Page 21 of Her Dirty Defender

And maybe she doesn’t either because when she finally speaks, her voice is quiet, almost like she’s afraid to break whatever spell has settled between us.

“Don’t stop.”

Tomorrow, she’ll walk away.

But tonight?

Tonight, she’s mine.

Chapter6

George

He stands from the bed, and I watch, my breath caught somewhere between anticipation and awe, as he removes his clothes with slow, deliberate movements—like he’s in no rush, like he knows I’m already hanging on his every motion.

First, his shirt. He grips the back of the fabric and tugs it over his head in one smooth motion, exposing broad, muscled shoulders that taper into a firm chest, his abs cut with precision, the kind of body built for power, not vanity. Scars litter his skin, some faded, others still pronounced—a thin, jagged line across his ribs, another that curves over his left pectoral, a longer one slicing down the ridges of his abdomen.

What the hell happened to him?

I don’t ask.No questions.

But I can’t stop wondering.

The tough ridges of old wounds tell a story I don’t know, a history he hasn’t shared. And somehow, they make him even more devastating.

His boots hit the floor, heavy and final.

Socks. Gone.

Then his jeans. He unbuttons them, slow and controlled, shoving them down thick, powerful thighs until they pool at his feet.

And finally, his boxers.

The last barrier falls, and my stomach tightens as his cock springs free, thick, hard, straining.

Magnificent.

That’s the only word that comes to mind.

Every inch of him is lethal and commanding, honed to precision, like he was built to ruin me in the best possible way.

My gaze hungrily traces every inch of him. From the deep grooves of his abs… to the cut of his hips… to the way he stands before me, completely unapologetic in his own skin.

But it’s the contrast that undoes me.

The strength in his body. The scars marking his skin.

And his eyes—hot, dark, full of hunger.

He’s controlled. Disciplined. But right now?

That control is all for me.

Plucking a foil packet from the wallet in his discarded jeans, he tosses it on the nightstand. Before I have time to wonder how often he’s done this before, he’s on me, exploring every curve of my body, learning every line, every secret place that makes me gasp and arch into his touch.

His body is incredibly hot, his cock prodding my stomach until he slides his hand beneath my ass and hitches me upward. His hand grips a rounded globe to hold me tight against him, and he presses against my core. A shock of sensation darts through me, followed by a surge of lust so acute that I dig my fingers into his shoulders. God, he’s solid everywhere.

His cock nudges higher, pressing exactly where I need him, the heat of him scorching. I swear I can feel every ridge, every thick, pulsing inch, and it’s wrecking me.

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