Hetch (Men OF S.W.A.T #1)(35)

“Fuck.” I drop my phone back to the coffee table and groan into the scratchy pillow Liberty lent me and force myself not to go crawling into her bed. This shit just keeps getting out of control. Even tonight when Bailey and Sanchez were interviewing her, I wanted to hold her hand while she let them in on everything that’s been happening with Dominic and the crew he hangs with.

I don’t f*cking hold hands.

Ever.

The need to take care of her is growing, especially now I know the crazy f*cking gangbanger has her set in his sights. Ever since finding out about Dominic and his connection to Liberty, I’ve done everything in my power to figure out how to take the f*cker down. As of today, I’m still coming up empty handed, but I’m not f*cking giving up.

Deciding, for at least tonight, not to think about Liberty or how I’m going to take this f*cker down, I force all thoughts of Liberty and her hold over me out of my head. It takes a while, and I’m about to nod off when movement down the hallway has my attention. I clock Liberty’s pink toes, but don’t let on I’m awake, unsure what has her out of her bed and back out to the living area, but intrigued all the same.

She bypasses the living room and heads straight for the kitchen. I shift a little on her God-awful sofa, searching for a better line of sight, only to regret my decision when I notice her choice of sleepwear.

Fuck me.

It’s not the ratty miss-matched outfit she wore the other night. No, this little outfit is for me. She’s silhouetted by the light in the fridge, her naked legs taking my attention first, followed by the pink, silk shorts which are barely covering her ass.

I repeat, f*ck me.

She bends down, reaching into the fridge for a glass pitcher. My cock twitches at the sight, and to stop myself from blowing my load right then and there, I sit up and adjust myself.

“What are you doing up?” I ask when I’ve sorted myself out. The pitcher hits the floor in an almighty smash at my voice, and instantly I’m up off the sofa.

“Jesus, Hetch, you scared the shit out of me.” She reaches for a towel to clean up the mess.

“Don’t move,” I warn, but in typical Liberty fashion, she doesn’t listen.

“Shit!” she hisses, her foot rising up to pull out a shard of glass. I step over the mess, pick her up and place her on the counter top.

“Jesus, woman, you’re f*cking drama.”

“I beg your pardon,” she huffs out in an undignified way, her scowl morphing from discomfort to annoyance.

“You heard me.” I don’t try to sugarcoat it. She’s drama. It’s whether or not I’m digging the drama or not.

Fuck me, I’m digging it.

“I did, but care to explain what exactly you mean by drama?” Her brows rise in an expectant stare.

“I mean every time I’m near you, you’re a mess. You have the worst luck.”

“Please, I don’t need you reminding me.”

I reach for the broom and sweep the broken glass the best I can in the pool of water.

“I can do it.” She starts to slide off the counter, but my gaze finds hers, relaying my order to stay put.

“I’m sure you can. You can also sit there and let me take care of you.” She retreats, not saying anything. The sound of the glass tinkling against the floor is the only sound between us.

Once I’ve managed to clear up most of the mess, I move back to her. Kneeling down and lifting her foot to take a closer look. Her pink toenails are what have my attention first. They’re almost the same color as her sexy sleepwear.

“I think you’re good, no damage.” I clear my throat, my thumb slightly rubbing at the smooth skin of her ankle.

“I could have told you that, Hetch.” I note the tiny gasp and the familiar glazing of her eyes as she tries not to show how affected she is.

“Maybe, but where would the fun be in that?” My hand travels up her leg, carefully caressing the smoothness, painfully memorizing her softness. Instead of pulling back from my touch, she rocks forward, drawn in by it.

“You always like to take care of people?” Her voice is thick with need, almost as thick as my cock.

“Not always.” I’m mildly responsive to her questions, but more fascinated with touching than talking.

“Then what’s your deal with me?” It takes me a second to think my answer over. What is my deal? It’s not like I’m interested in getting serious with her. Sure, I want to f*ck her, but it’s as far as this could ever be.

Right?

“Can I get back to you on that one?” My hand continues to travel up her leg, careful not to push too hard. A sharp intake of breath has me halting, my eyes finding hers. They burn with need, speaking to me, urging me to keep this going.

“You want me to stop?” I don’t know why I ask. I’m not trying to slow this down, far from it, but I still want her to be comfortable.

“Can I get back to you?” Her head rolls to the side, exposing the creamy smooth skin of her neck. It’s a smart remark; it’s also not a no, so I inch a little closer, my hand wandering over her knee, and up over her thigh.

“You’re gonna have to think fast, babe. I’m not sure I’m gonna be able to hold off.” Her pulse quickens in her neck. A slow growl forms in the pit of my stomach, clawing its way up to my mouth.