Page 41 of Property of Bull
This time when I shower, Stryker joins me, lathering us both up before sitting on the bench and pulling me down, and patiently letting me take his cock inside of me at my own pace.
He plays with my clit as I bounce up and down, coming on his dick. Standing up, he turns off the water, wrapping us in an oversized towel, his hard length pressing against my stomach.
No sooner has he set me down on his king-sized bed than he’s rolling a condom on and filling me again. “My turn,” he whispers, before nibbling on my breasts and shedding the control he demonstrated in the shower.
The next time I come, my legs are over his shoulders and I’m pleading with him to come with me. His cock thrusts into me like his life depends on it, until he finally reaches down, cupping my cheek and looking into my eyes so intently I’m certain he can see my soul.
Seconds after he throws his head and yells out my name, he shifts my legs before collapsing on top of me. “You’re mine now, Margo.”
With his weight partially balanced on his side, we gently kiss each other’s necks, caressing and comforting each other. Drifting off to sleep, I can’t help comparing Stryker’s possessiveness to David’s.
When David told me we were meant to be together forever, my blood ran cold. Some part of me felt terror the moment I heard him say it.
Yet Stryker’s words make me feel whole and safe.
Our schedule is completely screwy by this point, but when I hear someone knocking on the door some hours later, I slip from the bed and hurriedly pull on one of Stryker’s shirts, thankful that it more than covers my ass.
Thinking that it’s my dad, Stryker is only just stirring from sleep when I run to open the door as the next round of knocking starts.
It takes me a moment to make sense of the man who’s standing on the porch, staring down at me and when the look on his face shifts to amusement, I slam the door and bolt it.
“Christ, Margo! Who is it?” Stryker is balancing himself against the doorframe that leads back to the bedrooms as he pulls up his shorts. “I told you to wait.”
“I thought he was dead,” I scream at him, almost accusing him for my misunderstanding. “Granddad said he was gone and everyone talked about him in the past tense. Gone means ‘dead’, doesn’t it, Stryker?”
He stands there blinking at me in confusion, at least until the knocking starts again and a muffled voice comes through the solid wooden door. “Not in this case, honey. When’d you change the locks, Bull?”
“Dammit,” Stryker growls and for the first time I notice he has a gun in his right hand as he strides toward me, unlocking and opening the door. “Bad fucking timing, Dad.”
“Get rid of the broad,” the monster says, dropping a duffle bag as he steps inside and shuts the door again, barely pausing as he continues toward the kitchen cabinet to grab a glass. “We need to talk.”
“She stays. Margo’s my Ol’ Lady,” Stryker says, catching me around the waist when I growl and head toward the man who I spent so many years afraid of.
“Margo,” Mr. Wells slowly repeats my name before his eyes light up and he takes a longer look at me as he fills his glass with whiskey. “Not George Tucker’s granddaughter? Damn, are you legal now, little girl?”
“Why don’t you go crawl back into whatever grave you climbed out of?” My reply gets a laugh from him as he holds his glass up in a mock salute to me.
“Oh, she doesn’t cower anymore, does she?”
“Dad, knock your shit off. Babe, come on back to our room,” Stryker’s voice varies dramatically as he addresses each of us. “Dad, take my old room. Eli might show up, so behave if he does. I’ll be out in a few.”
I decide to walk a step ahead of Stryker, my hands fisted at my sides, unwilling to give his father the satisfaction of seeing me being pulled along.
“Margo, we never talked about Edward. I never made you think he was dead, did I?” Stryker calmly tries to clarify things as he closes the bedroom door behind him.
“No, I guess I misunderstood, but that doesn’t mean I have to pretend to be happy that he’s not,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Why are you so pissed?” he asks, pulling me into his arms. “Jesus, and you only met him that one time.”
“Because he was your father and he made you clean up the body,” I reply, my voice breaking. “He should have protected you, not made a joke out of murdering that guy.”
With anyone else, I would think the shuddering that rolls the length of Stryker’s body meant they were about to cry. I look up, not sure what to expect, but it sure as hell isn’t the smile he’s giving me.
“You were going to fight him for me?” he confirms, tracing my cheekbone with one of his fingers and I nod; pressing up against his hand until he puts the gun down on the dresser and uses both hands to hold my face before slowly kissing me.
“I think you love me, Margo Tucker,” his soft whisper against my lips sends chills down my back.
“You make sure you’re worth it, Stryker Wells,” I sass right back to him.
