Page 13 of Chasing the Wild
Something fierce and possessive flashed in his eyes. "Always. I will always choose keeping you alive over making you useful to someone else. You understand that? You're not a resource to be managed or a problem to be solved. You're mine to protect."
And that—that was when I felt it. The moment when like became something deeper. When attraction became something that felt close to free falling off a mountain.
"I don't know how to be protected," I admitted. "I've spent my whole life being useful."
"Then it's time you learned the difference." He kissed me again, softer this time. "And I'm an excellent teacher."
The sound of ATVs outside announced the arrival of more people. Within minutes, three men had entered the lodge—all built like Sam, all carrying supplies, all radiating the same competent intensity.
"Kevin Pike," the first one said, extending a hand to me after Sam had introduced us. He was the oldest, maybe mid-thirties, with dark hair and the bearing of someone used to being in charge. "Sam's told us about you."
"He has?" I glanced at Sam in surprise.
"Texted us last night," the second man said—Neil, who was absolutely massive. Probably six-five with shoulders that looked like they could carry the world. But his eyes were gentle as he smiled at me. "Said he'd met the woman of his dreams."
Heat flooded my face. "He said that?"
"Exact words," the third confirmed—Shane, younger than the others, with dark hair and the controlled expression of someone who'd seen too much. "And he said there was a bunch of uppity lawyers who were going to give him a hard time about staying put.”
“Are you psychic?” I asked Sam.
He grinned. “Nope. Just know lawyers.”
While Sam's foster brothers helped structure the indoor day of training, Sam pulled me away from the main room.
"Where are we going?" I asked as he led me down a hallway toward what looked like a storage area.
"Somewhere we can have some privacy," he said. "Need to inventory supplies anyway."
The supply room was small, but lined with shelves of camping gear, emergency supplies, and survival equipment. The moment Sam closed the door behind us, the space felt impossibly intimate.
"What do we need privacy for?" I asked, trying to ignore how aware I was of his proximity in the confined space.
"Depends." He moved closer, backing me toward the shelves with deliberate steps.
My back hit the wall. "Sam—"
"What do you want to do right now?"
"I don't know."
"I do."
"What do I want?" I whispered.
"Me. My hands on you. My mouth on you. My body covering yours until you forget everything except how good it feels to let go."
He was right. God, he was right. "We shouldn't," I said weakly, even as my hands came up to hold him. "Your brothers are right outside. My coworkers—"
"Don't care about them." His mouth brushed mine, not quite a kiss. "Care about you. About what you need. And right now, you need to stop thinking and start feeling."
Then he was kissing me, and thought became impossible. His mouth demanded response, and my body gave it without hesitation. His tongue swept past my lips, tasting me, claiming me, showing me exactly what he'd meant about making me forget everything else.
His hands slid under my shirt, palms rough against my skin, and I gasped into his mouth. He swallowed the sound, kissing me deeper as his thumbs traced the underside of my breasts through my sports bra.
"Sam," I gasped.
"Say it again." His mouth moved to my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. "I love hearing you say my name like that. Like you need me."
