Protect: Protect Book 4

by Ryann, Olivia

  It’s bigger than a bungalow, but I feel like the designer of this house wanted to create that sort of emotion.

  Intimacy, I guess you could say.

  We come around the corner and there it is. The driver pulls up to the house. Dryas and Damen spring out of the car, dashing to the back. I suck in a breath and pull the door closest to me shut.

  I don’t want Father Derrik to see me. I’m not ready for that yet.

  There is a scuffle near the trunk, but I don’t see most of it. Waiting and trying to breathe evenly, I wait until Damen drags Father Derrik off, taking him around the side of the house.

  My car door opens. Dryas pokes his head in and holds out his hand for me to take. “I know you are ready to get out of the car.”

  He’s right. Taking his hand, I climb out of the car and squint at the house. Dryas puts his arm around me, and we walk to the house’s wooden front door together.

  Stepping inside, I see that the house is as different from the outside as it can be. Warm honey-colored wood is everywhere, from the ceiling beams to the walls, to the furniture and the floors. The house seems to be alive, with vined plants hanging from the ceiling and delicate flowers blooming in their planters.

  My breath rushes out. It is different than the castle, but it is quite perfect.

  “Come,” Dryas says, tugging me past the main room and the kitchen. His hands push me into a hallway, then into a large bedroom.

  I’m taken aback at first by the size of the full wall of windows, gazing out into the dark wildness. It seems so open, so exposed.

  Then I flush, feeling silly. It’s not like there are people out there, waiting to see me naked. Besides, after the auction, I am just glad to be somewhere this comforting.

  And this house is. I step further inside, looking around. A large four-poster bed is on one side, a gently crackling fire in a fireplace on the other. Dryas moves toward a door on the other side of the room, peeking inside.

  He opens the door, nodding his head to the bathroom inside. “This is perfect.”

  I raise a brow. “Oh?”

  Dryas just holds out his hand to me. I go to him, marveling just for a second at how warm and steady his hands are. Stepping into the bathroom, I see it is intimate too. A clawfoot bathtub, a pedal sink, a toilet. There is a little cabinet with towels and soap.

  I breathe in deeply, smelling cedar and just a little lemon. Dryas moves around me, turning on the taps. Steaming hot water shoots out, beginning to fill the tub. He turns to me.

  “I think it is time that you took off the suit jacket,” he says. His words are not a harsh command, but they are laced with longing.

  I look at him for a moment. He busies himself putting something that smells like vanilla and honey in my bath. I can see his hands shaking just a bit. He’s forcing himself to behave, to play nicely.

  But I don’t want that from him. I just want Dryas to be himself, to stop treating me as if I am a fragile thing.

  Unbuttoning the jacket, I let it slide to the ground. I hear the hitch in his breath when he turns his gaze to me. He drinks me in, his gaze traveling from my head to my feet and then back again.

  He looks at me, at the bruises all over my body. His fists clench. I can see that it hurts him to look at me.

  But I don’t want pity or anger from him, not tonight. I need more than that from him.

  I shiver as we lock eyes. So much emotion is there, between us. Sorrow and regret, yes. But also hunger and pain and a distinct note of longing, too. Wetting my lips with my tongue, words come tumbling out of my mouth, unheeded.

  “Take me, Dryas. I was yours once. Make me yours again. Make me feel that way again.”

  His eyes darken. I barely finished speaking when he grabs me by the hip and grinds me against the hardened wall of his body. His free hand tips my chin back, his lips scorching a path down my throat. When he snarls his hand in my hair, pulling my head back with a sharp jerk, I start to feel alive.

  He sucks at the pulse point at my neck, already groaning. “God, you taste so fucking amazing. Do you know that? You always taste like salted honey.”

  I clasp my hands around his neck and climb him like a tree, hugging his torso with my thighs. He carries me backward, stopping to press my back against the doorway. One of my hands grips his short hair at the nape.

  I arch my back, pressing my hips into him. Needing more, hungry for him. He presses into my hips, his mouth working its way down to one of my breasts. He sucks my nipple into his hot mouth, laving it with his wicked tongue.

  Crying out and arching my back, I fumble for Dryas’s zipper. He pulls back just a hair, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  “Uh, uh, uh. Not yet,” he admonishes me. “Just wait. Be a good girl, and you will be rewarded.”

  Breathless, I stare at him for several beats. He grins, enjoying my shock. Then he hefts me up, turns around, and marches me toward the bed.

  8

  Rue

  Dryas carries me to the bed, falling on top of me. We come down in a tangle of want. My hands are all over him; his hands explore my lower back and my ass. I kiss him like there is nothing else in the whole universe, just the two of us orbiting each other.

  He growls into my mouth as he kisses me. I feel the same hunger as I see blazing in his eyes. It burns like a white-hot fire between us, threatening to consume us both.

  Let it burn, I say. Let it combust, the flames flickering higher and higher until we are both left as a pile of ashen cinders.

  Dryas grips both of my hands, pressing them above my head. I make a soft sound and arch my back, my lust for him a primal thing. He shifts to the side, smoothing a hand down my flank. I shiver, needing to get closer to him.

  Always closer.

  He turns me onto my side, gliding that big hand up to cup my breast and then down to my ass again. I can feel myself getting wet from just this, his touch and his mouth pressed to mine. He squeezes my hip and it’s all I can do not to spread my legs wide and drag his hand down there.

  He breaks the kiss, looking me in the eyes. “Slow down. You are so eager to finish the race when there is an amazing journey yet to be had.”

  He palms my breast again and shapes my pouty nipple with his thumb and forefinger. It pebbles with his touch, sending a ripple of pleasure skittering down my lower spine. When he brings his mouth down onto it, circling my areola with his hot tongue, I arch up into him. My fingers dig into his hair.

  “More!” I beg. “Please Dryas…”

  I feel him chuckle against my sensitive skin. He scrapes his teeth across my nipple and then releases me. Dryas kisses his way back up the column of my throat.

  I writhe against him.

  “So impatient,” he scolds. “If you want it so damn bad, prove it.”

  He shifts onto his back, folding his arms behind his head and looking smug. Like a flash, I get on top of him, my fingers pulling at the buttons of his shirt. While I work, I close my lips over the delicate shell of his ear, licking and sucking. I love it when he does it to me, but I’m not quite prepared for his reaction.

  He goes still, one of his hands coming up onto my back. His eyes close and he suddenly seems to be having a hard time breathing. When I dart my tongue out into his ear, he moans, the low sound of it sending a shiver down my spine.

  I spread his shirt wide, my hands touching miles of his bare, bronzed skin. Moving lower, I suck at the pulse point in his neck. That always gets me going, and it seems that he’s not immune to it either.

  Then I press my hips to his. His pants are the only thing separating our bodies, just one single layer of fabric. I can feel his cock growing firm between our bodies, long and thick and hot as fire. Writhing against him, I let my breasts jut out and my body arch.

  He groans and presses his cock against my lower belly. I grind against it. It feels primal, this display of myself I am doing. But Dryas seems to be right there with me, matching my pace. His other hand comes down and he grips my hips, pushing the leng
th of his cock against me.

  Then I lean up, depriving him of my body and grabbing his neck. Pushing his face to the side, I put the tip of my tongue in his ear again. He goes still again, but I can tell by his crushing grip on my hips that it’s a good thing.

  “Fuck,” he whispers, sounding a little broken.

  When I pull back my tongue and release his face, his mouth seeks mine. He kisses me savagely, then moves my whole body to the side. Dryas raises himself for long enough to rip his shirt and pants off.

  I sit there, breathing hard and watching him reveal his magnificent body. His arms and abs are as if chiseled from stone; his back is a work of art, enough to make a person break down in tears. But there is no time for misty eyes just now.

  Not now, with Dryas roughly pulling me underneath his body. He grabs a pillow and shoves it under my hips, pushing my knees apart. He pauses with his hand wrapped around his cock, the intensity in his yellow-green eyes almost scary.

  “What?” I ask, my cheeks coloring.

  He is all seriousness. “I do not want to hurt you, little bird. But I want to take you so bad, be so rough—”

  Without a moment of hesitation, I reach up for him, my hands seeking, my gaze imploring. “Take me. Destroy me, Dryas.”

  His eyes darken, his gaze going hard. He fits his cock to my dripping wet entrance, breathing hard as he thrusts in slowly. My eyes roll up in my head for a second at the feeling of being stretched out, making room for him when there isn’t any.

  He doesn’t let up, though. The second he thrusts all the way in, he withdraws and pushes in again. Slow but deep, he steadies himself as he looks into my eyes. Whatever he sees there is apparently encouraging because his hips start moving faster and faster. He never loses the intensity or the brutality as he begins to hammer his hips against mine.

  I meet him thrust for thrust, liking the tiny bit of pain that comes with the enormous amount of pleasure he’s giving me. He pushes me back, tilting my pelvis a little more up. With his next thrust, he hits a spot on the wall inside me. I feel everything so much more, suddenly. He hits it again and again, making my fingers curl in the bedsheets, forcing my mouth open. Sounds come out, little guttural noises, but I am barely aware of them.

  I start clenching in time with Dryas’s thrusts. He grits his teeth.

  “Fuck, karthoula mou. Do you know how good that feels?”

  No, I don’t, but mostly I am just so absorbed in my own senses… I can feel the tension now, the strings inside me drawing tighter and tighter.

  He tosses his head back, palming one of my breasts. He rolls the nipple between his fingers, tweaking it hard. I spasm, my eyes starting to shut.

  I’m so close…

  “Look at me!” he demands. When I open my eyes, he tweaks my nipple again. “You want to come?”

  I simply nod, not trusting myself with more than that. It isn’t good enough for Dryas, though. He looks so intense right now, his tanned face going a little red with exertion.

  “Tell me who you belong to,” he grunts, his hips hammering me in short, deep strokes. “Beg me to let you come.”

  I’m only too ready. “Please, Dryas. Please! I belong to you. Only you.”

  Whatever control he has, he lets go of it. He fills me with quick, brutal strokes, reaching up and pinching my nipple once more. That little bit of pain drives me over the edge. I feel my inner thighs quaking a second before the orgasm rushes over me, a tidal wave of sensation overtaking me. That quickly, I am pulled down to the murky depths, drowning happily in him.

  Dryas is right on my heels, roughly pulsing his come inside my body, filling me to the brim with heat and salt. His head bows and I swear I can see tears shining in his eyes. I don’t say a word, I just clutch Dryas’s shoulders, urging him to come down on top of me.

  Nothing is said just then, no emotions expressed. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel them. I feel everything for this man, the man who captured me and stole my heart. Our breath mingles as we revel in the afterglow, kissing gently and enjoying one other’s bodies.

  When we finally pull apart, our sweat-slicked bodies cool down as we lay on our backs. Dryas takes my hand and glances over at me. “We both need a bath. You more than me, I am sorry to have to tell you.”

  That makes me laugh, which in turn makes me wince and cough. My ribs are still badly bruised, although from what I can see the black and blue splotches that paint my body are receding somewhat.

  Dryas gets up first, peering in the bathroom. “Ah!”

  He vanishes, and a second later I hear the sucking pull of water going down a drain. He sticks his head back out, looking at me. “I forgot about the running water. But apparently, the tap automatically shuts off before the tub overflows.”

  Smiling at him, I am happy to wait in the comfort of the bed. I can’t get enough of relaxing or being comfortable, so much so that I’m a little alarmed at my own laziness. But I suppose that my body is recovering from such brutal beatings and several days without food.

  I should be kinder to myself, just for a little while. Closing my eyes, I doze for a minute while Dryas refills the bath. When he calls to me, my body protests every movement that it takes to get into the bathroom.

  It’s steamy in the bathroom, enveloping me in humidity as soon as I step inside. Dryas has run the water with whatever makes that amazing vanilla scent. To my surprise, he awaits me in the bathtub.

  “Come here,” he beckons, his tone teasing. “Right between my legs.”

  Hesitant as always, I get in very carefully. The heat of the bath warms me from the moment that I am covered in the water. Dryas pulls me down to sit right before him; to my surprise, there is actually enough room for both of us in here, though it is a tight fit.

  “Lay back.” He encourages me with gentle hands to lie on his chest. My eyes close. Heat seeps into my bones, lessening the aches and pains from the last few days.

  Dryas leans down, husking in my ear. “I am going to wash you. Do not move.”

  I move forward because he moves forward, his strong chest and back doing all the work. Opening my eyes, I see him grab a new bar of soap from where several are stacked just beyond my right elbow. Then he sits back again, soaping my arms and my chest using slow movements. He gets to my breasts and my stomach, making a little part of me grow taut.

  But this is a nonsexual bath apparently because he just soaps both of my breasts with tender motions, then moves on. The scent of the soap is nice, lemon and herbs. Just smelling it makes me feel cleaner.

  He leans forward. so, I lean forward again, passing the soap over the parts of my legs that he can reach. Then he discards the soap and trades it for a bottle of shampoo.

  “Sit up,” he directs.

  “So bossy,” I say, but I’m mostly teasing. I separate my back from his chest. He douses me with a full cup of water that he got from somewhere, leaving me gasping.

  I feel the rumble of his laugh coming up from his belly. “It will be easier for you to cooperate.”

  My mouth curves upwards. He pours another few cups of water onto my head, the motion soothing. Then he puts the soap in my hair. His fingers work the lather in. I can’t help but sigh and let my eyes close as he massages my scalp. All the worries flow out of me as he works his fingertips in magical circles.

  “You like that?” he says on my third huge sigh.

  “Mmmhmm,” is all I manage to say.

  Dryas rinses my hair, then works the conditioner in. He surprises me by moving his hands down to massage my neck, then my shoulders. As he rinses the conditioner out, he chuckles.

  “You are utterly boneless,” he teases me.

  I cannot be bothered by his teasing. “I am just very relaxed. You should let me do this to you sometime. I feel magical.”

  “We shall see. We have time.”

  Turning halfway around, I kiss him on the lips. “That we do. Unfortunately, the water is getting tepid.”

  His mouth quirks up. “Go on, then. Go
back to bed. Let me finish in here.”

  I climb out of the bath, feeling like a pleasantly overcooked noodle. Quickly finding a towel, I wrap myself up in it. After giving Dryas a final kiss on the lips, I head out into the bedroom.

  I’m asleep almost as soon as I lay down, and unrepentant for it.

  9

  Dryas

  “I need food,” Rue moans, her arm thrown across her eyes. I throw back the covers from her body, eyeing the curve of her naked hip.

  She peeks at me, pulling a face. I smirk as I trace that curve with my fingers until I find the weight of her full breast. There I find another curve to follow. She wrinkles her nose when I move to put her pebbled nipple in my mouth.

  “What?” I say against her skin. But it sounds more like whaaa? I release her nipple, touching the tip of my tongue to the gorgeously pink bit of flesh. If I could, I would feast on Rue; feed on her moans of pleasure and sighs of anticipation, nibble on the fragile shell of each of her ears, glut myself on the welcoming honey between her thighs.

  There is a moment, right before she comes. Whether I am in her or using my mouth on her clit, I can feel it. She shudders so delicately as her thighs shake. She tosses that fiery copper mane back and forth as if refusing to do something.

  And then she squeezes her eyes tight and lets out this soft moan…

  I could live off hearing that moan, repeatedly, until I die. That simple sound means something to me, makes my pulse quicken just thinking about it.

  Before I can tell her any of that though, Rue hits me in the face with a pillow. “I’m going to starve if you don’t feed me right this second.”

  I grin and capture her, just long enough for a heated kiss. Then I release her, getting up. Going over to the closet, I throw the door open and examine the rows of hanging garments. Pulling out an assortment of sweatshirts and pajama pants, I pile them on the bed.

  Rue digs into them as soon as I drop them. She shoves her legs into a pair of blue men's pajama bottoms and puts on an oversized black sweatshirt with the Real Madrid club logo on the front. As soon as she is clothed, she’s out of the room like a shot, leaving the door open.