Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“The signs?” I snap, staring at her, feeling my body bulge like I’m going to erupt.
I imagine grabbing her, dragging her into my lap, and driving my manhood against her ass. Sliding my hands up her legs and pressing down on her young sex, rubbing as she shivers in my lap.
Don’t worry about any signs. Just worry about us. Worry about this feeling. Worry about creaming for me like the obedient young thing you are.
“Signs of what?” I ask, my voice tight, too much rushing around my head.
I can’t make sense of it all. The lust, the sudden want, the bone-deep conviction that I will protect this woman as fiercely as I protected my country.
Always.
“It’s nothing. I’m sorry.”
I think I know what she was getting at with her signs comment, but if she’s content to slam the lid shut on that conversation, I won’t stop her.
“What’s your address?” I ask. “We need to get to Buckie.”
“Can I…” She gestures to the GPS.
“Sure.”
As she types in her address, I wonder if I went too far, snapping at her.
I remind myself that too far makes no sense here since it implies there’s some sort of romance building, something happening other than a grumpy vet doing a favor for the most beautiful woman who’s ever lived.
“I didn’t mean any offense before,” Luna murmurs. “With my comment. You know. I speak before I think sometimes. I guess that’s what happens when you’re just a silly twenty-year-old, right?”
There it is, the age thing, the reason this could never work. She’s less than half my age. She wouldn’t be interested in a man like me. That just makes my obsession more painful, more difficult to take, but I’ll just bury it. Push it down. Never think about it.
I’m good at that.
CHAPTER
FOUR
Luna
“So, where do you want the tattoo?” I ask.
It’s the first time either of us has spoken since the parking lot, about five minutes before. After I told him I recognized the signs, the tension in the car changed. It was like he thought I was implying he had PTSD, or there was something wrong with him by how fiercely he responded. His gaze snapped to me like he was ready to tear my head off, but he seems ready to let it go as he answers. I thought he was giving me the silent treatment, but maybe he was simply content to drive quietly.
“On my right shoulder,” he says.
A shiver runs through me as I think about Kayden lying shirtless on his front, rippled back muscles on display, my hand trembling as I bring the needle closer to his skin. I won’t be the one doing it, I remember.
“Do you have any idea how big you want it?” I ask.
“It should cover my whole shoulder blade. It’ll be roughly the same size as the one on my opposite shoulder.”
“What’s that one of?” I ask.
As we come to a red light, he bites down, sighing gruffly.
One second, he’s flirting. No, not flirting, but being friendly, at the very least. The next, it’s like he wishes I’d just shut up, even though he must’ve known I’d ask about his tattoos.
“Gunner. He was my dog before Sergeant and he… well, it was war. War happens. Stuff happens at war. You get the point.”
“Yes,” I murmur. “I understand.”
“Should you be writing this down?” he asks. “For Marty?”
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Thanks. I bet I don’t seem very professional to you.”
“You seem fine.”
He pulls away as the light changes. I take out my phone to type quickly what he’s said. I try for a laugh, but it comes out sounding as forced as his “Fine.” That’s quite the compliment.
He glances at me, a smirk on his lips, but it doesn’t reach those icy eyes. “I’m not great at giving compliments. You should take what you can get.”
“Some people say fine to mean… you know.”
“No. To mean what?”
My cheeks are blushing so hard as I turn away from him, staring out the window as the city passes us by. “I hope Buckie’s okay.”
Part of me wants Kayden to follow up, to make me say that some people say fine to mean attractive, but Kayden seems content to withdraw. Maybe it’s a habit for him.
“What angle do you want to show Sergeant from?” I ask quickly, changing the subject.
“I’ve got a photo,” Kayden says. “I’ve been meaning to get it done for a while. My last tat was years ago, but…”
“But what?” I whisper, forcing myself to turn back to him.
Kayden grips the steering wheel hard. His forearms bulge through his shirt, his tight grip making me think of what it would be like if he held me, if he squeezed me like he never wanted to let go. If he glided those hands down my body to my sex and then… and then what? Then I magically become a know-it-all sex goddess who gives this man what he wants?