The Preacher's Son #2: Unleashed (6 page)

BOOK: The Preacher's Son #2: Unleashed

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Tre searched my eyes, looking for the lie, for the covering up of his feelings, or the hint that would tell him I was just trying to pacify him. I held his rough cheeks in my hands and let him look, tried to put everything into my gaze. I let the conflict, the burgeoning love...yes, love...the fear, all of it.

At length he lay back down, satisfied with what he saw.

"Baby?" he asked, between the spaces of our synchronized heart beats.

I nodded. "Baby. Honey. Sweetie." I tilted my head to look up at him across his chest. "I can think of others."

"Baby. No one has ever called me that."

"You were wonderful, baby. Thank you" I said it as tenderly as I could.

His chest swelled with a long breath, and imagined the inbreath was the swelling of my love expanding into him. I was terrified of loving him, terrified more still that he would love me back. I knew he did, which is why it scared me. We were in uncharted waters for both of us. I didn't know how to love any more than he did. I had never loved Dan, nor been loved by him.

"I still don't know what came over me, why I went crazy like that."

"I do."

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "You do?"

"Well, it was two things. One, the adrenaline from last night, the rush of testosterone and all that. You went warrior on that guy, protecting your lady—which was hot, by the way. Seeing you fight to protect me, it was scary then, but thinking about it now gets me wet for you all over again. And number two, I think you just really like taking me from behind."

"It did feel incredible," he said.

"Good," I said. "I'll give it to you like that whenever you want. I like it too."

More silence, and then his voice, tense: "I really messed that guy up."

I thought for a moment, trying to formulate the best response. "You were protecting me, and yourself. He would have killed one or both of us. You did what you had to." I rubbed my hands on his chest as I spoke. "The police didn't seem to think you were at fault either, so that has to tell you something."

"True," he said. "It was just scary. I saw him lunge at you, saw the knife cut you, and I went berserk."

"I know. It's okay. It's an instinct." I let my hand roam south along his torso, cupping his testicles, feeling them tighten in response to my touch; he would be ready again soon, and so would I. "And like I said, it turns me on. A woman likes to feel safe, and now I know you can and will protect me."

He smiled at me, rolling over to kiss me. It was a long, slow, tender kiss, full of the new spikes of love between us. This time, instead of blossoming immediately into lustful twisting and rubbing, we let the kiss go, let it curl around us and through us, merging our hearts and souls in a way no sexual act ever could. I felt his arms around me, and the knowledge that he was willing to risk death to protect me gave wings to my new-found love for Tre.

I don't know how long we kissed, how long we delved into each other; it could have been five minutes, or it could have been five hours. All I know is at some point, without either of us instigating it, Tre was on top of me, moving inside me with exquisite gentility, eyes boring into me, questioning. I was still a little sore, but he was gentle, and I felt nothing but the pleasure of his love, the heart-cracking wellspring of emotion in his eyes, in the slow, delicious strokes of him inside me. There was no weight against me, just him gliding deep and pulling back, just his lips against mine, against my breasts, our stomachs touching, brushing. This time, we came at the same moment, a long rolling ocean of pleasure, our breaths hitching into sobs, our hearts tangled and merged.

We slept again, deep and without dreams, wrapped in each other, content in a soul-deep way.

For the second time since I first slept with Tre, I was woken by the sound of angry pounding on the door. There was no furious shouting, though, and some primal instinct clamped around my heart.

"Will you answer that, Tre?" I asked, fear make my voice tiny.

He didn't answer, just stood up, wrapped a towel around his hips, and strode confidently to the door, fists curled at his sides. I clutched the sheet to my chest, terrified at who I knew was on the other side of the door.

Tre blocked my view, but I heard the angry, familiar voice. "Who the hell are you? Where's Shea?"

Tre's voice was cold, hard, and threatening. "What do you want?"

"I want my wife!"

I saw Tre flinch, then straighten and step forward, pushing Dan backwards. "Shea isn't your wife anymore, Dan. She doesn't belong to you. Leave now."

I heard then the unmistakable sound of a pistol's slide being drawn back.

"She'll always belong to me."

THE END OF THE PREACHER'S SON: UNLEASHED

LOOK FOR STORY 3, COMING SOON

Available now, from ORLY Press