7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

W hat? What did she just say?

Holy shit.

I'm unable to move, hardly can breathe, as I watch this stunning woman fall into a slobbery pit of devastation. Even with pinched brows, red, tear-stained cheeks, and a sour puss expression, she's gorgeous. Her button nose is leaking sticky mucus all over her lush lips, but I still find myself craving a taste of her.

Just one damn taste.

Yeah right, pal. You know one taste will never be enough.

And it won't.

I rub my hand across my jaw as I process her words. My pork whistle is at full mast and ignoring the fucker to focus on Story is like crawling through thick puss. But then she whimpers. The sound is like reverse Viagra mixed with a shot of epinephrine. Suddenly, I'm moving, wrapping her in my arms.

I expect her to protest or shove me away, but that's not what my baby bed bug does.

No. My girl curls into me and tucks her dripping, warm face into my throat. Her hands tangle in my shirt, causing the fitted neckline to tear. I don't give a shit. In fact, I practically purr at the feeling of her nestled against me like this. It's heady as hell.

I've never been the man women flock to. Never been the strongest or most attractive guy in a room. In my twenty years on this planet, I've existed as nothing more than Fred Bates, son of the world-famous Gill Bates: Zillionaire, Pet Psychic, Fraud.

I've been invisible in crowds. Ignored in private. Degraded, abused, hated. I've been the child of the rich and famous, and I've hated every damn second of it.

People think being the only child of someone like Gill should be amazing, and while it definitely has its perks, it's not the life I'd have chosen for myself. It's not the life I want for my family, my children.

Fuck no.

Well, good thing you killed him then, my brain murmurs and I smirk in satisfaction.

My babies will never have to be around my father and his dark, twisted ways— his games . My wife will never have to be subjected to his disgusting leer or trickster tongue.

Story shifts in my arms, and just like that, I'm yanked unceremoniously from my past. From the ugly, festering sinkhole that lives in my chest. I blink rapidly, locking eyes with her, and suddenly, the protective instincts I've felt my entire life find a new beacon.

It's her. She's the one. The partner I've dreamt of. The lover I've longed for—saved myself for.

My wife. The mother of my children.

My bed bug.

She whimpers.

And she's hurting.

Fuck. I'm fucking this up already.

Get it together, Fred. You have a family to provide for now. Be a man and step up!

"Right. We're leaving," I murmur, shifting her so she's more secure in my arms. It takes some intense effort, but I'm able to swing her body around so she's perched on my hip like a toddler, the sheet tucked between us to give her extra protection.

Story sucks in a sharp breath, digging her nails into my shoulders as her legs tighten around my waist. "Where are we going?"

"Home." I move through the house like a man on a mission, ignoring the few lingering firefighters cleaning up their equipment. "Did you drive here?"

"Y-yes." Her teeth chatter and I pick up my pace, searching for a stray purse. "H-home?"

"Yes, home." I pat her head. "Don't worry, I've got you. Just rest, bed bug."

She immediately settles into me, and it feels like the heavens have opened up and answered all my prayers.

Suddenly, I catch sight of photos on the fridge. It appears to be two or three kids of varying ages. Unable to help myself, I shuffle into the kitchen. As I move, I tuck Story's face deeper into my neck and rub her back, hoping she doesn't see. I flick a weekly lunch calendar to the side and sure enough, another photo is slightly hidden. My jaw ticks. A man, a woman, and their three kids at a picnic, smiling for the camera. In the bottom right corner is a time stamp. Two months ago.

Motherfucking asshole, prickface, monkey dick.

Fifty billion bucks says the chode in the photo was her date tonight.

Tightening my hold on Story, I spin around, taking in the home with new awareness. The room she'd been in was basic, empty. A spare, no doubt. The rest of the home is fully decorated with soft colors. A nice couch is tucked in the corner of the living room, a large TV mounted on the wall across from it. Above it are wooden cutouts that say, "Live, Laugh, Love."

I click my tongue. Poor bed bug. She should have known.

No man gives a shit about that stupid saying.

Spotting her purse on an entry table, I snag it and toss it over my shoulder. When I reach the front door, I kick the thing open, taking out my rage for this asshole the only way I can.

For now, a little voice croons, sounding a hell of a lot like my creepy father. I shudder, but it's not wrong.

I keep having to heft her higher when she slips, my biceps burning with the weight of her. Doesn't matter. She could weigh a million pounds, and I'd still carry her around. All it means is that I need to work out more. She doesn't need to change, ever. She's perfect.

Story taps my shoulder. "I'm heavy. You can put me down."

"No," I say, scanning the street. Most of the first responders have left, but a few nosy neighbors are loitering. I adjust the sheet again, making sure she's hidden. Fucking lurkers. "Where's your car?"

My question seems to yank her from her daze, and she shoves at my shoulder. "Why are you asking about my car? And let me down."

My jaw ticks. I don't want to let her down. If I had things my way, I'd never let her go again.

Slow down, Fred. She's been through something traumatic.

It's only that subtle reminder that has me loosening my arms enough to meet her gaze. Her chocolate brown eyes are darker than before, rimmed with red halos. There's a small scratch at the corner of an eye and I long to kiss the boo-boo away. The sight reminds me of a diagram I saw in medical school. Anal fissures. They're a bitch to deal with, painful as hell, but hard to get rid of. They can withstand even the strongest of ointments.

They're resilient.

Just like my bed bug.

"I don't want to put you down," I murmur. She blinks at me, her mouth gaping open. From this angle, I can see she doesn't have any tonsils. Surgery, then. I knew she was a warrior. "The neighbors are watching and the grass is dry."

Her mouth snaps shut, and her cute bushy brows bunch up. "Those two things are unrelated."

"No, they aren't. First, you're barefoot, and I don't want your feet to get hurt on the ground. The lawn has more weeds than grass. Second, you're wearing a sheet, my shirt, and people are looking. I don't want you to be embarrassed or exposed." Without thinking, I kiss her cheek. "The common factor is, I want you safe."

I shift her again, barely resisting the urge to rub her thick ass cheeks against my forearm. She groans as I adjust her, tightening her legs around my hip. I pause, watching her eyelids flutter. It takes a second for her reaction to register in my cloudy brain, but when it does, I'm back to business.

She's hurt.

In pain.

Not turned on.

Unlike you, you sick fuck. I grimace.

Yeah, I've been turned on from the moment I saw her tonight. It only got worse when I caught a glimpse of her wide, birthing hips, luscious milk jugs, and pouty lips. And then I had to go and lick her sticky panties. They had an interesting taste. Slightly sour and tangy, but there was something else. Something I couldn't quite identify.

Something addicting.

"Holy sheep dip," she mutters. "That was so protective and heroic. You're like a book boyfriend."

I grin. "I don't know what that means, but thank you. Now, where is your car?"

She shoves a thumb over her shoulder, still looking dazed. "It's the red SUV down the street."

I cock a brow. "He made you park down the street?"

Her blush is sweet enough to eat. "He said the sprinklers were due to turn on."

As one, we both look down at the dead grass. Story sighs long and loud. "I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

I clap my free hand to her thigh and she jumps, squealing. I cringe. Oops. I keep forgetting she has a butt plug stuck in her cute ass.

"Sorry, bed bug," I murmur, moving to her car with quick feet. "We'll be there soon, then I'll take care of you. Make the ouchies go bye-bye. Now be a good girl and unlock your car for me."

She sniffles as I shimmy her purse off my arm and hand it to her. I'm happy when she immediately digs through the massive bag and produces a key. A beeping sound signals the SUV unlocking, and I walk to the passenger side to settle her in. She immediately leans on her left tush cushion and I quickly adjust her seat so she's more comfortable.

"Will you be okay for a bit? It's only about a twenty-minute drive from here."

"I'm okay." She turns so she's propped up on the center console, removing all the weight from her backside. Poor baby. "You never answered me, though. Where are we going?"

I grip the door, breathing the protective instincts running through me. "We're going home."

She shakes her head slowly, eyeing me wearily. "I don't understand. I live almost an hour from here, in Salem."

I want to chastise her for so many things. For telling me where she lives. For coming to a man's house when it's so far from her home. A man she doesn't know.

She's coming to your house, though, and she doesn't know you. Double standard much?

I clear my throat. Pretty sure that rule doesn't apply to the father of her children.

"We're not going to Salem, Story." I lean in, gripping her jaw so she knows I'm serious. "I said I'm taking you home, and I meant it. Our home."