Chapter 4

The drive back to the penthouse is ridiculously long, and I am thoroughly distracted by the absolutely gorgeous doctor, Clara, and what those assholes said to her.

Damn Cobras. They're just bold enough to try something. I know it.

I slam my hand down on the steering wheel as I wait at a red light.

There is no way I'm letting them hurt her. One, she doesn't deserve that shit. And two, I wouldn't mind seeing her again.

My usual roster of go-to's, when I'm in need of a little fun, is played out, and I am very okay with rotating her in.

The fact that I'm thinking of keeping the list exclusive to her is a fact I don't want to think about now, however.

When the light goes green again, I press forward, ignoring the speed limit in favor of getting inside my damn penthouse where I can figure out what to do about the Cobras.

Dom. I should call Dom.

Engaging my car's Bluetooth, I direct it to call my big bro and wait for him to pick up. No doubt he's with his new girl after all the shit with the warehouse.

It rings a few times before he answers.

"Luke. What."

It's not a question, and I have a feeling I was interrupting something a bit more pressing than getting Chloe comfortable.

"Dominick, such a pleasure to speak with you." I am a shit, and I do not care. "How's life? Can you believe the weather today?"

"I'm hanging up."

Dom's voice is as gruff and tight as ever, and I can't believe I forgot how far that stick is rammed up his ass.

"Fine, fine. It's about the Cobras."

The shuffling on the other end comes to a stop. "What about them?"

"I got a pretty good look at them in daylight since the asshole who tried to shank me was in the bed opposite me at the hospital."

"He was there?" I can hear Dom get serious. "Did he come after you? I had to stay with Chloe. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, bro. Calm down." The brotherly concern is unnecessary if always expected. "The guy died, though. And his buddies were less than thrilled about it, even going so far as to intimidate the doctor."

"Shit." The line gets muffled, but I can just make out Dom saying, "Hey. Yeah, the guy who stabbed Luke is dead. Yes, I'm going to tell Cam. He said he's fine."

"Is that my sweet Chloe? Say hi for me!"

Dom grumbles, saying something to get her situated, and then focuses back on me.

"I will not. She's lying down. I'm not about to risk the baby."

My heart skips, and I remember the good news.

Fuck, I didn't want to stress her. Not Chloe.

"Sorry, Dom. I just thought you should know. And the bit about them threatening the surgeon who lost the guy. I heard you say you'll tell Cam. Just…please do. Okay?"

I think even Dom can hear the concern in my voice because he sighs heavily, and I can practically see him clenching his jaw like he does.

"Threatening a surgeon now? Fucking hell. I will. I'll see if Cam can tell the hospital or something." That sigh of his echoes. "Look, I know you care about Chloe, too, so thanks."

It's true. We've formed an unlikely friendship, and I'd be beyond pissed if anything happened to her or the baby, particularly if it was my fault.

Like most trouble is.

"All right, sap. Go tend to the preggers. Talk later."

I don't wait for him to answer, hanging up the call just in time to pull into my garage.

The security guard at the front waves me in, and I drive to my spot near the elevators.

My building is far from the tallest in town, but I love the view of the sparse lights found in our somber little port town.

Sliding out and locking up the car, the light chirping of the auto lock echoing in the mostly empty garage, I walk to the elevators and choose the top floor.

Home sweet home.

At the twelfth floor, I exit, the doors sliding open to a short hallway with a singular door—mine.

Once I'm inside, I drop my keys on the table by the entrance and go straight for the small bar I have tucked into the corner by my massive window.

It's quick work to pour myself a few fingers of scotch, and I sigh a little as the delicious burn flows down my throat.

I'm tempted to have the drink outside, but rain immediately starts up once I open the door, and I pull myself back in.

"Okay, never mind."

I have hours to kill and a sore fucking side, so I guess it's movie time.

Flicking on the boob tube, I go for something heavy on those very boobs and light on the plot.

"Wild Things. Perfect."

Sitting down on the couch is harder than normal, and I roll my eyes at the annoying pain licking through my ribs as I try to make myself comfortable.

I know I have to clean the thing, but I'm giving it until at least after the movie before I deal with it.

Pressing my hand to the injury to ease some of the ache, I think about the woman's hands that helped sew me up.

Clara. Fucking hell.

She is way too attractive for her own good, and she doesn't even know it. She's such a slight, little thing—her barely-there curves not something I'd usually go for.

Still, Clara is stunning, all olive skin and green eyes. I have to imagine she has Eastern Hemisphere ancestry in there, but I'm unsure where.

I return my attention back to the movie, and I allow myself to enjoy the ridiculous swimming pool scene before my mind is right back to Clara.

Damn, what is it about her?

Because I have no idea. All I know is that the attraction was instant. The moment I laid eyes on her, I zeroed in and didn't want to look away.

Imagining her ruffled black bob, her longer bangs hanging just a bit in front of her face, my dick twitches against my thigh.

It's clearly not getting the memo that I'm supposed to be taking it easy.

I try to ignore it, watching the rest of the flick on streaming, but of course, staring at tits for two hours doesn't exactly take my mind off the desire to see the skin hiding beneath Clara's scrubs.

"Fuuuck." I drag the word out, slipping my hand down to my crotch and gripping my shaft through my pants.

I need to do something about this.

Standing up, which hurts enough to almost be a buzz kill, I pad to my bedroom. I'm still wearing my stained shirt, cut up the side so that Clara could get at my injury.

The loose flaps hang around my waist, and I use one to gently pull the thing over my head. My skin still stretches a bit, which sucks, and I chuck the shirt in the bathroom trash.

Getting the jeans off is a lot easier, and I let them fall down my legs into a pile on the closet floor.

I'm good with just boxers at the moment, especially considering I'm planning some "alone time," so I just head straight for my bed, turning off the lights.

For any normal solo session, I'd pull up the Hub on my phone, but this time…

As I lay back on my bed, stretching out long, my hand goes to my erection, and all I can do is think about Clara.

I imagine those plump lips wrapping around the head of my cock, her hand the one swirling around my shaft in quick, strong strokes.

Pleasure burns through my lower belly, going to my balls. I'm already so worked up. Every second with her driving me wild.

Rolling my hand around the head, I can feel how worked up I am, and I think of the bright green of Clara's eyes, the way I could lace my fingers through her hair and direct her mouth to my aching erection.

She is so fucking sexy.

I pump harder, ignoring the pinch in my side as I thrust up into my fist.

In the back of my mind, I know I've never needed to jerk off immediately after meeting someone, that this is different, but I force myself to ignore it.

No part of me denies how badly I want her, but it's just that. Just a potential fling.

My mind cooks up images of Clara bent over a table, naked and wet for me, and I work faster.

My release is poised right at the edge, and I roll my hand in circles over the head of my shaft as I squeeze my balls with the other hand.

Clara's right there with me in my mind, her perfect body surrounding me and taking everything I have to give.

The image is enough, and I lose myself to the feeling of release as I picture Clara beneath me.

When I'm spent, I wipe up with a tissue, thinking I'll be content enough to go to bed easily.

I'm wrong, of course.

My mind still swirls with images of Clara, and knowing she'll be here tomorrow makes my dick twitch all over again.

Something else stirs behind it, though, that possessive need to keep her close, to keep her safe.

I think more alcohol is required if I'm going to sleep at all.