Dean

“It’s just a bruise, Erica. I’ll be fine.” Tatum’s words leave my mouth full of grit as she speaks on the phone to her sister.

Bruise, my Goddamn ass. The son of a bitch laid his hands on her. I want to kill him.

The entire story she laid out a bit ago in front of me is far from fucking fine.

And fuck, seeing her fall apart in my arms bottled me up. Torturing, twisting, and causing me to lose my mind. But no matter what I say, she insists on not pressing charges. Her strength, courage, and strong will to keep going, ignoring the fact he’s back around, tossing out idle threats like he owns her, slips her gorgeous heart into my darkened one further.

He wanted to fire up my ass; well, now he’s gone and done it.

There were plenty of times I wanted to knock some sense into Kate, and not once did I lay a finger on her. Therefore, hearing Tatum say the word ‘fine’ only pisses me off even more.

My stomach heaves, and bile crawls up my throat. I’m trying to grab hold of the one emotion that will trump my anger and not destruct what the two of us are building. Trust.

I told her I trusted her, and I do. I’ll admit that for one brief moment when she first told me he’s been calling her, I thought she could be playing me. That she could have planned to get under my skin, burrowing herself there and getting me to talk. It vanished as quickly as it ran through my thoughts. Tatum isn’t the kind of woman to purposely hurt others, not after what she’s been through. On top of that, there wasn’t a chance in hell she was faking the other night. Not only does she come alive whenever I kiss or touch her, but it’s also clear to see she cares about Leila, and that alone is enough for me.

There were many questions swimming in her soft blue eyes earlier. I saw the doubt, the want to know if there’s any truth behind Sam’s accusations lying there on the edge of her lips, yet not one came out of her pretty little mouth.

Don’t want to start our relationship with secrets and lies. One of these days, I’ll confess all the shit that torments my life. I’m not making up excuses. I just need the timing to be right; and telling her now when I’m fucking pissed off isn’t the right time. My heavy burden eats away at my gut. It stirs until a sharp pain rockets straight to the focal point of my existence.

Knowing that she witnessed my epic tangent on the phone with Marcus a bit ago should have scared her away. I’d expected to see fear or even for her to jump when I punched a hole in the wall after she told me Sam was coming after me again. She sat right where she is now, barely flinched, listening in while I asked for some security on all of us, and the minute I threw my phone, she retrieved it, sat it on the counter, and drew her hands around me from behind. That’s twice she’s given me comfort. Clearly, she’s the one who needs it now.

God, her arms felt good around me. Didn’t want her to let me go. Somehow, her kind gesture calmed the raging storm whipping violently in my stomach. Her powerful presence is peeling away my anguished layers one unselfish touch at a time.

Apparently, after Sam walked out, Tatum almost fell to the floor. She started telling them everything he said. Roman called me right away and brought her over. She’s been here since, and when I saw that asshole’s handprints on both of her arms, I told her I would feel much better if she called her sister, so she could document it. She didn’t object. But she didn’t much care to tell her sister about it either. I caught on to that the second her shoulders slumped forward and her hands ran through her hair, tugging on the ends for comfort as she dialed her number.

I clench my jaw, glance down when I feel a sharp pain hitch up my arm. That’s when I notice how white my knuckles are. I force my fists to relax. It doesn’t do me any good when all I want to do is wrap my hands around that no-good motherfucker and squeeze the life out of him.

His threats mean shit to me. The man will take his last breath trying to dig up something he’ll never find. It’s what he did to Tatum that has fury coiling inside of me to the point I can barely breathe.

“Those fingerprints on your arms are not fine, Tatum,” I articulate strongly when she hangs up. My eyes hurt and bleed when I glance down at her arms and back up to those lingering question-filled eyes.

Christ, even with her brows drawn downward and the shit she went through tonight, she is so damn beautiful. I could stare at her all day and love every second of it.

It strikes me crazy when suddenly all I see is her on my arm. Beauty, grace, and a kind atmosphere radiating all around her as she encloses some kind of perfect little bubble designed to keep evil out.

“I know it’s not. She wanted to come and see for herself. The pictures I sent scared her.”

I’m sure they did. Probably freaked her the fuck out. “I can take you to her if you want.” Even in her pained state, she’s still protecting those she loves. This woman never ceases to amaze me.

“No. She’s working. Besides, I’d much rather be with you.” Those words mean more to me than she realizes. I’d give anything to be further into our relationship. If we were, I’d take her upstairs to my bedroom and erase him from her brain. For tonight, I’ll settle for holding her. Not a chance in hell am I letting her go to her house alone.

Sam may have lost his temper when he grasped onto the fact Tatum wasn’t backing down; it doesn’t mean he isn’t watching her every move. Fairly certain he had someone tailing her before he got here; that’s the only way he would have found out about us. Hell, there really isn’t even a description to us yet, and he’s already made a move. Desperate fucker had all this beauty and pissed it away, and then he goes and touches her in a way a man should never touch a woman. I’d place millions on a bet he holds more secrets in the palms of his filthy hands than half of Hollywood does.

There’s a crack in her voice that I can’t ignore. I have a feeling she’s hurting more on the inside than she’s letting on. It guts and angers me all the more. Not at her; at the insensitive bastard who threw her away like trash.

“Talk to me,” I plead.

She looks away briefly before I catch the hurt he caused cloud her face, casting thunderous shadows under her pain-filled eyes. Drops of regret and a deep channel of unexpected misery.

That seedy motherfucker hurt her emotionally, too. It’s written all over her. Why in the fuck would he do this to her?

Sorrow and guilt for her being dragged into this and anger I haven’t fully processed yet are clutching my brain tightly. I’m surprised my head hasn’t blown the fuck up.

I can’t decide if I want to drag her into my arms and quiet our busy minds by kissing the hell out of her or sit here and let her get it all out.

I stay put. I know better than anyone how hurt and anger fester if you don’t talk about it. It rips your soul in half.

She wraps her arms around herself as if she’s trying to hold herself together and not fall apart. “I’m over Sam. I have been for a long time. He hurt me today. I feel like a fool for not seeing him for the man he is years ago. I spent years with the devil, Dean. I don’t understand how he could do this.”

Her admission undoes me. I can’t give her answers when I don’t know them myself, but I can be the comfort she needs. The shoulder to lean on and let her know I’ll do whatever it takes to crush her pain. She’s been through enough when it comes to him. Like me, she deserves to be happy. Deserves to have someone show her how good it feels to let go. Spontaneously combust in the arms of a man who knows how special she is.

My mind may be leaning toward dirty thoughts when it comes to showing her. My gut tells me that’s what she needs. A man who gladly divulges in her desirable pleasures. There won’t be anything more pleasurable than watching her fall apart.

“I’m sorry he hurt you. I’ll do everything I can to protect you from him and anyone who comes at you again. You call the cops, me, Roman or scream if he comes near you again. Walk away if you see anyone you know who used to be associated with him. Trust no one from the press unless I tell you otherwise. Don’t give him leverage to speak to you.”

Sam isn’t going to hurt the women I care about. Not ever again. The sick fuck wants me to come after him. He wants to sling me into hell again, and he’s won at riling me up. The thing is, he didn’t learn the first time around how deep my love goes for those I care about. He fucked with Quinn, he fucked with Tatum, and now I’m going to fuck with him in my own way. Stew his shit pot and make him eat it with a splinter-encrusted wooden spoon. I’m simmering with anger. Bastard thinks he has me figured out. He doesn’t have a clue about me or how this woman has stirred something inside of me I’m pretty sure I may never figure out.

“If he comes near Leila, I’ll kill him,” she spits out. Christ, he better not unless he wants to die. What she says helps control the coldness that creeps into my bones and numbs my skin.

Not only have I rarely thought about having a relationship with a woman, but at times when I’d crawl into bed at night and the desire to have someone waiting there for me to wrap them in my arms took over, there was one reason why I always shut it down. And that reason was Leila. If you can’t love my daughter, treat her with kindness, then you can’t love me, and Christ Almighty if Tatum isn’t the perfect woman Leila and I need.

I remind myself once again how in a brief time she and Leila have formed a bond. One I’ll never stand in the way of. Not even if things don’t work out between her and me. My kid deserves the damn world, and Tatum is hanging from it like a bright, shiny star. Fucking hell. I’m already sinking deep.

“Yeah, well, you don’t need to worry about that. He comes anywhere near my daughter, she’ll let me know.” Lowlife better stay away, or the warning I gave him years ago will feel like child's play.

Unable to resist touching her any longer, I slide down onto the floor, get on my knees, and settle my hands on the back of her legs. Give anything right now not to have them covered by a pair of jeans. Her smooth skin deserves to be worshipped. I can’t wait for the day to come when I’ll be able to show her exactly what my hands can do. Brand her in ways that any man who has touched her before me will be forgotten.

“The band is up for a few music awards. The ceremony is a week from Sunday. I’d like you to go with me.”

Sam may be there, but at least he’ll be behind the guarded area, far away from us. A smirk forms around my mouth. I hope to fuck he is. I’ll show him what he gave up and then some. Make him red-raged with jealousy.

I edge my hands higher. The warmth of her body rises the further I go. “I’d love nothing more than to dip my hands into your jeans and touch what I know is the sweetest pussy. My hands itch and tingle just waiting for the time to stroke you. Watch you fall into the unknown. That’s what this is between you and me. The unknown. And fuck all if I don’t love every single second of not knowing where this is going with us. I don’t want it to end. I want to drift into a comfortable, unfamiliar place and stay there. With you.”

Her breath catches. She looks down at me with surprise in her eyes. They churn like the ocean after a violent storm. I take my hands off her legs, position them on both sides of those sexy-as-fuck hips, and run my nose along her cheek, stopping below the shell of her ear. Desperation courses through my veins to nibble and bite, coax and take. She smells like chocolate. A handful of sinful deliciousness is just waiting for me to take a bite. And fuck if I don’t want to devour and savor her at the same damn time. Let her melt in my mouth.

“God, Dean. No one has ever talked to me that way before. I’d love to go with you.” Her voice runs ragged and hot with words I was hoping to hear.

Her admission nearly has me coming in my jeans. I want to fuck her fierce and filthy and never stop. But she deserves a man who will take his time discovering every little thing that turns her on. That guy is me. I’ll admire every inch of her while tracing every curve with my fingertips and my tongue.

I begin to trace my thumbs along the delicate slope of her neck. I can hear the pounding of her heart. Need to feel the pulse that always escalates whenever we’re this close.

“Good. I can’t wait to have you on my arm. Talk to you like what? Tell you what I want to do to you? Ask you what you want? How good I can make you feel, and how touching you is a gift? You are an invitation to sin, Tatum. One I accept without question. I’ll give you whatever you need. One thing I’ll never do is touch you out of anger. I’ll adore this body for as long as you’ll let me. I’ll never leave an unwanted mark on you.” I suddenly change my mind about only holding her tonight. I won’t fuck her, not because I don’t want to. What we have deserves to be done right. This woman has come along and screwed up my mind. She’s gripped hold of me tight. “I’ll stop if you want me to.” I rest my finger on her pulse. It’s fluttering hard.

“No, I love having you touch me, but I’m not ready for anything more than that.” She leans her head back on the couch, her entire body trembling from my touch.

“Are you sure you want me to touch you?” I need the reassurance one more time. Need to know she’s here with me and not thinking about him.

“Yes,” she pants. I close my eyes, tell myself to slow down. Open them and hook a hand around the back of her head, angling it for the assault I crave on her mouth. My other hand trails up to palm a breast, and her tiny moans of submission drive me insane.

Her warm mouth consumes me. Tongue tangling with mine. I’ve never wanted to taste someone’s lips and mouth as badly as I do hers. Intoxicating kisses that pierce my broken soul.

My entire body throbs with such potent need for this woman that it has me shifting her around onto her back and crawling on top of her, being careful of her battered arms. I want to split her completely apart. Watch her come undone with my fingers and eventually put her back together with my cock.

I pop the button on her jeans, tell myself once again to slow down as I tug on her zipper and dip my fingers under the lace panties she has on. Her heated flesh sears my hand.

“Touch me,” she pants as I drag my teeth down over her neck and dip a finger between her silky wet folds, sinking into her wet little pussy. Christ, if her greedy little walls grasp hold tightly the way she is my finger, I can only imagine what she’ll do with my dick. This vision alone has me pushing and pulling out of her in a frenzy. I fuck her with my fingers, wishing it were my dick inside of her instead. I’m fucking wrecked over her. Utterly wrecked.

“Dean, please.” Sweet mother of God, her plea is raspy and throaty. Fucking hell, she is so fucking hot. I’ve never had a craving to sink my cock inside a woman and fuck us both until we forget there was anyone else before us. I want her badly.

“Please, what? Make you come?” I comply without waiting for her answer, sinking another finger into her cunt and pressing my thumb against her hardened clit. Her body stretches, slickness coating my fingers. My dick is as hard as granite. Her moans are shooting straight to my balls. I can’t wait to be buried inside of her.

I lift my head and chest enough to watch her gorgeous face already rippling in desire, mouth parted, eyes wide, face flushed, and the way she’s looking at me as if no one other than me has made her feel this way has my balls aching and my cock begging to be freed. She is exquisite in her orgasmic bliss. Knew she would be. Everything I want and never thought I deserved to have.

“Yes, like that!” she cries out.

I crash my mouth to hers, desperately wanting to swallow her air. I fuck her mouth with my tongue the way I’m doing her pussy with my fingers until she breaks away, tilts her head back, and lets go.

Her eyes flutter open; a smile spreads across her swollen lips.

All I can do is savor the moment and hope to hell that when the day comes when she finds out the truth, she’s still able to smile the same way she is now.

A smile meant for me.