Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Lucas

I hated the stink of Imogen's fear, her pain. It was like burnt tyres and singed feathers all at the same time. It filled my nose, telling me, telling the bear, that I needed to do something, anything to make her feel better right fucking now, and I was so preoccupied by that I missed this. My mate sliding between me and my computer, then settling down on my lap. My arms went around her on automatic, my instincts kicking in, but the feel of her body against mine drove everything out of my head. The shit, the pain, the fucking terrible torrent of abuse in every image. The relief I felt when it was all pushed out of my mind, right as her hand moved.

"Imogen—!"

She grabbed the mouse before I could stop her, but when my hand covered hers, she shook her head.

"I'm not watching them." She was putting on a brave front, the waver in her voice making that clear. "I'm not. I don't know how you do."

"Most of the time I don't," I admitted, resisting the urge to press my forehead into her back. Her scent would be stronger there, and as it began to sweeten again, I took long, slow breaths of it in. "We outsource it to stringently vetted teams, but even that will change. I'm working on a program that can pull metadata, identify people in the film and cross match them with public records, social media platforms. Then I…"

I sucked in a breath, then another, hating that I was showing a moment of weakness in front of the one woman I wanted to impress. I never would've brought this to her attention. I didn't want Imogen feeling uncomfortable, but it was more than that.

I was her man, and I wanted to provide for her, make her feel safe without her even knowing. I wanted her to be able to take that shit for granted.

"You hate this." I felt her shift, then looked up to see her staring down at me. "You really hate this."

There was something almost accusatory about her tone.

"Hate's too weak a word for it." I shook my head sharply, realising I had no hope of pretending I had it all together. "Some of its bullshit. Actors work together to… pretend that they're raping the female performer. It's all consensual, but…"

I stared into her eyes, wanting to get lost in them, in the softness, the warmth of her. She was like a fire crackling in the depths of winter, driving the artificial cold from my bones, and I couldn't help but want to hold my hands up to it.

"What kind of man gets off to that?" I asked, really wanting to know the answer. "Like I know some women get off on rape fantasies and if they're doing that with someone they trust and have a safe word, or some way to tap out instantly, I guess that could work, but…" My eyes flicked back and forth. "That's not what the guys that get off to this shit are thinking, are they?"

"I…" Her hand rose, her fingers flexing, but she turned back to the computer monitor and I flushed then, feeling a rush of shame as her wriggling provoked a reaction from me. My dick thickening when this poison was on the screen filled me with shame. "I don't know."

The mouse moved again and I peered over her shoulder to see what she was looking at.

Just like me, her mouse hovered over every thumbnail and just like me, the path of the cursor slowed. I'd changed the display settings, made the thumbnails as big as possible to try and determine what was in each clip without having to look at them, but it was only when she was sitting here that I noticed a common thread.

"Dark hair…" She hissed that out as I did the same thing. "They…" The mouse was released abruptly, the stink of fear back in her scent. I turned her around gently. Her looking at the monitor had set my teeth on edge, but now it was too much. Instead, I shifted her in my arms, so her legs lay across my lap. That was enough to keep her focus from the screen, but not enough for me. I cradled her in my arms, pulling her closer to my chest. "They look like me."

And Mary, but I didn't tell her that. The women weren't identical or anything, but there was a similarity there. Slim brunettes with beautiful brown eyes, I was willing to bet that's not what Phil saw. Victim, that's what his head told him for some reason I'd never understand.

But right now, I didn't give a fuck about that idiot. Just her, just Imogen.

"He'll never get within ten feet of you," I told her, the bear bleeding into my voice, lending me his strength. "This place seems nice inside, but it's got state-of-the-art security systems. People don't get in unless they've got clearance, and we can lock it down within seconds if we need to."

Imogen seemed to shrink down on herself rather than sit straighter. I pulled her closer, letting out a sigh when her head hit my chest. I had fully intended to keep Phil's proclivities from her, hoping she never discovered the truth, but it was hard to regret it when she was like this.

"You really believe that, don't you?" Her tone, it was shifting, a little spark of hope there that I needed to help grow. She moved, looking up at me. "You're sure he can't get in here."

"Belief is just a feeling," I replied. "I know it, Imogen. Men have found us, tried to get in here before now, and each time they've failed. Even with that track record, we regularly review our security systems, refining them. No one, and I mean no one, who works here wants to be caught off guard." My hand moved slowly, tracing a small circle on the small of her back. "Keeping every woman and child in this building safe is the only thing we care about."

But that was a lie.

Not about our security record but the care part. My computer monitor was a dim, hazy shape behind her head, my brain spared the horrors on the screen because I could only focus on one thing when she was in the room and that was Imogen. I watched her eyes drop down to my mouth, spending way too long inspecting it, right before she reached out and pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. That touch, that little gesture, was enough for me to spend the rest of the day on cloud nine, but this? She darted forward, stopped herself, and my whole body went rigid, my heart beating way too fast. Was she…? Did she…?

Yes, she did.

Something in her hardened, her eyes turning to molten chocolate as she stared down at me and then moved, pressing a kiss to my lips.

Fuck.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I played the memory of that first kiss over and over in my head, but that was just a dare. A game that meant everything to me and nothing to her. In some ways this was our first real kiss, because something inside her felt the tug that drew me to her every time she was in the room.

I'd analysed my performance, playing the memory over and over in my head, agonising over whether I kissed too hard, my lips were too wet or too dry. All that shit fell away as I felt her mouth on mine.

This, my heart, the bear's heart, sang. This was right–no, better than that. This was perfect. No darkness could live in my heart, not when she was kissing me. A little animal grunt that escaped her, as if she was surprised by what she was feeling. Me too, I wanted to shout. Me fucking too. Need swirled inside me, and it felt like it was infectious, because her lips parted, letting me in.

Hot, slick, wet, that's how her mouth felt as my tongue surged forward, and right as I struggled to work out how this should go, hers flicked out to tangle with mine. My hand slid up her nape without intending to, the need to stop her from pulling away ruling me, but I needn't have worried. She didn't fight my hold but leaned into it as she shifted, her legs going to either side of my thighs.

The gaming chair made a sound of protest, the seat wide enough, strong enough to take us, but the tilt engaged, forcing her to yelp. Imogen's eyes went wide right before she felt the chair settle, then her lids drew back down. That sensual look and those bruised lips were fucking everything. I reached for her slowly, not sure if she wanted more, but she just smiled, and then her mouth came crashing down on mine.

What was happening now, her hips lowering, her legs parting to let me in, it was so different to what was on those videos as to need an entirely separate name. I almost felt a pang of pity for Phil and his ilk right then, because he'd never know what this felt like. To want someone, need someone with your entire heart.

To love someone.

That's what I felt as she began to move, rocking against my now rigid cock, seeking something, but I didn't know what. I cursed my lack of experience, even as my hands found her hips and pulled her down harder. Her moan of approval was accompanied by the sound of a knock at my door. It was then I realised something important. I hadn't shut the server room door, caught off guard by Imogen's kisses, so when Kyle came strolling through the door, we jerked apart, staring like deer in the headlights.

"There you…" His smile fell and he stared, taking in every place my body was pressed against our mate's. Imogen seemed to take that level of attention badly, scrambling off my lap and smoothing her clothes down. "Are." Kyle finished the sentence belatedly, then glanced up at Imogen. "I was looking everywhere for you. We're running a messy play session in the art room for the little kids, so their mums can attend group therapy, and I?—"

"Need a hand?" Her tone sounded forced and overly chipper. "Sure. I can do that."

One glance my way, that's all I got before she followed Kyle out of the room, but there was so much in it. Something animal and hungry, something confused and searching, but also… I wondered at it long after she'd left, and I had only that damn computer monitor to stare at. Something I couldn't put my finger on. While I didn't hate the way this little visit had ended, I still was missing one thing.

What had brought her down to the server room in the first place?