Page 11 of Unthinkable

“You can’t stay in here for long,” I say, hating every word of it.

I’m unsure when her little habit became a necessity for us, but I welcome the familiarity.

“I just want you to hold me,” she whispers and burrows herself into a small ball with her back against my chest.

“I know, baby.” I kiss the top of her head. Her vanilla scent engulfs me, and a low, animalistic groan leaves my throat.

“Do you feel better now?” she asks.

I furrow my brow, and my throat becomes dry. Surely, she doesn’t mean …

“Now that you’ve let out your anger.”

My heart skips a beat for two reasons. One, does she think I only fuck in anger? And two, I don’t want her to misunderstand what sex is for.

Sure, I needed the release to help ease my ebbing aggression, but also because I’m a man; it’s a primal action I haven’t done in a while, and I sure as shit needed it.

I have an arm banded around her middle, and she clings to me as if scared I’m about to leave. “You know sex isn’t just a reaction for when you’re angry, right?”

She giggles softly. “I know that, Jensen. I’m not a child.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” I mentally chastise myself for saying the words out loud.

“Do you? Do you feel better?” she asks again.

“I guess,” I grumble and play with the tendrils of her hair.

She shoves her arm into my chest in a playful manner, and I let out an overly exaggerated grunt. “Well, you should feel completely satisfied; otherwise, it’s not worth doing it in the first place.”

My chest constricts as I consider her words. Is she talking from experience? I sure as fuck hope not. I’ll kill anyone who touches her. The sound of my blood rushing through my body pounds in my ears, and my vision becomes hazy, so I squeeze my eyes closed.

Her thumb strokes my arm, pulling me from my fury.

Leaning down, I whisper, “If anyone lays a finger on you, I’ll fucking kill them, Little Nightmare.” Each word is deadly.

Her breath hitches, and I pull her against me tighter than ever before. I don’t want anyone else to touch her, never.

“Nobody touches what’s mine,” I say, meaning every fucking word.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IMMIE

I don’t know how long it took me to fall asleep in his arms, but I woke in my bedroom like I always do. At some point during the night, he placed me in my sheets, tucking them around me before placing a kiss on my forehead and leaving the room like he was never there at all. I’ve spent so many nights somewhere between sleep and consciousness, and it’s allowed me insight into his tender side, a side he keeps hidden from those around him. Only me and his close family see this side of him, and I feel privileged to be classed as such.

His usual cold demeanor is the Jensen he allows others to see, and thankfully, the one he gives Amanda too.

“Can you not spill milk everywhere like a desperate hobo?” Amanda glowers at me.

I roll my eyes and swipe the milk up with the cloth.

“And I don’t want to hear you eating either. You sound like a rabid animal when you eat. So uncouth.”

Jesus, she’s relentless.

Pushing up on my tiptoes, I open the batch of cookies I made, but she snatches the tub from me with a sneer. Instead of questioning her, I take a seat at the kitchen table, far enough away from her position on a barstool at the kitchen counter. I point my spoon toward her and the cookies. “You should try eating. It’s good for you.”

The veins on her neck protrude, and her dirty look turns murderous.