Page 25 of Monstrosity
"Dasha," he breathes against my mouth. "We should?—"
"Stop talking." I fist my hands in his shirt. "Just kiss me."
He does, backing me against the counter, caging me with his body.
Every point of contact burns—his thigh between mine, his hands skimming my sides, his mouth moving to my throat.
"Fuck, I've wanted this," he murmurs against my skin. "Wanted you. Do you know what you do to me? Walking around my house in my shirts, making breakfast like you belong here?"
"Idobelong here." I gasp as he finds that spot where my neck meets my shoulder. "I've belonged here for as long as I can remember."
He pulls back to look at me, and his eyes are black with want. "Say that again."
"I belong here. With you. With the girls. In this life, dangerous or not."
"Dasha—" His phone buzzes again. Then again. And again.
"Ignore it," I plead, but I can already see him shifting back into protective mode.
He checks the messages, and whatever he sees makes him go rigid. "They're moving. Three cars now." He shows me the screen—updates from the brothers watching the house. "They're not approaching, just... circling."
"They're trying to scare us."
"They're succeeding." He runs a hand through his hair. "This is exactly what I didn't want. You in danger because of me, because of being close to the club."
"Hey." I take his face in my hands again, forcing him to look at me. "This isn't your fault. And I'm not running."
"You should be. Any sane person would be."
"Good thing I'm not sane." I try for lightness, but his expression remains serious. "Rio, do you want me to leave?"
"No." The word comes out sharp, immediate. "God help me, no. I want you here where I can protect you. Where I can—" He stops himself.
"Where you can what?"
"Where I can pretend for a little while that you're mine." The admission seems to cost him. "That this is our life, our family. That I get to keep you."
"You do get to keep me," I whisper. "If you want me."
He kisses me again, softer this time but no less intense. "I want you more than I've wanted anything in my entire life. That's the problem."
"That's not a problem." I wind my arms around his neck. "That's the solution."
His phone rings—an actual call this time.
He answers without letting me go.
"Yeah?" A pause. "How many?"
Another pause. "No, stay on them. I want to know the second they do anything besides circle."
He hangs up. "Five cars now. They're making a statement."
"What kind of statement?"
"That they can get to you whenever they want." His arms tighten around me. "But they're wrong. I won't let them hurt you."
"I know." And I do. I can see it in every line of his body, the absolute certainty that he'll die before letting anything happen to me. "So, what do we do now?"
