Page 21

He nods. His eyes hooded but I can feel the heat of them searing across my skin.

His fingers slide across my chin and loop around the back of my neck, drawing me impossibly close.

“Surrender and let me save you, Dove.” The low tone cadence of his words draw me in, pulling me deeper into a hypnotic state and I feel my self-control and pride slip.

“Give in and stop fighting. Let go of that pride and just be mine.”

His words hang in the air like a tempting siren song, wrapping around me like a net and pulling me down into the depths. I can feel the walls I’ve put up start to crumble under the weight of his intensity and I don’t think I can rebuild them again.

I’m tired of being anxious, tired of always looking over my shoulder, scared that he might decide to rat me out to the police at any time and thoroughly fuck me. Oddly, this offer presents a measure of safety that is appealing and soothing to my frazzled nerves.

After all, he is Thatcher Van Doren. If he says he can protect me, then I’m assuming it means he would.

“What if I become yours and you still rat me out to the cops?” I ask. It’s still a possibility.

He smirks as his fingers stroke my nape. “I never betray what is mine. You’ll always be safe with me, Dove.”

His words are a promise, each one slipping past my defenses. The turmoil inside me surges, the instinct to protect myself battling against the strange allure of his vow.

I search his eyes, looking for any sign of deception, but the glint in his gaze is steady and unwavering.

The part of me that’s always guarded, always afraid of being hurt, warns me to turn away.

But here he is, offering me an escape, a reprieve from the chaos and fear that have followed me for the past week or so.

“And if I change my mind?” I ask. I don’t know if I’m asking for his answer or just to hear my own doubts voiced out loud.

Thatcher’s hand remains firm on my neck, grounding me as his thumb grazes my jaw. “It will be too late.” His eyes soften, but there’s no wavering in his resolve. “By then, you won’t want to leave. Because you’ll know that with me, you will never be scared again.”

There’s a finality in his tone, an assurance that lures me closer to that edge I’ve tried so hard to stay away from. The fear, the attraction, the helpless draw—it all merges into a single pulse, a rhythm that beats in time with the heat of his touch.

I know I’ve lost the fight already.

There’s no turning back once I admit defeat.

I swallow, the words I have fought for so long slip past my lips, changing the trajectory of my life forever. “I’ll do it.” A shiver crawls up my spine. “I’ll be yours.”

A beat of silence passes, the moment anticlimactic as he just holds my gaze until the atmosphere becomes heavy, the tension multiplying.

He leans in, his hand still cradling my neck as his eyes darken. “Then let’s seal it with a kiss and make it official,” he murmurs, his voice a tantalizing dare that sends butterflies rummaging through my entire south region.

I hesitate, but there’s something magnetic in his gaze, drawing me in, daring me to cross that final boundary.

I see his eyes dart to my lips, the heat in them almost searing, before they return to my eyes. “Good things always start with a kiss, Dove.”

A kiss…

It’s just a kiss.

Slowly, I take a step closer, rooting myself firmly in his orbit before closing the gap between our bodies, my lips meeting his.

I intended for it to be short, a firm press of lips but it quickly ignites into something far more intense.

The heat…the heat that has always been between us flares, and it consume me wholly and thoroughly.

I feel his arm slide across my waist, yanking me closer to him, meshing my body against him until I feel his hardening cock against my belly. The solid weight and heat of his arousal makes me gasp against his lips.

He has me right where he wants me.

His tongue sinks into my mouth, and I almost collapsed from the primal need it ignites in me.

He consumes me with his lips moving over mine with a hunger that unravels me, making it impossible to pull back.

I’m wrapped in the heady heat of his kiss, his arm securing me against him as though he’s staking his claim, branding me with his touch.

The solid press of his body against mine is undeniable, and with every movement, I feel him assert his control, each moment blurring the line between us.

I feel his hand still wrapped around the nape of my neck start to slip downward, across my collarbone, between my breasts, his fleeting touches sending currents through my entire body.

His hand skips over my hip and settles between my thighs.

I jerk at the sudden invasion, dragging my lips from his and squirming in his hold.

“Thatcher.” My protest is weak. I feel weak and loose, pliant and submissive.

“Don’t fight it, Dove.” The command in his words set something off in me and I find my resistance weakening as I inhale.

His lips descend on mine again, his fingers curving to stroke my center through my jeans.

I whimper as heat begins to pool between my legs, my underwear growing embarrassingly wet.

Sparks fly across my skin as he draws light, teasing circles around and around with maddening slowness, exploring, searching.

His tongue slips into my mouth again, thrusting in tandem with the movement of his fingers.

He’s fucking me with his mouth.

His fingers still and I feel a jolt pass through me when I realize he has found what he’s been searching for.

I gasp into his mouth when he traces a smaller, more forceful circle around my clit, the pleasure pinging through my every cell. I want to protest, to stop him, to leave but I just can’t bring myself to say a word.

It feels too good.

He continues circling my clit, the pressure of his fingers alternating between light and teasing and firm. The spontaneity of it all takes my breath away.

His lips trace over my skin, my jaw, my neck, leaving little electric bites in their wake. I shudder as my thighs stiffen, my pussy spasming.

“Thatcher,” I moan, despite myself.

I hear him chuckle right beside my ear, the deep indulgent sound sending tingles straight to my clit. “You wanted to know what it means to be mine? This is what it means, Dove.”

He nips at my earlobe, his fingers circling more quickly, more forcefully. I want to shut my legs, to squirm away from the exhilarating bliss I feel building in my lower belly, but he holds me captive against him.

“I’ll keep your secret safe and your pussy satisfied.”

I am almost a goner, so much pleasure fills me, consumes me, overwhelms me, and I can’t stop it from happening. Even if I wanted to.

The edge is approaching.

Pleasure courses through me, building in waves that make it impossible to pull away, even though I know I should. I’m seconds away from being completely consumed, when suddenly, reality claws its way back. The muffled sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway, followed by a firm knock on the door.

“Hey, Thatcher, it’s time for practice!”

I freeze, every muscle going rigid as the heat between us evaporates in an instant. What the hell am I doing?

My instincts scream at me to pull back, but it’s too late. The doorknob twists, and the door swings open, revealing Ezra standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock. His gaze bounces between Thatcher and me, his expression a mixture of disbelief and something else—smugness maybe?

For a heartbeat, none of us move. The silence is thick with the weight of everything that’s just happened. I feel a wave of mortification crash over me, and I wrench myself out of Thatcher’s hold, trying to straighten myself, to act as if what just happened didn’t.

“You’re interrupting,” Thatcher finally speaks, his voice harsh and biting.

“Sorry,” Ezra smirks, raising a brow at me. “Didn’t realize you were getting your rocks off.”

Heat fills my cheeks, and I clear my throat. This is too embarrassing.

“I’m l-leaving.”

The last thing I want is to face the consequences of what just happened, what I just agreed to, especially not with Ezra standing there, smirking like he’s just walked into a dream.

I push past him, my heart racing, feeling the weight of their stares on my back. I make my way down the hall, each step feeling heavier than the last as my mind races with confusion and embarrassment.

Behind me, I hear Thatcher call out in a teasing voice, I can almost picture the grin on his face as he speaks, “See you tomorrow, Dove.”

Tomorrow comes all too soon.

The Grande coffee is doing nothing to wake me up.

After spending a sleepless night plagued by the chaotic replay of yesterday’s events, I hoped a cup of caffeine would help me feel even slightly more alive.

But each sip only seems to fuel the tension twisting in my stomach, doing little to shake off the bone-deep exhaustion.

Well, the exhaustion is my fault. In part contributed from my lack of sleep and partially from…

After getting back from the frat house, without saying a word to Cassidy who was waiting for an explanation for where I had been and why I wasn’t in class, I marched into my bedroom, locked the door, stripped down to my underwear and laid on my bed.

My body burned, my underwear was soaked, and I needed to come so bad I wanted to scream. I had no idea how I managed the walk over to the apartment without spontaneously combusting from need right on the sidewalk.

I hadn’t touched myself in so long. Sex became an afterthought ever since Wesley and I broke up, intimacy had fallen off my list of priorities with everything else on my plate.

But now, after Thatcher—after his words, his hands, the way he’d kissed me with such consuming force—I couldn’t stop the desire from flooding back.