Page 22 of Deep (Chicago Underground 8)
“You keep a doctor on staff?”
“Still with the attitude, kitten? I thought you’d grown out of that.”
Indignation burned deep in my stomach, eclipsing my concern for him. “You don’t know a damn thing about me or the woman I’ve grown into.”
Heat flared in his dark eyes, and his gaze traveled low, past the neckline of my tank top and the strip of skin exposed at my waist, to the private place between my legs, the one that still throbbed just from looking at him. A pleased light entered his eyes that told me that, despite his pain and delirium, he remembered what had happened last night.
“I know how you sound when you come,” he murmured.
A moan escaped me, half protest, half desire. It probably sounded just like when I came.
“And I know what your hot pussy feels like when it rides my cock.” He paused, his gaze challenging me to deny it. “Or did I just dream that last night?”
I pressed my lips together. My cheeks burned hot. “You were the one who grabbed me. I didn’t want to hurt you by fighting you off. Now of course I see that you would have deserved it.”
“Probably,” he said, bending his head so we were close—so close. “Dreaming never felt that good. And I have dreamed about you, kitten. Don’t doubt that.”
Surprise flared in my chest—along with a kind of panic. From the first moment we met there had been a connection, a wild recognition from one animal to another. It didn’t need words. We both felt it, even when I was too young to actually do anything about it.
And I was still too young for him.
He was still too dangerous for me.
Nothing could happen between us beyond a rough grope in the dark.
“What’s that from?” I asked, pointing to the necklace.
“None of your business,” he said without missing a beat, stone cold.
I didn’t flinch. I was proud of that much, at least. Of course I knew he didn’t owe me an answer, but a few hours ago he had been hard between my legs—it was a chil
ling reminder how little that meant in the world.
I took the first-aid box and pulled out the last few butterfly bandages. The task was just a distraction. I didn’t meet his eyes while I smoothed the tiny strips of white into place over gashed, bloodstained skin.
“Will you be safe?” I asked softly, still looking at the wound.
“Of course,” he said, sounding surprised. Though I wasn’t sure if he was surprised because I cared or because I had ever doubted his ability to defend himself. There was a time I wouldn’t have doubted it. As a scared teenage girl on the run, he had seemed like some kind of god, invincible and capricious.
He hadn’t been a god last night.
He had been raw and wild and vulnerable. A man.
I already knew I would never forget the fear I’d felt for him, finding him leaning against my door and bleeding. I would never forget how he made me feel with his hands on my hips and his cock a hot pulsing presence against my sex. He made me feel like a woman.
A woman strong enough to ask the question we’d been avoiding. I straightened and forced myself to meet his cold, challenging gaze. “If it’s safe there, why did you come here?”
His eyes were an unfathomable well, too deep and dark to see beneath the surface. “I’m always here. Wherever you go, I follow. Watching you, waiting for you. Wanting you. The only difference is last night—I didn’t leave.”
Chapter Fourteen
HIS WORDS FELL like bombs in my chest, igniting years of doubt and denial. It should have been a childish crush, my love for a man fifteen years older. For a criminal with enemies all over the city.
It had always been more than a crush.
And if he felt the same for me… God, my heart. It didn’t feel like relief—not the visceral bodily sigh of pleasure from last night. No, this was a minefield being set off all at once. This was destruction.
How could I let him walk away, knowing he’d wanted me all this time?
