Page 71 of Damaged Protector
“Did he?” Mallori’s voice trembled, and I pulled her just a bit closer, unsure if it was to comfort her or me. Maybe a bit of both.
“He didn’t rape her.” Fuck, this is so goddamn hard. “He had torn her sleep shirt open and was on top of her though. I’ll never forget the fear in her eyes when I walked in, like she was begging me to help her.”
“And you did.” It wasn’t a question.
“I almost beat him to death,” I whispered, looking down at my hand. At the fist that had borne the scars for almost a year. “And I would have if mommy dearest hadn’t woken up from her post-sex slumber and heard all the noise.”
“That’s what you were talking about when you said you almost went to juvie?”
I nodded my head. “There was no covering it up. I’d fucked him up too badly. They took him to the hospital and me into custody.”
“But… you were defending your sister. In your own home!” Mal’s voice was indignant on my behalf, and I smiled against her hair as my chest tightened with affection.
“The fucker was in a coma for three months. I should have felt guilty, but I didn’t. I’m too fucking cold-hearted to feel remorse.”
Mal jerked her head back, blue-green eyes blazing. “Don’t you say that, Tate Gentry. You are not cold-hearted. It’s obvious you love your sister.”
“I do, but still…” Closing my eyes, I looked away in shame, but she clutched my jaw and brought my head back around. “Stop it, Bee.”
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I should have stopped. A normal person would have stopped.”
The softest lips I’d ever felt brushed against mine, light as a feather. “No,” she whispered. She kissed me again with a tenderness I didn’t deserve, but I craved it. Damn, did I crave it. I practically melted against the pillow behind me when she repeated the sentiment against my mouth. “No.”
Such a softly spoken word, but it held more emotion than any I’d ever heard.
Little Bee pulled back and lifted her chin even as a lone tear trekked down her cheek. So much strength shone through her vulnerability, and I was a bit in awe of her.
“Bernard Moreau,” she said, swallowing as if the name hurt her to say. “He was my professor and the man who tried to hurt me, and I wish like hell I’d had someone like you there to back me up.”
I didn’t hesitate, and I sure as fuck didn’t think. Instead, I gripped the back of Mallori’s head and crushed my lips to hers.
Chapter 21
After an initial gasp of surprise, Mallori didn’t waver for a single second. As soon as my lips met hers, she was in. All fucking in.
The tip of her tongue darted in and out for tiny tastes of my lips, and I latched onto it, sucking it into my mouth before gliding my own tongue over it. She liked that move, allowing a sultry moan to escape. The sound vibrated all the way down to my dick and had me hard in an instant.
Her head felt so small beneath my splayed fingers, and when my other hand reached for her waist, she needed no other urging. Swinging her leg over me so she was straddling my hips, she shifted, searching for the spot she wanted. When she found it, she lowered herself firmly onto my cock, thighs splayed wide.
I’d forgotten how goddamn flexible she was. And how sensually she could move. But I was soon reminded when she rolled her hips in slow circles over me.
We devoured each other like we were about to be executed and this was the last time we’d ever eat. Mallori moaned into my mouth, and I gobbled it up, tasting the sound and reveling in it.
And all the while, she continued those lazy, tortuous rotations of her pussy over my steely erection. God, I wanted to grab hold of that ass and jerk myself off with the lips of her cunt.
But I somehow had enough sense in my foggy brain to consider the subject matter we’d just been discussing. I still didn’t know exactly what had happened to Mallori, so I refused to grope and paw at her like my hands were itching to do.
Instead, I kept one on the back of her head to hold her in place for my ravaging mouth and allowed the other to drift up and down her spine.
Since she was wearing a dress, the only things separating us were my shorts and her panties, and the heat between her legs rivaled my own, scorching and wet. I could feel the rigid points of her nipples against my bare chest—through her dress, of course—though I wanted to rip it down and taste those sweet little titties in my mouth. Suck on them until they were raw. Until she cried my name and begged me to fuck her.
As if reading my mind, she whimpered against my mouth, my name like sugar on her lips. “Tate.”
God. Damn.
No other woman had called me that for years, since before my time in the Navy. Hell, none of the women I’d been with even knew my real name.