Page 19

MYRA

Taking back my voice felt more amazing than I could have hoped for. It was what will likely be a defining moment in my life.

And it was immediately followed by another defining moment.

And then another.

And I’m about to stack up one more.

I should be freaking out. Panicked over a stranger watching me in the woods. Spiraling about what happened while that man was watching me in the woods. Hyperventilating because I’m about to be sleeping in a bed with Simon.

Instead, I’m struggling to keep the smile off my face.

“Thank you for this.” Simon lifts up the last bite of his sandwich then pops it in his mouth. “But you know you don’t ever have to feed me.”

The smile I’m working so hard to stifle manages to make an appearance. “I know.” I shrug, hoping he doesn’t figure out what a big deal this is. “I wanted to.”

Yet another defining moment slaps me in the face. I wanted to feed Simon. Wanted to take care of him the way he takes care of me.

I was determined my days of caring for men were over. So standing here, watching him fill his belly with something I made for him, is a surreal moment. Not just because of the actions themselves, but because of the emotions trailing behind them.

I never would have thought a mundane task like making a sandwich would have me feeling just as good as cutting my hair and piercing my nose and buying a house, but it does.

So much of what I’ve done since leaving Arkansas has been a knee-jerk reaction. Me throwing out as many fuck yous as I can. That’s not what this is. This is me doing something in spite of how I was raised. Not because of it.

Simon looks me over before collecting his empty plate and mine. “As long as you know.”

I watch as he racks our dishes in the washer, adding the cutting board and knife I used, before dropping in a soap pack and setting it to run.

He doesn’t act like it’s a chore. Doesn’t groan or piss and moan about having to do something he feels is beneath him.

It’s simply a task. One he doesn’t mind doing.

And I really like that about him. I really like a lot of things about him.

Pressing my lips together, trying to hide the anticipation curling through me, I ask, “Are you ready for bed?”

Simon turns to me, his big body close. “Do you have any extra pillows and blankets? I can sleep down here.”

I’m not surprised at his offer. Especially after the confessions he made while…

Whew.

I give him a little poke in the stomach I just filled. “Is that your way of telling me you snore?”

Simon shakes his head. “I don’t snore.”

“You’re a bed hog, then.” A little thing sparks through my insides at the thought of Simon crowding close to me all night long.

“It’s possible.” Simon flips off the kitchen light. “I haven’t slept with anyone else in a long time, so you might end up regretting your decision.”

I really doubt that.

I turn, making my way down the hall. “As far as you know, I do snore and I’m a bed hog who steals all the covers.” I’m feeling a little flirty. Confident in a way I’ve never been. It’s exciting. Fun. Addicting. “So you might be the one regretting your decisions.”

“I don’t think so.” Simon’s words are low enough I’m not sure I was meant to hear them.

But I do, and it has those butterflies taking up residence in my belly flapping around like crazy. I’m starting to get a little worried I won’t be able to sleep because of it, but I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Simon’s footsteps trail behind me as I head upstairs, flipping off lights as I go. I finally reach my bedroom, peeking over one shoulder as he steps in behind me. “I’ll brush my teeth and then the bathroom’s yours.”

I make quick work of flossing and scrubbing the remnants of my midnight snack off my teeth. After popping out my contacts, I pad out into the bedroom. Simon is standing exactly where I left him, so I give him a smile. “All yours.”

His posture is stiffer than normal as he goes into one of the few finished spaces of my home, closing the door behind him.

I stare at it for way too long, wishing it was at least a little transparent.

I was surprised at the… amount of material Simon had to work with when we were grinding against the truck, and it has me curious.

I’ve seen one penis in real life, and it didn’t take up nearly as much space in the world as the one that just rubbed between my legs.

It was impossible to tell exactly what I’m facing, but I witnessed enough that intimidation is most certainly settling in.

Especially since I’m thinking I would like to become better acquainted with all the parts of Simon’s body.

Toeing off the slippers I wear around my house since the floors are primarily plywood, I slide under the covers and switch on the bedside lamp.

I like to watch television before I fall asleep, so I turn it on, picking the series I started a few days ago and setting it to play as the shower begins to run.

I’m ten minutes into the episode—and haven’t absorbed a single second of it—when Simon comes out of the bathroom.

“Holy shit.” The words slide between my lips all on their own.

His dark hair is wet and slicked back away from his face, the moisture from it dripping onto his broad shoulders. The sheen of his damp skin gives him a Greek god-like quality the white terry cloth towel slung low on his hips only amplifies.

My mouth goes dry when he gives me a lopsided smile, holding the front of the towel with one hand as he goes to the stack of clothes piled on top of my dresser. My eyes stay locked on him as he pauses to look over the items he brought, his lips tipping down in a frown.

I sit up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

“I, uhh…” he huffs out a laugh “...don’t actually have any pajamas.”

Well… that’s an interesting development. “What do you normally sleep in?”

“Normally?” He plucks out a pair of black boxer briefs. “These.” His eyes come to where I’m all tucked in and waiting for his mostly naked body to join me. “I can’t imagine you want?—”

“It’s fine.” I bark out the words like the eager beaver I am. “We’re both adults.” My face heats along with most of the rest of me. “And we did just…” I’m not sure how to identify the act we just committed against the unsuspecting box truck.

Simon’s gaze darkens as it coasts over me. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

I shake my head, the movement jerky enough to give me away a second time. “I don’t mind.”

I sound breathless because I am. Anticipation and excitement have my lungs struggling to function.

“ Okay .” Simon drags the word out, like he’s not convinced.

That’s probably my fault. I haven’t exactly done a great job of showing him I’m in a good place and ready to break out of the box I accidentally put myself in.

I start to fidget as he disappears back into the bathroom. I know—despite what happened earlier—this isn’t a romantic sort of sleeping together. Not even a sexual one. Simon is only here out of necessity.

Tonight.

But would it be so bad if he continued staying here for other—more sexual—reasons? I’m going to give it a solid no. It wouldn’t be bad at all.

I’m so caught up in thoughts of having Simon in my bed for more than just protective reasons, that I jump a little when the door to the bathroom opens again.

For a second time, I take in all his glory.

There’s not much more of him exposed now than there was in the towel, but the thick terry cloth went a long way at disguising what was beneath it.

His fitted, cotton boxer briefs do not. My eyes zero in on the substantial bulge in the front of his underwear. The dark fabric clings enough that I can make out the full scope of what I’m dealing with.

And it is for sure way more than I’m used to negotiating.

My pussy clenches at the thought of what all that girth and length would feel like filling me up. The way it would stretch me.

The way it could obliterate any trace of previous visitors to the area.

“Lights off?” Simon lifts his brows at me, but the hint of a smirk on his lips makes me think he knows exactly where I’m looking and exactly what I’m thinking.

“Yeah. Yup.” I grip the blankets tight as he flips off the overhead, rounds the bed, and slides into place next to me.

I invested a decent amount of money in my mattress, so it barely shifts under his weight as he gets comfortable. I almost bought the next size up—because I’m the freaking king of this castle—but I’m so glad I didn’t. Because the limited amount of space means there’s not much room between us.

Wiggling my way down until my head hits the pillow, I roll to face Simon. “Comfortable?”

“I am.” His eyes come my way. “You?”

I nod, head shifting against the soft cotton beneath my cheek. Rubbing my lips together, I resist the urge to shift closer. “Thank you for staying here with me. I probably would have a hard time sleeping otherwise.”

Simon’s full focus comes to my face, his expression calm but deadly serious. “I won’t let anyone else hurt you, My.” His gaze dips to my mouth before coming back to meet mine. “No one.”

Even though I got off less than an hour ago, all the nerve endings in my body light up, firing direct shots to my clit at the deep, rough sound of his voice. At the honesty in his words.

Simon has always protected me. It was literally the first thing he ever did. It’s what started my whole infatuation with him. He was the first man who genuinely wanted to keep me safe. Put his own life on the line to protect me and asked nothing in return.

If that doesn’t make a girl want to drop her panties, I don’t know what would.

He reaches for me, the rough fingers of one hand moving my hair out of my face. “Close your eyes and go to sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

I nod, and as I’m becoming in the habit of doing, I follow his directions. Let my lids slide closed even though I’m positive it’s going to be difficult for me to...

I jolt awake, eyes flying open. The room is still dark around me, and it takes me a few seconds to orient myself. Not with where I am, but with what’s going on.

And who’s right next to me.

“Shh.” Simon’s voice is soft, but his whole body is strung tight and alert. “Stay put.”

I nod, swallowing hard when Simon slides out of bed, his steps silent as he leaves the room. Pulling the blankets higher, I burrow into them. They won’t protect me from much of anything, but the added coverage makes me feel better.

So does the scent of Simon clinging to the cotton. I breathe deep, nerves biting at my insides as I strain to hear any sign of what’s going on. Of what it was that woke us both up.

I’m listening so closely that when a deep grunt echoes up the stairs, I yelp, scrambling up the mattress.

That sounded like Simon.

“Shit,” I whisper as I fly out of bed, panic sending my eyes bouncing around my room in search of something I can use as a weapon. Nothing jumps out at me. All I see is pillows and a clock and a stack of romance novels. Nothing capable of causing damage to whoever might be down there.

I start freaking out as another muffled, masculine sound of impact reaches my ears. Every second that passes is one more second Simon might be hurt downstairs, and the fear that he might need me sends adrenaline dumping into my veins.

And reminds me of a scene in John Wick where the bad guy talks about John killing a dude with a pencil. I don’t have any pencils, but that’s not important. The lesson from that scene isn’t that I need a pencil. It’s that anything can be a weapon if you’re motivated enough.

My frantic gaze settles on my nightstand.

Bingo.

I drag the drawer of it free and dump the contents onto my comforter. Once it’s empty, I grip it by the handle, letting the weight of the solid wood dangle by my side, and stalk out into the hall.

Over the course of my childhood and marriage, I wished there was someone to come save me more times than I can count. Facing a threat alone is terrifying and isolating and traumatizing.

I’ll be damned if I let Simon feel that way.

I quickly creep down the stairs, avoiding all the creaky spots with my bare feet, the sound of a struggle getting louder with each step I take.

Moving faster, I close in on the shadowy forms fighting in my kitchen.

Hoping to take the intruder by surprise, I raise one hand to the light switch, adjusting my grip on the drawer handle before flipping it on.

Simon stumbles back, his eyes widening on the asshole in front of him. “What the fu?—”

I don’t give the guy who broke into my house the chance to acclimate to the change in brightness before I swing the heavy weight of the wood drawer, aiming it right for the side of his head. He’s got his back to me, so I’m pretty sure he won’t see it coming.

But Simon does. In a surprising move, he lunges forward, catching the drawer before it can take out the dark-haired man I’m fully intending to concuss.

Simon’s hand wraps around one side, the sudden stop of my momentum jolting all the way up my arm and making me yelp. “Hey.” I try to yank it from him, already planning a second attack.

It won’t be a sneak attack though, because the other man turns to me, gaze narrowing on where I stand.

I blink, thinking my own eyes are struggling with the brightness, because he almost looks like…

“Butch?” I let go of the drawer. “Why in the hell are you breaking into my house?”

I’ve only seen the guy a handful of times. He’s a lot like Simon in that he only comes around every few months, then makes himself scarce in a hurry. But now that I’m thinking about it, it’s been more than a few months since I’ve seen him. Way more than a few months.

And now he’s breaking into my house.

It’s kinda weird. Maybe even a little suspicious.

Simon must be thinking the same thing, because his eyes narrow on the man he considers his brother, as he asks, “Where the fuck have you been?”

Butch—who up until this point has looked formidable as fuck—slumps, his shoulders dropping. “It’s a long fucking story.” He closes his eyes, scrubbing one hand over his face. “And you aren’t gonna like it.”