Protector's Claim

by Airicka Phoenix

  Gabby came willingly. Her tiny frame settled along the length of mine, a perfect fit in all the places that mattered. Her hands slipped back into my hair, gripping me, using me as leverage as she rose onto her toes.

  I shrugged out of my coat. It joined my phone on the floor and the shoes I toed off. Comfortable, I lifted her up into my arms, pausing to allow her to twine her legs around my hips before moving us to the sofa. She didn’t protest when I reclined us across the cushions. She made herself at home snuggled against my chest, her arms hooked around my shoulders. Her thighs cradled my hips between them.

  We kissed, long slow kisses that took me back to my teenage years of making out on the sofa when my mom wasn’t home. They hadn’t amounted to more than some over the clothes petting, but this wasn’t anything like that.

  There was poetry in the melding of our mouths, quiet promises that whispered with every sigh.

  It was therapy for the soul.

  Unimaginable peace

  I could have lived in that moment for the rest of my life.

  But Gabby had other thoughts, other plans that did not involve simply making out.

  Her fingers slipped beneath the hem of my sweater and followed the stretch of skin running just above the waistband of my trousers.

  The sensation tickled, but I was too intrigued by her purpose to stop her.

  The fingers circled over the smooth button once before it was forced from its loop.

  The release of pressure as my pants were undone had me sucking in a breath filled with expelled air from her lips still feathering over mine.

  My zipper was drawn down, the only thing keeping my cock restrained.

  It sprang free, thick and hard, ready for the hand that caught it.

  “This was inside me?”

  The question almost made me laugh. I would have, except she took that moment to wrap her fingers around me and all thoughts scattered.

  “It doesn’t seem like it would fit,” she went on soft with every stroke of her palm working my shaft. “I can’t even close my fingers.”

  I knew she wasn’t deliberately talking dirty to be sexy, but Christ. Her basic curiosity had me throbbing and leaking over her fingers.

  She smeared my precum down my length.

  I watched, riveted.

  “Can I touch you?”

  An eyebrow she couldn’t see lifted. But she must have sensed it because she wrinkled her nose in a grimace.

  “I mean all of you.”

  I dragged my sweater up over my head. My pants were kicked to my ankles. I reached for her clothes next, stripping her. I dropped back on the cushions, naked and ready for her experimentation.

  She rose over me, beautiful with her pink cheeks and parted lips. Her knees hugged my ribs.

  She gasped when her mound settled on my crotch. I guided her over with my hands on her hips, rubbing her clit from base to head and leaving me coated in her juices.

  “That feels really good,” she breathed, rolling herself forwarded without my help.

  She was still panting slightly as she leaned down.

  She started at my face. Her fingers glided blindly along my jaw and over my chest. They splayed across my pecs, feeling their hardness before working downward.

  “You feel like an underwear model.”

  I laughed.

  She smiled a little. “You’re hard everywhere and ... yup, there they are. Rock hard abs. One. Two...”

  She traced each square in her way down, counting as she went until reaching the plane of my pelvis.

  “Eight,” she breathed. “Definitely a Calvin Klein model, or some Greek god. You must be a sight to behold at the beach.”

  I took pride in my appearance. I always have. Looking the part of a CEO wasn’t enough if you didn’t exude power and strength when you walked into a room. But I’d never been smug about it until that moment watching Gabby admire my body with her hands.

  When she reached the head of my cock, she paused. Her fingers closed around me again. Her hips lifted.

  I instinctively took it from her, leaving her hands free to brace her weight.

  I rubbed her with the head, smearing our juices together. I teased her clit a couple of times before sliding back to nudge against her opening.

  She impaled herself.

  Her ring gave and she started a slow decent down my dick. Halfway, she paused and withdrew before continuing, path slickened. She did that a few times, seemingly attempting to make him fit. The effort was making her thighs quiver on either sides of my ribs. She gave a little grunt of discomfort.

  “Okay?” I punched into the phone.

  She bit her lip and gave a nod. “You’re too big.”

  I bit back my laugh and took her hips. Without pausing, I pushed her onto her back, grateful her cushions were stiff; sinking into foam would have made the process much harder. As it were, I spread her knee open wide, tossed her legs over each shoulder and hauled her ass against my chest.

  Her squeak melted into a moan with the first sweep of my tongue. It rose into a groan with a sharp prodding against her opening. The sweet, musky taste of her thickened with every plunge, with every teasing flick over her clit.

  “I love when you do that,” she rasped in a breathy whimper when I sucked on the hard knot.

  She made a sound between a sharp breath and a cry of panic. Her thighs tensed on either sides of my head. Her clit pulsed.

  I stopped.

  “No...” she breathed.

  But I dragged her up and into my lap. I got my cock under her and pulled her down on it.

  Her guttural wail sang through me. It tore down her body and clenched in the place we were joined. The fierce assault blinded me to everything except her fumbled attempts to ride him.

  “Harder!” I growled into her ear, one hand fisted into her hair, the other banded around her waist.

  I forced my hips up, slamming myself inside her to the hilt. I pulled her down at the same time, and she sobbed when I hit her base. Her channel seized with the tension that bowed her spine.

  I did it again, but this time she met me. She drove herself down, using the armrest beneath my head as leverage. Her sharp pants washed over my face. She groaned something I could have sworn was my name, my actual name, but I was already lost in the spike that took us both over and the sound was nothing but her cry of release. Then the quiet whispers of our breaths filling the room.

  I clasped her to me. My fingers traced the silky curve of her spine. I inhaled the clean scent of her hair and the subtle hint of orange blossoms on her skin. It was the most intoxicating fragrance to have ever wrapped around my senses.

  “Is it always like that?” Her lips brushed the hollow of my throat.

  I shook my head.

  She sighed. “I’m going to miss it.”

  The wistful, almost groggy murmur had my head lifting. I made a questioning hum in my throat.

  She was silent for a long moment, seconds I waited only to realize she’d fallen asleep.

  I stayed awake, just listening to her soft breathing and the buzz of the refrigerator. I studied the bit of place she called home and the image didn’t match up.

  Gabrielle Thornton was the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in the country. Her family name went back centuries, almost as old as mine. She should have been in a penthouse, draped in silk, and driving a new car every day. Like her siblings.

  But unlike her siblings, she was so broken. The damage in her killed me every time I saw her. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t understand her, but all I wanted was to protect her and shield her from whatever was scaring her, whatever was causing her pain. I wanted her to trust me. Me, not Cain. I wanted her to tell me what was happening and let me fix it. I would upend the entire world if I had to. Whatever it took. I wanted to take her away from that dump, away from the stench of misery and decay. I wanted to hunt David down and demand to know why the fuck his daughter was living in a shithole, why she was driving a deathtrap, why th
e fuck she was in that auction. Why wasn’t he taking care of her? Why was no one making sure she was okay?

  “No...”

  Her whimper had me tightening my arms around her. I planted my lips to the top of her head.

  “It’s all right, love,” I murmured. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  She went still once more, but my mind continued to race, determined to solve the mystery that was Gabrielle Thornton.

  Chapter Nine — Gabrielle

  The world was a milky white gold when I pried gritty eyes open. The early morning hue spilled through the window, illuminating my apartment and the reminisce of the previous night.

  My clothes had been gathered up off the floor and folded neatly on the coffee table. My makeshift blindfold was placed on top, a navy sash tainted with all the previous night’s mistakes.

  I stared at it from my face down position on the sofa, hating it for what it had enabled me to do. It was ridiculous to place blame on a scrap of fabric, and yet I had to shut my eyes against the sight of it.

  I’d slept with Cain.

  Again.

  Only this time because I had wanted to.

  Because I had needed it.

  Had needed him.

  I had sent Kieran away and slept with another man.

  Not because I loved Cain, but because my whole life was in shambles.

  Because I was completely alone.

  Because the alternative was a path I was too scared to even contemplate in case it became too enticing to ignore.

  But also, because Cain was a shadow I could walk away from in eight months.

  He had no face.

  He had no name.

  He was merely a sustainable warmth willing to keeping me going until I was free.

  God, that made me a bad, selfish person, but I meant nothing to him and no one would get hurt when it ended. Not the way I’d hurt Kieran. That was part of the reason I didn’t want to see Cain’s face. Why I didn’t want to hear his voice. Those were things that would haunt me when I walked away, and there were already too many ghosts keeping me up at night.

  Resigned, I pushed up, using one hand to pin the blanket to my chest. It was the one from my bedroom. Cain must have grabbed it while I’d been sleeping. His kindness only intensified my growing guilt.

  But the man himself was gone.

  I was alone in the apartment.

  I knew it without ever bothering to call out; there was too much silence for another person to be dwelling within its confines. My aloneness echoed with the hollow whimper of an empty tomb.

  God, I was feeling morbid. But I had known he wouldn’t stay. Part of me had hoped he would. The other part was relieved he hadn’t. I didn’t think I could face him without the anonymity of darkness, without the crushing weight of defeat and loneliness crippling me. I definitely couldn’t face him with the stain of shame turning my cheeks crimson.

  But was it wrong not to want to feel like you had no one and nothing left in the world? Cain may never have taken Kieran’s place, but no one ever could. Kieran would always be the only man holding my heart. There was no question about that. He’d stolen it when I was sixteen and he’d never given it back.

  I guess, in a sense, that made him a type of criminal, but I didn’t want it returned. To do so would have only broken its already fragile state, and it was the only part of me not ruined.

  The only part of me untouched by David.

  The only part he could never take.

  Kieran didn’t know it, but he carried the only valuable thing I owned in the palms of his hands. He was the only man I trusted to keep it safe.

  It was odd, really. Kieran had always been there, just out of touch, always a burning light during dinners, but he’d never crossed that line that separated us.

  He’d never been persistent or insistent in his pursuit.

  He’d never openly sought me out.

  Yet the last few days, he seemed to be everywhere. His unexpected interest in me was a dream and a curse I couldn’t unravel. I had no idea what had changed his mind seemingly overnight, but it terrified me to think David might notice, especially if Kieran refused to marry Cordelia.

  The very thought sent a chill down my spine. It prickled my skin with a million, tiny needles, making me itch.

  No.

  Whatever had changed Kieran’s mind about the impeccably plotted future David and Walter had created for him, it needed to stop. At the very least, it needed to remove me from the equation. There was nothing David could do to him, so long as I wasn’t involved.

  My cellphone chimed across the scarred surface of the coffee table. The plastic vibrated across wood, rattling loudly in the silence.

  I pushed to my feet and went to it with the blanket securely twisted around my naked frame.

  Cain: “Good morning. I’m sorry I had to leave early again. I’ll do my best not to next time.”

  I raised an amused eyebrow at the last part.

  Me: “What makes you think there will be a next time?”

  Cain: “Look on your counter. If that doesn’t buy your forgiveness, I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

  Intrigued, I padded into the kitchen, the blanket trailing behind me. My gaze swept over the counter space, not that it was necessary. The only machine I owned was a coffeemaker. The chipped linoleum covering was otherwise bare, except for the paper bag from the bakery down the street and a takeout cup of coffee.

  I stared at both with a hitch in my chest.

  He wasn’t playing fair.

  Me: “A bagel and coffee? You need to do better,” I teased in my message.

  Cain: “Bagel? Oh, I wouldn’t dream of being so ordinary, lady spy.”

  Bemused, but severely amused, I went to the package and peeked inside.

  Glazed in a fine, powdery mist of white sugar and deep fried to absolute perfection, the dozen confections winked up at me from their neat little box.

  I was delirious with excitement. I could scarcely type fast enough.

  Me: “Beignets?! How did you know?”

  His response was a winky emoji, followed by, “Maybe you’re not the only spy.”

  I hadn’t had beignets in years, not the real kind, the ones you can only get on the cobblestone streets of New Orleans. I must have devoured hundreds during that weekend David had taken the entire family to see the Mardi Gras parade. The tiny bistro just on the corner of Bourbon Street had indulged me with plate after plate with a never-ending side order of cafe au lait. It was the first chance I’d had to be alone. I wasn’t even sure how I’d managed it without anyone noticing my absence. But it had been the most magical hour of my life and all I’d done was sit at a patio table while sultry jazz had filled the evening air and the whole world had swirled around me in a whirlwind of colors and lights.

  Yet it didn’t explain how Cain knew about my love of the pastries.

  No one knew.

  Not a soul.

  Who would I tell?

  But he knew.

  A lucky guess? What were the odds of that?

  I glanced around my kitchen, around my sitting area, trying to find the thing that had given him the clue, but there was nothing.

  Me: “Seriously, how did you know?” I typed back.

  Cain: “I’ll tell you, but only because I don’t want you to think I’m a weird pervert. I saw the picture of you on your dresser when I was getting the blanket this morning.”

  It took me walking into my bedroom to remember which picture he spoke of. I’d forgotten all about it and years had obscured it behind other photos and random clutter. I was actually surprised he could see it at all. But it was a polaroid photo of me the bistro owner had taken after my fourth plate of beignets. I was grinning around chubby cheeks, looking embarrassed, but pink with pleasure.

  It had truly been one of those rare moments when I felt so blissfully free. Had I been smart at all, I would have stayed missing. I would have simply slipped into the crowd and va
nished forever. I was an idiot for returning.

  The buzz in the palm of my hand jerked me back to the present and the man waiting for my answer.

  Cain: “Satisfied?”

  I sucked in a breath before responding, Me: “Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so paranoid.”

  Cain: “You can make it up to me.”

  I bit my lip as my fingers moved over the screen.

  Me: “How?”

  Cain: “What are you wearing?”

  I laughed.

  Me: “The blanket.”

  Cain: “Lose the blanket, find a mirror, and remind me what I have to look forward to seeing tonight.”

  Me: “Who says you’re coming over tonight?”

  Cain: “The hard cock in my pants obsessed with your pussy.”

  Heat swelled through me, a slow, delicious rise of need that almost made me consider it.

  Me: “Send me a picture of him first.”

  Cain: “I’m in the middle of a board meeting with fifteen other members. I pull him out here and we’ll have some serious problems.”

  I gasped.

  Me: “And you want me to send you naked pictures?”

  Cain: “I desperately need something to stop my brain from leaking out of my ears.”

  Me: “You know, you have seen me completely naked, on several occasions. You already know what you’ll be seeing tonight. I have absolutely no idea what you look like.”

  Cain: “That’s your fault. I hate that stupid blindfold.”

  He had me there.

  Me: “My point is to use your imagination.”

  Cain: “Oh, I have been. All morning I’ve been imagining you and me on this massive table. I’ve fucked you in at least eight different positions already. You really liked the reversed cowgirl, by the way.”

  I burst out laughing.

  Me: “You’ll have to show me that one.”

  Cain: “Only if you remove the blindfold.”

  I sobered slightly.