Page 22 of Hostile Love
When she stays here, allocated soldiers man this very area.
Primarily, because I’d assessed it as easy to both climb and descend. But mostly because the girl likes danger and wouldn't think twice about sneaking out without telling me.
I scale the ivy trained trellis with ease and throw my leg over the balcony, hauling myself onto the ledge.
Dropping to the other side, I shove a heavy planter sideways and collect a spare key for the glazed sliding door.
Indoors, I prowl through my sister’s bedroom where her clothes and shoes litter the floor after their quick getaway earlier.
I peer around the door jamb onto the landing, thankful it’s clear, and head straight to my room.
Although I’m the highest-ranking soldier on Blanco’s payroll, I also have a permanent seat at his dining table and an allocated bedroom in every single property he owns.
We don’t have a normal father-daughter relationship, but we havesomething.
It doesn’t take long before I’m creeping into my unlit bedroom, quietly closing the door behind me.
Finally able to relax, I press my spine against the door and let my head fall back to the white wood, an exhausted sigh whispering into the silence.
Slowly, sinking downward, I untie my boots first, tug them off, and peel my socks from my achy feet.
Next, I pull the blood-stained base layer up and over my head, rake hair out of my eyes, unzip my utility pants, and shove them past my hips. I’m left in only my bra and panties.
I leave everything in a heap at the door and pad over the plush carpet, my bare feet not making a sound.
Moonlight spills in through the window and catches the sharp corners of heavy furniture, fracturing light across the floor like laser beams.
A sudden shiver sprinkles my skin in goosebumps and that red-hot awareness catches up with me again, halting me in the middle of the room.
I close my eyes and run the tips of my fingers over my belly, imagining his lips on mine and his possessive hands on every inch of my body.
Sliding the straps off my shoulders, I unclip my bra and let it fall to my feet, letting dirty thoughts of Matheus flood me.
I’ve been in a hungry state of arousal since he dragged me under the truck with him. It won’t go away. Not even when I remind myself of who he is and what he’s done.
My fingers glide over my breasts and pluck my nipples, needing relief. It doesn’t feel the same, though.
That buzz of chemistry is missing…and his warm mouth.
I grunt at my horny frustration and decide to get in the tub first. But before my next step, a soft exhale carries through the silence.
My head whips around to my bed by the far window. I freeze.
Someone’s lying on top of the comforter. Whoever it is appears to be sleeping in my bed.
Annoyed at myself for not noticing the danger, I tread closer, ready to strangle the unwelcome visitor.
Getting closer, I recognize the gorgeous man sprawled flat on his back. An artist's dream muse.
Matheus.
My body hums even when it shouldn’t, not for him.
An empty bottle of Blanco’s best whiskey sits on the nightstand beside a handgun and his head rests on my feather down pillow.
Silver moonlight worships every naked dip and contour of his taut abdomen and illuminates a few scattered bruises.
My gaze wanders all over him with a racing heartbeat, settling on the white towel slung around his hips.
