Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(90)

Like, this is the guy who raised his little brother to be the responsible, respectful guy Leo is. This is the guy who could actually have a library and not just a barren room with bullet holes littering the floor.

Yeah, I noticed them...

He’s wearing his glasses, a light illuminating the area around the table, although the rest of the room is dark. Night fell hours ago. We’re the only ones here. None of his guys have come back yet.

He doesn’t seem worried, but I am.

Knowing Kassian, they could all be dead.

And I kind of like the guys, you know, what I know of them. Not a single one has ever made a pass at me, thinking because I’ve done certain things obviously that’s all I am. Men that treat me like a person… what a concept. So I’d rather them not lose their lives because I’m here.

“I’m going to bed,” I say quietly, pushing up from the floor. I know Lorenzo hears me, because he glances my way, but he says nothing.

I make it down the hall, toward the stairs, when the front door shoves open. My heart stalls a beat, thinking finally maybe one of them is back, but Leo walks in, along with Melody.

“Hey, Morgan!” Melody says. “I love the color of that top!”

I glance down. It’s some watercolor-looking mash-up. I took the money Lorenzo paid me and invested in some new clothes of my own. “Thanks.”

Leo smiles in greeting, and I return his smile, but jet out of there before any further conversation happens. Trekking upstairs, I kick my shoes off, pulling off my jeans and unhooking my bra before climbing into the bed, snuggling up with a pillow.

I’m not tired.

Hell, I can’t even sleep.

I lay here, listening to the sounds from downstairs.

Maybe another hour passes, I don’t know, before the front door opens, voices rushing through the house. Carefully, I climb out of the bed, creeping out into the hall, pausing as I lean against the banister at the top of the stairs. They’re all here, gathering in the hallway, Declan and Frank even sharing a laugh about something. I can’t hear much of what they’re saying, but they survived, so I guess that’s something.

I make my way back to the bed, curling up on my side, hugging the pillow again. Relieved. For now. Barely a minute passes before I hear noise, and I peek over just as Lorenzo walks into the room. He meets my eyes, so he knows I’m awake, but he says nothing, tugging off his shirt, stripping down to nothing before climbing into the bed beside me.

His arms snake around me, pulling me back into him, his lips going right to my neck, leaving a trail of kisses along the sliver of exposed skin.

“Tell me a story,” he says, hand sliding beneath my shirt to palm a breast.

I smile to myself. That’s his not-so-subtle way of telling me he wants to stick it in. “Why don’t you tell me one?”

“You didn’t like the last one I told you,” he says, tugging at my underwear, pushing it down to my knees, just enough for his other hand to slide between my thighs. A soft moan escapes me when his fingertips graze my clit, and I shove the underwear the rest of the way down, kicking them off to spread my legs, so he can reach better.

“I’m sure you can come up with a better one.”

“True story or fairy tale?”

“Hmmm… both.”

I yelp, surprised, when he yanks me around, over on top of him. He lays flat on his back as I straddle his waist, his cock right there, hard, pressing against me. I shift my hips, rubbing against him, my hands flat against his bare chest. My shirt is long enough to cover everything so he can’t see, but I know he feels it. He lets out a low groan, wrapping his arms around me, pulling me down for a kiss.

I lose myself for a moment, kissing him deeply, roughly, groaning as he nips at my lips, tingles flowing through my body when he grasps my hips, pulling me up. I feel it, his cock pressing into me, slowly slipping inside as he teases me with the tip. My head goes fuzzy, warmth consuming me.

It isn’t until he thrusts up, hard, filling me completely, that it knocks some sense back into my brain. I pull from his lips, barely able to get the word out. “Condom.”

He looks at me, his hands moving, running along the curve of my ass before he grabs my shirt, pulling it off and tossing it over the edge of the bed. His gaze scans me, from the top of my head to where we’re connected as he reaches over and starts rubbing my clit. “Do I need one?”

“I, uh... I mean...”

What kind of question is that?

“I’ll pull out,” he says, shifting his hips, pulling out just a bit before pushing back in. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I, uh... Christ... I can’t get pregnant.”

“You physically can’t, or you mean getting pregnant is the worst thing that could happen?”

“Uh, I mean...” Fuck, he feels good, deep inside of me, nothing between us. “Both.”

I start moving, rolling my hips, sliding up and down slowly on him. My brain is still trying to argue a point, chanting, ‘condom, condom, condom,’ like a twelve-year-old boy, but the haze is taking it over, the tingles blocking it out. ‘Fuck it,’ my heart frantically beats. ‘Just let him f*ck you, you know you want it.’

Closing my eyes, I gasp as he thrusts up into me, meeting my rhythm. His fingers steadily stroke my clit, rubbing circles, sending jolts of pleasure along my spine, stronger and stronger, until the explosion hits.