And when she was finished, when she took a deep breath in, she waited for him to kick her out.
But he gave her hand another light squeeze, leaned back in the chair, and crossed his big arms over his chest. “If that motherfucker is alive, Hannah, if he comes after you… finds you here,” he said and shook his head slowly, this dark, dangerous look crossing his face, “I can guarantee you he'll regret it.” He leaned forward, his forearms now on the table as he stared into her eyes. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. They don’t know what I’m capable of, but I think it’s best if you know the lengths I’d go to keep someone close to me safe.”
10
God, he wanted her. So much. More than he ever wanted anything else in this fucking world.
He went into his bedroom and grabbed a change of clothes before heading back out and into the bathroom. He watched her as she sat in front of the fire, a book she found on the shelf, something about an underwater adventure. He didn't know half the little knickknacks that were around the cabin. They were things other members had brought up over the years. But she seemed engrossed in the story, and that made him smile.
“I’m going to rinse off,” he said gruffly from the opening of the hallway. She glanced up and gave him a smile, and he felt his heart kick up in his chest. She nodded slowly, and he forced himself to turn and leave her sitting there when it was the last thing he wanted to do.
After he told her all about himself when they sat at the table this morning, he expected her to want to leave right away. He told her shit he hadn’t told anyone outside his circle. He wanted her to know how dangerous he was—not to frighten her, but to reassure her that he could protect her.
Robberies.
Killings.
Any and all illegal shit he’d done in his lifetime to survive.
It was who Scars was.
He told her about the MC, how the Vicious Bastards were dangerous, violent, and he’d mirrored his club after himself.
And the whole time, she sat there and listened, no judgement on her face. And when he was done, expecting to see fear coming from her, she’d been the one to reach out and hold his hand in her tiny one. And right then and there, he felt something strong and fierce shift in his body. His heart started beating for the first time.
It was painful. It made him feel alive when he hadn't known he’d been dead.
He headed into the bathroom and shut the door needing a fucking shower to try to get rid of the arousal he felt, or at the very least tame the hell out of this bastard.
But he knew it wouldn’t work. Him jerking off to the thought of her would no doubt make things worse, make him need her even more. His damn body knew it wasn’t the real thing and wouldn’t be fucking tricked into being sated.
He cranked the shower on, shucked off his clothes, and stepped inside the stall. First, he had the water frigid, but when that didn’t help, he cranked the heat up. Steam from the scalding water filled the room, and he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
The sting of the water felt like needles on his flesh, but he welcomed the discomfort. His dick was hard as steel, and he felt like a filthy asshole because of it, because of the images bouncing around in his head where Hannah was concerned. She was scared, had been hurt, not just from the accident, but from the person she ran from, yet he couldn’t stop thinking of her.
He couldn't stop wanting her.
His eyes were still closed as he pictured her. Although he wanted her sexually, so fiercely that it was painful, his dick perpetually hard, his balls drawn up, his blood racing through his veins, it was more than that. He wanted her, because she had this light to her, this brightness that moved across all the dark parts of his soul. Scars couldn’t even describe the feelings he had, the sensations moving inside him. Never had he felt something so… powerful.
So real.
Because he was a desperate fucker, he grabbed his cock, the length pulsing in his hand, the need to get off driving him to drag his palm up and down as he pictured Hannah. Her eyes, the color of whiskey, her hair as dark as the night… as his soul. Her lashes were long, crescents across her alabaster cheeks as she slept. She drew him in deeper with just a look.
Hannah was so small, fragile in comparison to him. He felt like he’d break her if he wasn’t gentle, snap her in half far too easily.
Scars tightened his palm around his cock as pleasure and pain slammed into him. He jerked off harder, faster, his bicep flexing with the force and strain. He slapped his other hand on the tile of the shower wall as ecstasy stole his breath, as the image of Hannah filled his head.
Pins and needles started in the root of his cock and traveled up his spine. Eyes closed, he pictured Hannah naked and needing him. He imagined her on his bed, his scent surrounding her, her delicate ankles in his hands as he pushed her legs back until they touched her chest. She would be open for him, every part of her spread and on display for his viewing pleasure.
And when he came, it was to the image of sliding his cock into her tiny pussy. He’d fill her up, make her take every single inch of him, every drop of his seed.
And she’d ask for more.
Despite his orgasm, he was still hard, still aching. He cut the water off, feeling grouchy and frustrated from his urges. He snagged a towel and dried off, running it over his hair, down his chest. He changed into his clothes then stood there a second just trying to catch his breath. She wasn’t even in the same room with him at the moment, but he felt her.
Fuck, did he feel every single part of her like she was already his.
11
A week later
The sound of pots banging roused Hannah, and she opened her eyes. The sun streamed through the window, and she closed her eyes again, stretching, letting her arms and legs move outward, as she smelled… Scars.
He insisted she stay in his bed, and for a week since she’d been here, that’s exactly what she’d done, even though she tried to tell him no. But with his deep growl and sharp shake of his head—a wordless command she listened to—she had not only accepted his offer, but actually liked that he was so damn protective and insistent on her comfort.
And over the last week, she’d felt things that confused her, emotions and feelings, sensations when he was near.
She wanted him in a way she’d never wanted another man, in a way that made her body react when he was near, wet in places that were intimate and exciting. And the way he watched her, tracked her around the cabin with his eyes, made her feel like maybe he felt this attraction and intensity too.
She got out of bed, made it, and got dressed. She’d already done a wash of the clothes she had, and as she brought the shirt she was about to put on up to her nose, inhaling it deeply, she couldn't stop herself from closing her eyes. It smelled like him, like the soap and detergent Scars used. It was just missing that woodsy, spicy male aroma that clung to him.
Once she was dressed, she headed to the bathroom to do the morning routine then left the room and headed into the kitchen. The smell of bacon was strong, and her belly rumbled so loudly she felt her eyes widen and her cheeks heat. Scars had his back to her, the sound of bacon frying, the grease crackling, not loud enough to drown out the beating of her heart as his image filled her eyes. Scars stood by the stove, and she had to thank whoever had created him, because he was the perfect male specimen.