Page 7 of Marked by my Protector (Inked and Possessive. Rugged Mountain Ink #3)

Tank

Sloane’s scent is all over me. Her expensive perfume. The floral shampoo she uses. Her warm, sweet come. It’s on my hands, on my clothes, on my tongue, and I can’t focus on anything until I release some of this pent-up energy.

What the fuck is wrong with me? She’s been in my house for thirty fucking seconds, and I’ve got her on my lap, cock hard, touching every inch of her.

I lay back in bed and stroke my cock, my mind reeling with thoughts of her curved frame pressed up against me, the feel of her soft skin, the sound of her pleasure, knowing I was the first to touch her tight, little pussy.

Fuck! I stroke once more and come spills over the top of my hands and onto the sheets like I’m some kind of fucking uncontrollable monster.

Who the hell am I?

I need to get a grip. She’s not mine to touch. She’s too damn young, and she’s got a world of fucking problems I have no business getting involved with. People already talk shit about me. I can’t imagine what they’d say if I started hanging out with some twenty something.

This was a mistake. She can’t stay here. I can’t look at her sexy hips. I can’t watch her pretty mouth move. I can’t listen to her talk about wanting to see the farm and experience this life. I can’t. It’s like a fucking drug.

I stand from the bed, come dripping from my hand as I walk toward the bathroom to scrub myself clean.

She was honest with me, she told me her secrets, she shared the deepest parts of her, but there are things about me she doesn’t know.

Pieces of me that no one accepts. Parts of me that I’ve kept hidden for a reason.

I grab my phone up off the counter to activate the security on the farm. It’s not high tech. In fact, it’s rather low tech, but a few cameras and the threat of guns keep people away for the most part.

When I’m scanning the cameras, I see a text from Delilah that came in a few minutes ago. I don’t know whether to be pissed or thank her. I guess it’ll depend on how all this pans out.

No, I should be pissed because I know how this pans out.

I pick up the phone and dial her number. She answers on the first ring but she’s missing the classic Delilah enthusiasm.

“Hey, how’s it goin’ over there? You two best friends yet?”

“You’ve been crying.”

“What?” She clears her throat. “No, I haven’t.”

“Don’t make me pry it out of you. It’s late.”

She sighs. “You know it’s Dave. I just… I can’t anymore.”

“What’d he do this time?”

“Apparently, I didn’t act excited enough when his fantasy football team won this week.

So, that’s why he stayed an extra night in California, and I don’t know.

” She laughs between tears as she says, “He’s hot headed, but not all bad, which makes everything that much more confusing.

Plus, what am I going to do with this baby, Tank? I’m completely screwed.”

“You know that’s not true. I’ll help however I can. The sooner you get away from this asshole, the better off you’re going to be. It never feels right because it’s not.”

“My brother,” she sighs sarcastically, “the love savant… who’s single. How are things going over there?”

“Well, her parents tracked her phone, so I’m monitoring cameras tonight.”

“Oh shoot, really?” She crunches into something that sounds like chips on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, it’s a circus.”

She laughs again, softer this time. “And you need some entertainment, so this is perfect.”

“Oh, I don’t remember being that guy, but… we’re here aren’t we?”

“You sound different.” I hear the smile in her tone, and I know some form of punishment is coming. “You had a good night, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“Yeah, I hear it in your voice. You sound different, like you caught a glimpse of something good. Does my big, grumpy, hermit of a brother actually like a woman?”

“What?” I lean back in the chair opposite the bed and stare down at the split screen on my phone displaying the cameras. “You’re imagining things.”

“You like her… you like her.” Her tone is sing-songy, reminding me of when she was a kid. “I like her too. She’s sweet. Did you guys kiss?”

“Stop,” I groan. “You should get to bed.”

“Oh my God!” she squeals. “You kissed her! That got serious fast.”

“It’s not serious. Nothing happened. Go to bed.”

“No way!” She crunches into another chip. “I might be getting a new sister. So—”

“No. That’s not what’s happening. She’s way too young for me.”

“But you’ve thought about it?”

“I’ve thought about hanging up the phone,” I grunt, though we both know I don’t mean it.

“Okay, okay. Well did you tell her about the thing?”

I freeze. “What thing?” I say, though I know exactly what she means.

She sighs, and I hear the chip bag crinkle like she’s folding it closed. “Don’t do that. You know what I mean. You should tell her now so it’s not a big deal.”

“No reason to tell her nothing ‘cause she’s probably not staying. So, leave it alone.”

“You like her. Maybe she’ll stay if you open up too. I mean, I bet you heard all kinds of things about her tonight. What did you tell her about yourself?”

My jaw tightens. I know my sister means well, but pushy is an understatement. “I talked plenty, and now it’s time for bed. You still stoppin’ by for breakfast in the morning before your appointment?”

She doesn’t answer right away, and I know she’s not done. I can practically hear her weighing whether to let it go or press harder.

“Yeah,” she says finally, voice quieter. “I’ll bring coffee and maybe a crowbar to pry open that vault you call a heart.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. “Make it black… and you’ll need something stronger than a crowbar.”

She chuckles, but then her tone shifts hesitantly again as she says, “Just think about it, okay? If you wait too long, she’ll bolt.”

I don’t go into the reasons Sloane will bolt anyway, deciding to wrap up this stressful call instead. “Goodnight.”

“See you in the morning,” she says, as I hear the pantry door close before she hangs up the line.

I give enough unsolicited advice to her that I don’t blame her for having an opinion on my life.

Trouble is, this time, she’s right. If I want Sloane, I have to tell her about the heavier parts of me.

The parts I don’t talk about with anyone.

The parts that might make her run. The parts that I’ve spent years building a wall around.

And if she bolts, well… I don’t blame her.