Page 8 of Ruined

“Blake, I don’t und—” Blake grabs my wrist, yanking it toward her. My eyes widen, snapping my head toward her. Not only was she willing to touch me, but she dug her nails into my skin, a deep frown plastered to her face.

I open my mouth to say something, my eyes bouncing between the road and her face. Only I stop when she slowly traces her fingertips across my forearm.

“Slower,” I mumble when she traces my arm for the fifth time. One letter at a time, she traces into my arm, waiting for me to guess. “P,” I say, glancing over for her to nod. “Okay…e….e. Oh fuck, you have to piss.”

Blake nods her head, pointing to the exit that’s coming up. Of course, she has to use the bathroom. We’ve been on the road for five hours. I only stopped once, and she freaked out and stabbed me.

“Okay, yeah.” I nod, switching lanes. “We can stop and get food. I imagine you’re hungry?” I ask.

Blake gives me theno fucking shitlook and pulls her hood back over her head. Sighing, I follow the exit, looking for a place to eat. Finally, a small diner comes into view. Pulling in, I park, and before I can turn the car off, Blake is yanking the door open.

“Blake!” I snap, throwing the door open. “Blake!” I yell again. Only she doesn’t care and sprints into the diner. Running in after her, she’s already gone into the bathroom. I wait all of two seconds before tugging the door open and marching inside.

“Blake!” I yell.

The toilet flushes and she comes out of the stall, wide-eyed and glancing around. I know I’m being irrational. There’s no reason for me to be inside the women’s bathroom chasing after Blake as though I own her. But I’m also in charge of keeping her safe.

“What part of doing as I say do you not understand?” I growl, stepping toward her. Blake steps back, hands fisted at her side. I know she has a knife, and from the look of it, she’s moments from pulling it out and stabbing me,again.Just the thought of it makes my side ache and burn.

“Do you have some type of death wish?” I demand. The way she’s acting, I wonder why I was even hired to protect her. She seems to be doing just fine on her own. I ought to quit and be done with this headache now.

Blake doesn’t shake or nod her head at my question. Biting my inner cheek, I know I need to back off, leave her be, and just go get us a table. But when her hands inch toward her pocket, I know exactly what she’s thinking of doing.

Pushing forward, I grab her hands, twisting her around. Blake fights against my hold, and I know I shouldn’t be holding her like this. She has trauma, but don’t we all? I can’t think about that now. Not when I need her to understand me.

“You can’t keep stabbing me when I do something you don’t like,” I growl into her ear. Blake bucks against me, and her ass rams against my crotch, blood rushing south. “I wouldn’t do that,” I warn. Knowing full well that the moment she does it again she’s going to feel my hardness and think I want to fuck her. Granted, I do. Blake is beautiful. My face would be the perfect seat for her gorgeous, full ass. Her tits would spill from my hand, and I know her full, plump lips would look hot stretched around my length. But I’d also rather not get into bed with the mafia, and Blake is the fucking princess of one.

“We’re going to walk out of this bathroom, get us a table, and we’re going to have a nice conversation about the rulesyouare going to follow,” I order her. “Do you understand?”

Blake bucks against me again, and her ass jams against my crotch. The moment Blake realizes the chub I’m sporting, she stills.

“I asked you a question,” I mutter, doing my best to ignore my cock and the way Blake has yet to remove her ass from it. Slowly she nods her head. Dropping my hands, I back away, waiting for her to turn around. Her shoulders rise and fall faster and the moment I realize she’s panicking I want to shoot myself.

“Sunshine.” I sigh. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Blake swings around, glaring up at me. Knife in hand, inches from my cock. I stop breathing, scared for the first time that I’m about to lose my manhood.

“Blake, I—” I’m cut off again when she presses the tip harder against my junk. “Right, okay, you’re in control,” I hiss.

Blake nods her head, cocking a brow, daring me to say something else. I don’t know how I went from being some badass ex-military man, who’s a hired hitman, to some guy being held by my balls. But here I am, in some diner, in the women’s bathroom, with Blake, holding that said knife.

As if she truly doesn’t give a damn, Blake removes the knife, backing away. I breathe a sigh of relief. “Let’s go,” I mutter. Opening the door, a small elderlywoman stops in her tracks, eyes wide as she takes my large frame in and then stops on Blake.

“Shut your mouth,” I growl.

Darting around the old lady, I move down between the booths, stopping at an empty one. Turning around I wait for Blake to slowly make her way down. Glaring up at me from her hood, I smirk, knowing full well how pissed off she is. I am too. Holding my hand out, Blake slips into the booth picking the menu up to hide her face from me. Sliding in across from her, I spread my legs out, planting my feet on either side of her. Blake’s head snaps up, narrowing her eyes. Raising my brow, I wait for her to do something, only to be interrupted when the waiter comes over.

“Welcome to Bailey’s Diner. My name is Danny. Can I get you started with something to drink?”

Neither of us looks up from each other, stuck in a staring match, playing the game who’s going to blink first or even look away. Blake thinks she won something when she put that blade against my dick. She didn’t, instead, it unlocked some feral need inside me to have her press that against me while I fuck her roughly against the wall.

Even if she’s a protection job.

“Uh… I can give you guys a few minutes…” he mutters before he’s walking off.

“What’s your problem now?” I ask, leaning forward.

Blake doesn’t answer, not that I expect her to, but she doesn’t even move her hands. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. Even if she’s mad at me, I’d rather have her waving her hands around, speaking to me in her language. I don’t want to silence her.

“Are you upset that I walked into the women’s bathroom or that I touched you?” I asked. “Tap the table once if it’s the women's bathroom, or twice if it’s because I touched you.”

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