually lay beside her?
You had to give her the choice, dude. She would never trust you until you did.
True, but he really hadn’t expected her to choose his bed—and him.
Worse, since realizing she’d been jealous of Madison, he wanted her ten times more.
And if he didn’t think about something else, Trees feared he’d do something stupid, like touch Laila.
She glanced around the bedroom, her gaze skimming his bulky wooden dresser, the tall rattan king-size bed with its four posters and blue comforter, and the case full of books on the far side. The space was simple and comfortable, the way he liked it—original floors, striped burlap rug, reclaimed wood on the walls. What did she think? He couldn’t tell. Her face gave nothing away.
Clearing his throat, he made a beeline for his dresser and pulled out a soft red shirt, then handed it to her. “You can change through that door. You need anything else?”
She took it with a shake of her head. “I will be back.”
“Sure.”
When she disappeared into his bathroom, he double-checked the house alarm. Set. He checked the windows. Locked. He glanced outside at Barney. Yep, on his sleeping bag in his doghouse. Everything was as it should be—except his fucking nerves. It made no sense. He’d been sleeping beside Laila every night in the RV, so this wasn’t new.
But it was the first time she had chosen to sleep with him, and somehow that changed everything for him.
Or it proved he was being ridiculous and he needed to stop thinking with his dick.
Sighing, he grabbed something to wear from his dresser drawer, then shucked his jeans and donned nylon shorts for bed. As he yanked his shirt off, he heard the creak of the bathroom door and turned. His heart stopped. Laila looked fucking beautiful all the time, but in his faded red cotton tee that hung to her knees with her thick curls twisted on top of her head in a messy bun? She looked incredible. So feminine. So soft.
A thousand urges hit him at once—to hold her, to kiss her, to strip her, to sink inside her. But he also wanted to protect her, reassure her, promise her that all of the horrible things she had endured in the past—shit even worse than he’d suspected—would never befall her again.
He swallowed as he set his discarded clothes on his nearby rocking chair. Laila just wanted to sleep, and he’d better get his shit together. “Comfortable?”
Shyly, she nodded. “Very. Show me how you prefer to have your clothes laundered in the morning, and I will take care of the rest.”
Because a freaking ratty-ass shirt couldn’t be free. “Sure.”
She bit her lip and wrung her hands. “You have a nice room. Cozy.”
“Thanks. Here.” He turned on the ambient lighting above his crown molding and turned off the overhead cans, plunging the room into a hazy dim. It felt soft and golden. Intimate.
Laila looked up, seeming to marvel at the muted illumination around her. “I have never seen anything like this.”
No shit. If she’d only ever lived in a run-down farmhouse and a drug lord’s bunker, there were a lot of things she hadn’t seen or experienced. “It’s nice when I’m getting ready for bed. Helps to prevent stubbing my toe in the dark.”
“You have done that?”
“More times than I want to admit.” He smiled to set her at ease.
“I am sure your toes appreciate the improvement.” She gave him a ghost of a smile in return. “I left my clothes folded on your bathroom counter. I hope that is all right.”
“Fine.” He crossed the room to the bed, tossed off the checked decorative pillows, then folded back the heavy comforter. “I’ll…um, give you the left side of the bed. You’ll be closer to the bathroom, just in case.” And he would be between her and every avenue of escape.
“Thank you.” She padded past him slowly, her eyes all over him.
Because she was afraid he would put his hands on her? Or because she wanted him to? Trees couldn’t answer that question as she climbed between his sheets and laid her head on his pillow, wrapping her arms around herself and curling into a ball.
“You cold?”
“I will be fine.”
He glowered at her. “That isn’t what I asked. Are you cold?”
She nodded.
“All you had to do was say so.” Trees reached for the remote in his nightstand drawer and pressed the button. His electric fireplace snapped on, the hiss of blowing air soon distributing warmth through the room. He preferred to sleep cold since he put off heat like a furnace, but he would live with a little extra warmth tonight if it made Laila happy. “That should warm up the place quickly.”
She sat up and gaped at the faux flames. “It looks like a real fire. I have never seen anything like that, either.”
“It’s nice ambiance with a little bit of warmth when I need it.”
Laila nodded, then settled back onto her pillow with a contented sigh.
“Good night, little one.”
She didn’t say anything, simply curled up like a cat again and closed her eyes, long lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks.
He should stop staring, but he couldn’t do it. He just wanted to drink in everything about her—the little baby curls around her hairline that framed her face, the hint of roses in her cheeks, the full lips that beckoned him whether she smiled or frowned, the delicate hands that clutched the blanket under her chin protectively.
In the real world, if he wasn’t her bodyguard, she would never have looked twice at him. Trees knew he was a big brute without an ounce of polish. He was from “flyover” country. He hadn’t finished college. Hell, he hadn’t had running water most of his childhood. He lacked Zy’s charisma, good looks, pedigree, and charm. Sure, he appealed to some women, but most were subs who wanted his gentle but firm discipline, not his handsome face or sparkling personality.
And Laila might be the most gorgeous woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Graceful. Sensual. Stunning. What the fuck did she see in him? Safety? Or was her seeming acceptance of the comfort of his bed another ruse?
Beside him, she shivered and scooted closer. Even from two feet away, he felt the chill of her feet.
“You want another blanket?” He had a quilt in the closet.
She gave him a drowsy-eyed glance. “No.”
Then she inched closer.
Shit if that didn’t make him harder.
With a sigh, he plucked his phone from his nightstand and checked in with one of his online prepper groups. Yeah, all his friends thought he was crazy, bracing now for the erosion of society into anarchy. When chaos ensued and there was no such thing as a supply chain anymore, he’d be set for years—and everyone else would be shit out of luck.
He tried to focus on the community chatter. Live below your means. Duh. Store water in collapsible containers. Double duh. Don’t store all supplies on one place. So fucking obvious. No wonder he was way more aware of Laila stretching beside him before balling up again, this time even closer.
Her feet were seriously like ice.
“You’re still cold.” He set his phone aside.
She didn’t answer, simply opened her eyes and met his stare.
Their connection zinged.
Jesus, how was he supposed to stop himself from touching her? But after everything she’d been through, he had to. He didn’t want to give her any reason to think that she had to pay for the food she’d eaten or the shirt she wore in ways other than the ones they’d negotiated. On the other hand, he couldn’t stand doing nothing while she shivered.
He sighed. “Turn over.”
“What?”
“Lie on your other side.”
“And put my back to you?” The way she said it sounded like a giant hell no.
“I won’t hurt you, Laila. I won’t touch you without your consent. Remember, if anything is ever too much, you can stop me with a word. But I’m simply trying to help you get comfortable so you fall asleep.”
She hesitated before finally nodding and rolling onto her side, giving him her graceful nape and slender shoulders.
He hooked an arm around her middle and dragged her against his body, avoiding the ache of his cock. “Put your feet on me.”
She stiffened but didn’t move away. “I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“All right.” She wriggled closer and pressed her twenty-below feet against his thighs, then relaxed with a sigh. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Surely she felt him hard as fuck against the small of her back, but she wasn’t freaking out. Did she trust him? Did she hope that if she didn’t mention it, he wouldn’t press her? Or did she not realize how fucking much she aroused him?
Slowly, her body lost its starch. She didn’t fall asleep; he would have heard the change in her breathing. She was awake—and completely relaxed against him. He tried to close his eyes and get some sleep. Tomorrow would be another day of potential surprises and hell. He had to be prepared.
All he could feel was Laila’s ass against his throbbing cock. All he could smell was the faint soap and feminine musk wafting from her soft skin.
Fuck, he should have grabbed a few minutes in the shower with his bath gel and his hand.
Five minutes turned into ten, then into twenty. Her breathing slowed and deepened, almost as if she’d dropped off…but not quite. To his surprise, she turned in his arms, facing him once more, and snuggled against him. Her head rested inches from his chest. He felt her every exhalation and shuddered at the thought of her breath bathing his skin.
Trees would have sworn it was impossible, but his cock stiffened even more, weeping in need for her.
But she was finally warmer. He could feel it in her toasty toes and the laxness of her muscles. He couldn’t take that away from her just because his dick was nagging him like a toothache.
It was going to be an excruciating night, but Laila needed to sleep in peace.
He repeated that like a litany over and over, like a mental leash he used to jerk himself in line.
Until she sighed contentedly against him again. “Trees…”
Then she pressed her lips against his chest.
His whole body lit up. “What?”
Her lashes fluttered open, and she speared him with a soft, sultry glance. “Will you kiss me good-night?”
Was she serious? Was she crazy?
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Her full lips pursed into a pout. “Surely there is no harm in a kiss.”
“Laila, I’m not going to want to stop there.”
“I like kissing.”
For Laila, that was a big admission.
“I like kissing, too. But if we’re not careful, it will lead to more.”
“It does not have to. Please.” Her eyes slid shut and she lifted her face to him, offering him her pillowy lips.
He was a fucking goner.
With a groan, he rolled her to her back, wrapped his arms around her, and took her mouth in a desperate kiss, barging his way past her lips. Instead of pushing him away, her arms curled around his neck and she opened to him without hesitation. Then he thrust his tongue against hers, into the deepest recesses of her sweet, silken mouth.
God, she was heaven. She made his thoughts dissipate, his caution evaporate, and his desire roar.
Experimentally, he pulled back. To his surprise, she followed, moaning in protest as she lifted closer to renew the kiss.
Shit. Did she actually want this? Want him? Was this more than another escape attempt? Or was she merely trying to pay him for the roof over her head?
That jerked him out of the moment. “Why?”
Laila bit her lip. “Because you make me feel good.”
“You want that now?”
“I need it. Without you, I would feel so alone.”
Without her sister and her nephew—her lifelines? He could see that. He understood it. He just wasn’t sure he one hundred percent believed it. “I’m here.”
“Not as close as I want,” she murmured, pulling him back down to her lips.
He didn’t resist. What was the point? He could barely say no when she was reluctant, but when she was pleading in that husky, lost little voice…
Trees covered her mouth again, sinking deep and groaning as she met him halfway. His fingers tangled in her hair. She clung to his shoulders. Their hearts beat together, and he felt her breathing quicken. Passion surged, scorching his blood.
Fuck, how was he going to stop this?
She met his groan with a needy whimper, then broke their kiss, panting. “Touch me.”
A livewire of want jolted him. Did she know she was flirting with trouble? “Laila…”
“Please.”
Son of a bitch.
He slid a hand down to her thigh, carefully avoiding her abrasions, and lifted his fingers under the overlarge T-shirt, palming her hip. He made a shocking discovery.
Laila wasn’t wearing underwear.
His raging heartbeat surged, thrashing against his chest as his fingertips continued their path up her body, dipping in with her waist, floating up her ribs, until he cradled her breast, thumbing his way over the rigid tip.
She arched to him, sighing into his kiss.
“More?” he asked.
“Yes. I want to feel the explosion you made me feel before.”
She wanted to come. He was happy to oblige.
Impatiently, he worked at the big shirt covering her, sliding the cotton up her body until the hem settled against her collarbones. Then he dragged his lips down her neck, nipping at her ear until she shivered, before descending again, pressing kisses around the straining tip of her breast until she dug her nails into him with a protest that sounded like something between a huff and a groan.
He nosed his way up her nipple, then dragged his beard down over it. She gasped and began to writhe impatiently. He soaked up every moment of her sensual distress, loving the way she gave her body over to him second by second.
Finally, he closed his lips around the hard, rosy tip of one breast, pinching and twisting the other between his fingers. She responded with an anguished wail of need that torqued him up and urged him on. He abraded her nipple with his tongue, then followed with a soft bite of teeth before sucking it deep.
She grabbed him in a desperate grip. “Trees!”
“That’s a good girl,” he crooned. “Let me make you feel good.”
“Yes. Yes…”
Whatever else she meant to say dissolved into wordless pleading as he switched from one breast to the other and repeated the delicate torture, stoking her desire and keeping satisfaction out of reach. He wanted her to not merely want him but to crave him like he craved her—a constant, clawing ache that would not be denied and would not go away.
