Page 9 of Fletch’s Protection

It’s got art. Motorcycles of course. But they are framed nicely. There’s a thick rug and two big comfortable chairs. There’s a nice solid-wood dining table and four chairs. The thought of Cassie doing homework there makes me choke up even more.

“There are two bedrooms plus a large bathroom,” he says. “There’s a loft that could be a study.”

“It’s perfect,” I whisper, trying to get my racing heart under control. “This is such a huge step up from where we are living.”

He’s very still by the door, watching. His breathing is steady when mine is choppy and shallow. When I turn and face him, I do the most natural thing I’ve ever felt. I rush toward him with both arms lifted to hug him.

Fletch opens his arms and surrounds me. Literally wraps me up in all of his strength.

God. He’s warm and strong. I naturally melt into him. Soft curves fitting against his hard chest and abs. We fit like puzzle pieces in a strange way.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps against my hair. “You okay?”

“Overwhelmed. No one has ever done anything so nice as this for me. We’ve… had it really hard. This seems too good to be real.”

He strokes my hair with his oversized hand and he’s silent for a long moment.

I don’t know when it happens, but something shifts between us. His fingers thread into my hair, knocking the band loose and he tilts my face up.

“You feel so fucking good in my arms.” His voice is husky as darkness takes over his eyes. But I’m not scared. I’m a moth to a flame.

My tongue skates across my lips. “You feel really good too,” I whisper, my own words husky. “I feel so alive, like I’m waking up after I’ve been asleep my whole life.”

His nostrils flare and his hand tightens in my hair. For a few seconds, the tension builds. Then I let my fingers thread into the hair at his nape. It’s soft and clean. The intimacy makes my whole body feel warm and fizzy.

Fletch dips down so our lips are almost touching. In a rasp, he asks, “Yes or no, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please,” I whisper back.

Fletch drops his mouth over mine. Exactly like I knew he would. Decisive. In charge.

His other hand moves to my back, the broad palm firm against me as he lifts me higher and holds me tight to his body.

With a growl in his throat, the gigantic biker deepens the kiss. His lips move against me with a rough, hungry pressure. When his tongue slides inside, he strokes against mine, retreats, then curls around it to draw me into following his lead.

When I’m breathless, Fletch pulls my bottom lip between his, sucking gently before covering my mouth again.

I lose all sense of time, and my breath.

“Fuck, little thing, you got me running hot,” Fletch growls against my lips.

We’re breathing heavily. Between us his cock is a tree-limb running down the left leg of his jeans.

All the little nicknames he uses unravels a cold part of my mind and lets sunshine in.

“Me too. I’m on fire,” I say breathless, as I launch myself at him for the second time today. It’s not delicate, or pretty. I’m breathing like I’m running. Our teeth bump, our tongues glide and twist until heat is racing all over my body.

Fletch hooks a hand around my thigh and lifts me off the ground. “Legs around me.”

When the part of me that’s aching and hot lands against him, we both groan.

“I didn’t bring you here to fuck you.” His husky, filthy words are against my ear. “But that’s all I can think about. I’ve never wanted something as much as I want you.”

5

Fletch

Where are the fucking brakes?