Series: Silver Spoon MC Series by Nichole Rose
Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 38632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
"She's fine, angel." He grabs me around the waist, hauling me up against his hard body before I can rush past him. "Nothing has changed."
I sag in his arms, relief loosening my muscles all at once. "I thought…"
"I'm an idiot." His palm settles against my abdomen, his nose sliding down the side of my face. "I scared you."
"Every time I leave, I worry something is going to happen," I admit, melting deeper into his embrace. I tell myself it's just for a minute. That I'll pull away again when my legs stop trembling. But I think I'm lying to myself. It's been so damn long since anyone held me. His arms feel like heaven around me.
"I'm not going to let anything happen to her, baby. I made you a promise. I don't intend to break it now." His lips track down my cheek, his words a soft murmur against my skin.
Even though I shouldn't, I tilt my head, allowing him access to my throat. His stubble scrapes my skin in the most wicked, delicious way as he attacks my neck with his lips and tongue. His hand tightens on my stomach, pulling me closer. His—oh, lord—his erection digs into the small of my back.
"Why'd you leave?" he growls against my skin.
"V-visiting hours."
"Don't apply to you, Samara. We both know it. Why'd you leave?"
He's right. They don't. I can come and go whenever I want. Parents and caregivers have access to the hospital twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It's the saddest perk of having a child in intensive care, one no one ever wants to have to utilize and yet we find ourselves intensely grateful to have anyway.
"I don't know," I whisper.
"You're afraid."
I nod miserably.
He stops kissing my neck and turns me to face him. One gentle finger beneath my chin angles my head back until my gaze tangles with his. I get lost in those dark emerald eyes again, in the emotion swirling through their depths. Yes, this man is bossy. Maybe even cocky and arrogant, but there's so much more to him too.
"Are you afraid of me, Samara?"
Am I? I give the question the consideration it deserves. He may be in a motorcycle club. That fact may scare the crap out of me. But I'm not afraid of him. Even now, knowing the truth, I feel safer with him than I've ever felt with anyone.
"No," I confess on a whisper. "I'm not afraid of you."
His pleased smile is pure sin. It sends a bolt of white-hot desire racing through my veins, liquefying them on contact.
"Good girl," he rumbles, tipping his head down toward mine. "I'll never hurt you, Samara. I'd fucking annihilate anyone who tried."
"I..." I lick my lips, not sure thanks is the proper response to such a statement.
"You and Scout are mine now, angel. I protect what's mine."
"W-what's yours? We're not property, Tate."
"Never said you were. You don't worship property," he murmurs, brushing his nose against mine. "You don't adore and covet and spoil it. I plan to do all those things for you and Scout. And when she's tucked away in her bed at night, sleeping peacefully, I intend to do it all over again just for you."
Oh, lord.
"I'm going to worship you on my knees with my tongue tucked between your thighs, Samara," he growls. "I'm going to spoil you with these hands, this mouth, and this dick."
"Tate," I groan, my head spinning. Is it normal for doctors to talk this way? Surely it isn't. Gage doesn't say these things, not around me anyway. And yet…and yet they sound perfectly right coming from Tate’s wicked lips. There isn't another doctor like him in the world, I'm sure of it.
"I'm going to give you the world, angel. As soon as you let me in."
Let him in? I'm pretty sure he knows more about me in one day than Troian learned the whole first year we knew each other. Opening up doesn't come naturally to me. My life has never been easy. It's never been pretty. If I don't count on anyone or get close to anyone, it hurts less when they inevitably disappear from my life.
"Kiss me," he orders, rubbing his nose against mine. "I need one little taste to hold me over."
I should tell him no, but I don't. He's in my personal space, working sex magic on my senses. I close the sliver of space between us, eagerly pressing my lips to his. For a protracted second, time seems to stand still. Neither of us move as electricity courses through me in a powerful deluge.
And then he grunts and I'm in his arms, my legs around his waist. His tongue thrusts into my mouth as his hands slip into the back of my panties, grabbing two handfuls of my ass. He grinds me against his erection, snarling like a starving lion.