Obsessed (The Protectors #13) - Sloane Kennedy Page 0,1
his knees and begging for release was part of the fun. Not to mention I could be as rough as I wanted with a muscle head.
But the guy in the kitchen was anything but muscular. He was… average, though not in a bad way. And he was considerably older than the guys I usually fucked around with. I put him at his late forties or early fifties at best. Although I couldn’t really tell much about his body from his position, he wasn’t heavily built. His jeans and casual button-down shirt did nothing to accentuate any muscles he could have been hiding beneath the material. His short dark hair was peppered with silver and he had a mustache.
A fucking mustache.
A fucking mustache that was turning me on like nobody’s business. I could practically feel it tickling my skin as the guy’s mouth trailed down my body. And when I shoved my dick down his throat, I’d be able to feel those little hairs on my—
“Did you say something—” the officer with the bad timing asked.
“Do you have any more questions for me, Officer…”—I glanced at his name tag— “Officer Hard-on.”
“It’s Harden,” the officer responded. “With an ‘e.’”
“You sure?” I asked, letting my voice drop another octave as I pinned the man with my eyes and gave him what Cruz referred to as my oh-yeah-please-fuck-with-me look. The man paled even more and then shook his head before nodding it. I nearly smiled when he reached for the radio on his shoulder… the one that hadn’t been going off.
As the officer did an unnecessary status check via his radio, I shifted my attention back to the man in the kitchen. I managed to tamp down the lust coursing through my veins, but it took every ounce of focus that I had. That lasted all of about fifteen seconds because then all of a sudden, the man turned his head to look at me.
And that was all she wrote.
I wasn't sure how I'd ever considered the guy average because he was just beautiful. His eyes were a stunning shade of green that I could say I'd never seen in any of my travels all around the world. Even with his features marred by exhaustion and stress, he still stole my breath. It was the most bizarre reaction I'd ever had to a man and God knew I'd been with plenty of men. But I couldn't remember any of their faces. I knew that it wouldn't be the same with the guy who was currently watching me like he didn't know what to make of me. I'd remember that face for the rest of my days.
If I had my way—and I always got my way—I’d get to see more than his face soon enough. I didn't even care that I’d gone from being fascinated with him to wanting to own him in the space of a few seconds. I wasn't into all that analyzing one's feelings bullshit. If I wanted something, I took it. If I liked something, I had more of it. If I didn't, I walked away. The challenge was in the hunt.
As I held the man's gaze, I knew this particular hunt would be unlike any I'd ever known.
The man, who I assumed was the wheelchair kid’s father, shook the hand of the female police officer he'd been talking to and then glanced at me once again. I clearly made him uncomfortable, but that was a good thing. I liked when my prey was off-balance. It made the hunt more interesting.
But when the man straightened as if readying himself for battle, I felt oddly proud and nervous at the same time.
Except I didn't get nervous.
It served no purpose.
So what was it about this guy, this man who most people would probably think really was just average, that made my hands feel sweaty and caused my heart to pound just a bit harder in my chest? I tried to tell myself it was because I had no interest in him thanking me for saving his kid’s life, but my increased breathing said differently. Once I fucked this guy, all that other shit would go away. If I was really lucky, it was just the residual adrenaline that was making me feel all wonky.
Jesus, Matias. Wonky? Who are you?
I cursed under my breath and then got to my feet. I noticed as the man neared me, his eyes darted between me and the door. I figured he was debating whether he could just