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“Do you not watch Saturday Night Laughs?” she asks, her voice curious.
“No,” I say to her question.
“Well what kind of TV do you watch?” she asks, pressing on.
“Usually, I read,” I respond tersely.
“Christ, you really aren’t one for words, are you?” She sighs, and I notice a note of frustration in her voice. I stop walking then and turn to her, once again forcing my lips to curl into a smile.
“I don’t like to talk, I prefer to do,” I say, and she flushes again, her slightly parted lips almost like an invitation. I fight against the urge to just take her into my arms and crush my mouth against hers, and so I just start walking down the street again, the steady click of her high-heels following after me.
I notice a few people turning their heads toward us - or, if I’m to be more precise, toward Stacy - and I scan the street sharply, assessing everyone and everything. This is what I do: I protect. It’s carved deep in my body and mind, etched in my DNA. Ever since these long days and nights on arid and foreign wastelands, a potential threat lurking behind every corner, I’ve learned to never let my guard down. A one second distraction and that could be the end of you. You just never know, so that’s why I’m always ready.
Always.
“Are you sure you can walk?” I ask Stacy, noticing that she’s walking more slowly now, a barely noticeable limp taking over her movements.
“Yes, I can walk,” she breathes out, but she laces her arm on mine all the same, supporting herself. I purse my lips as I feel the touch of her warm skin on my forearm, her closeness poking at the dormant beast inside of me. “We’re close now, anyway,” she continues, huddling close to me, almost as if she needs to feel my body pressed against hers.
“So, since you don’t like to talk that much, what do you like to do then?” She asks me, and I know that, somewhere in her question, there’s a trap set up for me.
“Rescue defenseless singers?” I say, turning to her with another forced smile.
“Is that your line? It’s a rather weak one,” she replies, smiling back at me. I let my eyes wander to her full lips, their crimson color almost too hypnotizing.
“I don’t have any lines. I don’t need any lines,” I whisper, this time a shadow of a smile on my lips. I just stare into her eyes, feeling my heart turn into a high powered machine gun inside my chest.
She stops right in front of the door to her apartment building, looking back at me in complete silence, and I feel the atmosphere around us crackle with electricity. There’s something about her that shuts down my brain… I feel my cock starting to twitch inside my jeans, and that’s when I decide it’s time for me to leave.
I slide my arm out from hers, and I’m about to turn on my heels to leave when her voice reaches me, her words like the perfect trap.
“Wanna come upstairs?”
She’s dangerous, no doubt about it.
And I love dangerous.
34
Stacy
I take one deep breath, trying to hush that incessant whisper inside my head. Don’t do it, that insidious voice goes, you barely know him!
But he’s so fucking hoooooot, another voice starts, and I let a slight smile creep up on my lips. I’m not too big on cursing, but fucking hot pretty much describes him. And, hell, the way he’s looking at me right now is enough for my thong to melt. Whatever. At least he won’t be sniffing at it then.
“Wanna come upstairs?” I find myself saying, the words slipping
out from between my lips before I can stop them. He just looks at me with a blank expression, and I feel embarrassment taking over me. Oh, crap, I must look like a fool right now. “To, uh, make sure I’m safe, I mean,” I add, trying to save some face.
His lips curl upward with a slowness that I never even thought to be possible, and a barely noticeable smile shows up on his face. He really has a problem with smiling, that much is for sure. Serious and sullen, that’s Sanders. But, then again, what else would I expect from a combat-hardened ex-SEAL?
“Alright,” he nods, opening the door to my apartment building and stepping to the side, waiting for me to go in first - like a true gentleman. We step inside the elevator and, by the time the doors close in on us, I realize that I’m breathing hard, my thong damp once more. Seriously, what’s up with him? There’s something out of the ordinary about him… I mean, all it takes is for me to stand a few inches away from him and I start to become a puddle.
Because he’s hooooot, that manic voice inside of me laughs once more, and I bite down on my lower lip as I look at him. The fabric of his dark shirt is stretched thin over the bulging muscles on his arms and shoulders, and I can’t even start to imagine the layer of rock hard abs he probably has covering his stomach.
Before I know it, my eyes have wandered down to his jeans, and I can’t stop myself from imagining exactly what he’s hiding in there. Oh, God, I can’t believe I’m acting like a horny teenager! What the hell’s wrong with me?
“Here we are,” he says politely as the elevator’s door open. We get out at the same time and, after fishing my keys from inside my purse, I walk toward the door to my apartment, slide the key into its lock and turn it. He pushes the door open for me, his fingers brushing against mine, and my heart becomes so tight inside my chest that I feel lightheaded.
