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Chapter 7
What? What did she just say?
Holy shit.
I’m unable to move, hardly can breathe, as I watch this stunning woman fall into a slobbery pit of devastation. Even with pinched brows, red, tear-stained cheeks, and a sour puss expression, she’s gorgeous. Her button nose is leaking sticky mucus all over her lush lips, but I still find myself craving a taste of her.
Just one damn taste.
Yeah right, pal. You know one taste will never be enough.
And it won’t.
I rub my hand across my jaw as I process her words. My pork whistle is at full mast and ignoring the fucker to focus on Story is like crawling through thick puss. But then she whimpers. The sound is like reverse Viagra mixed with a shot of epinephrine. Suddenly, I’m moving, wrapping her in my arms.
I expect her to protest or shove me away, but that’s not what my baby bed bug does.
No. My girl curls into me and tucks her dripping, warm face into my throat. Her hands tangle in my shirt, causing the fitted neckline to tear. I don’t give a shit. In fact, I practically purr at the feeling of her nestled against me like this. It’s heady as hell.
I’ve never been the man women flock to. Never been the strongest or most attractive guy in a room. In my twenty years on this planet, I’ve existed as nothing more than Fred Bates, son of the world-famous Gill Bates: Zillionaire, Pet Psychic, Fraud.
I’ve been invisible in crowds. Ignored in private. Degraded, abused, hated. I’ve been the child of the rich and famous, and I’ve hated every damn second of it.
People think being the only child of someone like Gill should be amazing, and while it definitely has its perks, it’s not the life I’d have chosen for myself. It’s not the life I want for my family, my children.
Fuck no.
Well, good thing you killed him then, my brain murmurs and I smirk in satisfaction.
My babies will never have to be around my father and his dark, twisted ways—his games. My wife will never have to be subjected to his disgusting leer or trickster tongue.
Story shifts in my arms, and just like that, I’m yanked unceremoniously from my past. From the ugly, festering sinkhole that lives in my chest. I blink rapidly, locking eyes with her, and suddenly, the protective instincts I’ve felt my entire life find a new beacon.
It’s her. She’s the one. The partner I’ve dreamt of. The lover I’ve longed for—saved myself for.
My wife. The mother of my children.
My bed bug.
She whimpers.
And she’s hurting.
Fuck. I’m fucking this up already.
Get it together, Fred. You have a family to provide for now. Be a man and step up!
“Right. We’re leaving,” I murmur, shifting her so she’s more secure in my arms. It takes some intense effort, but I’m able to swing her body around so she’s perched on my hip like a toddler, the sheet tucked between us to give her extra protection.
Story sucks in a sharp breath, digging her nails into my shoulders as her legs tighten around my waist. “Where are we going?”
“Home.” I move through the house like a man on a mission, ignoring the few lingering firefighters cleaning up their equipment. “Did you drive here?”
“Y-yes.” Her teeth chatter and I pick up my pace, searching for a stray purse. “H-home?”
“Yes, home.” I pat her head. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. Just rest, bed bug.”
She immediately settles into me, and it feels like the heavens have opened up and answered all my prayers.
