Page 17 of Protecting Player #73 (Portland, Settlers #1 | Gridiron Warriors)
Brea
H ow do I tell this man I’m scared to death that once he knows, he’ll commit a felony or two? There are times when a bone-chilling darkness enters his gaze if Thor is mentioned, or one of his teammates flirts a little too much, or if he catches someone eyeing me up. That concerns me.
“Brea?”
Raising my eyes slowly, I meet his inquiring look. “I’ve been getting...messages.” His jaw tenses. “Possessive ones.”
“Fucking Thor,” he snarls viciously.
I shake my head before he can continue on. “Not Thor.” He frowns at my hesitation.
“Brea, who?”
“Erika Morris.” I spit out the name, and from how wide his eyes get, I can tell he’s surprised.
“Erika.” I nod as he slowly repeats her name.
The rest of the drive passes in silence–T.K. battling his anger, and me, terrified that I shouldn’t have told him.
Nothing is said as he parks in the underground garage, or as he opens my door and takes my hand to help me from his car, holding it for the walk to the elevators and up to his condo. Or is it our condo? It’s still so confusing and overwhelming.
He keeps me close all the way inside and to the couch where he sits me down, then drops in beside me. Scrubbing both hands up and down his face, T.K. groans before gripping my thigh and dragging me right against his body.
“I’m sorry.” It's a solemn apology; one he doesn’t need to make to me.
“Why? You aren’t the one making me feel unsafe.”
He studies me carefully, searching for something I'm sure he won’t find. I remain silent while waiting for his next move.
“You really don't blame me.” He seems amazed, like he thought I would hate him.
Sighing, I blurt out, “Look, T.K., I know what happened and why I was hired. Do I like it? No. However, I'm mature enough to understand you don't control others’ actions.”
“Have you seen it?” There’s a vulnerability in the question, leaving him cut open and laid bare for me to see.
Shaking my head, I explain, “I didn’t want to. Didn’t feel the need to see the man I’ve loved for years with another woman. It was already an invasion of privacy that she shared, and you don’t need the world looking at you through that lens forever.”
“You’re a fucking miracle.”
He lifts me and drags me over to his lap so I’m straddling his hips.
His lips begin sliding along my throat, sending a flutter of butterflies through my belly.
A moan escapes me when his hands move up my thighs and under the hem of my dress.
His fingers slip into the band of my thong, tug, and make me jump before tearing them right off, leaving me exposed for his exploration.
“Let me in, pup, just the tip again.”
I whimper then gasp when his hand moves to pull the waistband of his sweats down, freeing his cock. I moan at the heat of him, begging silently for the friction on my clit that’ll rocket me into an orbit of pleasure only he can provide.
“Yessss,” I hiss as his fingers reach my clit, stroking it in light circular motions before one slips down to my opening and glides along the edges. It makes me squirm. “Please, Tate.”
“You going to let me in, pup?” His lip curls into a feral snarl, and I swallow nervously before nodding.
He shifts my hips forward and, without hesitation, slips the head in. Breaching and stretching me, warming me up for the day that he finally takes my virginity.
I’m transfixed in the haze that is T.K. Weston, so when he pinches my clit, forcing a scream from my lips, I practically sob as the orgasm rolls over me and triggers his own.
His vocal response is startling, and I can tell that he wants to slam my body down his length, nestling in tight, but he holds back.
However, his bruising grip on my hips is almost too much to bear.
I’m sure I’ll be black and blue, anticipating the proof of his need for me.
“Fuck, Brea. It’s not normal how easily you set me off.” His guttural groan makes me shiver.
“I love that power,” I whisper into his neck, kissing the flesh before taking a nip like he does to me.
I yelp after a sharp slap on my ass and lift my head to stare at him. “Be a good girl.” There’s a promise in his eyes I would love to explore.
“We have to go,” I whisper. I don’t want to be late for my parents’ house.
Narrowing his eyes at me, he gauges whether we really have to go or if I’m shying away from the spanking. In truth, I kind of liked it. I won’t reveal that just yet, however. It’s good to keep the dominant man on his toes from time to time.
“Fine,” he pouts, and I laugh as I climb off his lap, his fluids swiftly leaking down my legs. The man doesn’t miss a beat; he’s quick to grip my leg and lift my skirt to watch. Fascination lines his face as he leans forward to nip at me.
“T.K.!” I shout, jumping back.
He licks his lips with a shit-eating grin. I glare playfully at him before walking away, intending to don the new dress and shoes before fixing my hair and makeup.
As I re-braid a link of hair, he leans against the door to the bathroom, watching me curiously. “What?” I sigh, unable to withstand his scrutiny any longer.
“Just wondering…why the braids, the dresses, the jewelry?” He’s not passing judgment, so I don’t get defensive.
“Did you ever watch The Hunchback of Notre Dame movie when you were a kid?” He shakes his head.
“Esmerelda was beautiful. She wore gorgeous skirts and dresses and always had braids or ribbons in her hair. She was free in her style and thinking, and it left an imprint on me. I loved her and wanted to be just like her. If only I had her confidence, it would be complete.” I laugh to take the sting out of my words, because in truth, having confidence is something I struggle with.
“I think you’re stunning, Brea. Dresses, braids, or jewelry, you are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever encountered.
” A blush warms my neck and face as he shuffles in closer, gripping a lock of my hair and fashioning his own braid.
“No matter how you look, I’ll always desire you. You know that, right?”
From the expression in his eyes, I do now.