Page 32 of Ruthless Savior
She bites her lip again. A nervous tic, I think. “My best friend tells me that a lot.”
“Since she’s not here, I’ll remind you.” I manage a smile that I hope looks reassuring. “Go eat, Leila. I’ll make sure you and those you care about are protected. As long as you’re under my roof, you’re mine to protect.”
It comes out more possessive than I expected. I see her eyes widen, ever so slightly, and then she nods, opening the door.
“I hope that means what you seem to think it does,” she says softly, and then she slips through the door and closes it behind her, leaving me alone.
My pulse is beating hard against the side of my throat as I stare at the closed door, like it’s trying to escape. My cock is aching, straining against the confines of my zipper, and before I can stop to think, I stride toward my office door, flipping the lock at the same moment that I drag my zipper down with my other hand.
I don’t bother undoing my belt or taking my pants down. I need relief too badly. My cock is out and in my fist in a matter of seconds, and I groan as I sink into one of the leather chairs in front of my desk, stroking feverishly as I tilt my head back and spread my legs, one hand coming down to cup my balls through my pants.
Fuck. I haven’t been aroused this often, this intensely, in years. I came twice last night, unable to stop myself from a second release as I lay in bed and wrestled with my guilt over jerking off to thoughts of Leila the first time. Now, hours later, my cock is in my hand again, the vision of her standing in my office and offering me her virginity stark in my mind’s eye.
Every part of my body wanted me to say yes. The thought of her, naked and innocent in my bed, looking up at me as I taught her everything about what it’s like to sleep with a man for the first time, is almost enough to make me come on the spot. The desire feels almost violent, like nearly two years of repressed need is surfacing all at once, and directing itself at entirely the wrong woman.
I squeeze my length, sliding my fist up and over my cockhead as I feel pre-cum smear over my palm. The sensation is good, so fucking good, but it can’t compare to the warm, wet flesh of a woman wrapped around me. It can’t compare to what Leila would feel like as I slid inside her for the first time, opening her, claiming her?—
A moan tears from my lips as I snatch a handful of tissues from my desk just in time, holding them in my other palm as I angle my cock and stroke fast and hard, my balls tightening as I shoot into my hand. The pleasure shudders through me, my muscles rigid with it as I come hard, teeth clenched to keep from moaning so loudly that anyone walking past would know what’s happening in here.
My heart feels like it’s going to hammer out of my chest. I throw the tissues into the trash, groaning as I tuck myself away and the clarity hits me.What the fuck is going on with me?I can’t recall ever being so aroused that I couldn’t keep myself from jerking off, that I had to lock my office midday because I needed a release so badly. And now here I am, cleaning up before ten in the morning because the girl who is under my protection made me an offer that I had to refuse.
I've been in this business for a long time. I’ve been my father’s heir all my life, with all of the responsibilities that come with that, and eventually the training and the tests. I've faced down men twice my size with guns pointed at my head without breaking a sweat. I've negotiated deals worth millions of dollars, made life-or-death decisions without hesitation. I'm not a man who gets rattled easily.
But this girl has managed to do it in less than forty-eight hours. And while I had plenty of motive to finish Rocco off and get this business over with before, I have even more now.
I need her out of my house before she drives me fucking mad.
Christ, I need a drink.And I haven’t even had breakfast yet.
I stride to the bar cart at the side of my office, pouring myself two fingers of whiskey. I down it in one gulp, welcoming the burn. Then I pour another and force myself to sit down at my desk, pulling out my phone to make the calls I should have been focusing on from the start when Leila walked out.
The first call is to a contact who can get me to speak to a higher-up at the hospital where Leila's mother is being treated. It takes some convincing and a substantial donation to get the information I need, but within twenty minutes, I have a full picture of her condition and treatment plan. The situation is bad, but not hopeless—with the right care and medication, remission is possible. Probable, even. But the stress of Leila’s situation can’t be helping, and getting the kind of care she needsis eye-wateringly expensive to anyone whose bank accounts aren’t in the very, very high eight figures.
The second call is to my accountant, arranging for the funds to cover all of her medical expenses for the foreseeable future. It's a significant amount of money, but not enough to make a dent in my finances. For Leila, though, it would have been impossible. Then, last of all, I call Finn.
“I need men stationed at Mrs. Murphy’s apartment. I want them discreet, but if there’s any activity around her building that could lead back to Rocco, I want to be notified immediately.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Finn pauses. “Is she gonna make another run for it?”
“Leila? No, I don’t think so. But her mother’s safety is paramount. I can take care of Leila here, but I need men making sure that Rocco doesn’t try anything with her mother.”
“Consider it handled,” Finn promises me.
“I need contacts for private home nurses as well. The best possible. Whatever home care celebrities and billionaires are using, I want that.”
“I’ll get some to you as quick as I can.”
“Thanks.” I set down the phone, rubbing the bridge of my nose. I hadn’t anticipated needing to handle anything like this a few days ago. I would have laughed if anyone would have suggested this was how my morning was going to be spent.
Or that the girl who triggered it all was going to be a source of endless and frustrating temptation for me.
9
LEILA
The opulent dining room still makes me feel out of place when I walk in for dinner, taking in the mahogany table, crystal chandelier, and spread of crystal and china dishes. Ida mentioned that this is the ‘informal’ dining room, as well which suggests there’s a fancier one somewhere in this house. It feels unreal. And, though Ronan promised me that he’ll make sure my mother is taken care of, I can’t shake the feelings of guilt.Ishould be the one taking care of her. Not… here. I shouldn’t be enjoying myself.
But it’s hard not to feel a sense of wonder at being in the kind of house I never imagined spending time in, or soak up the feeling of being in an entirely different world. Not to mention, the sight of Ronan makes my skin prickle as always, a tingle of desire running along my nerves as I step into the room and see him seated at the head of the table.
