My Protector by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Ten

Dillon

If I’m short with her, a little angry even. It’s because I’m fucking pissed.

Pissed I didn’t meet her sooner.

Mad as hell she’s been struggling to survive in this big bad world all on her own while I’ve been living the good life.

Until recently anyway.

My queen, all alone out there, eating leftovers from some shitty club out of a paper sack.

Fuck. The anger inside is almost unbearable. Makes white heat lava boil in my veins when I think of it.

I hate the world for putting her in that position, but I thank it at the same time, for bringing her to me just in time to make all the difference.

To rescue her myself.

We can be together because she’s mine now. I might have to tell her a thousand times before it clicks. But showing by example is maybe easier, so no going ‘home’ for her. Not the home she’s probably used to anyhow.

If she’s used to eating scraps from a bag I don’t even want to see where she’s been calling home.

No more eating out of paper sacks or worrying about money or worrying about anything.

“You’re mine now,” I tell her again, reminding her to tell me her own big secret after sharing just a fraction of my own complicated situation, but she’s still hesitant.

I’ll get her fed, then bred, and then straight to bed.

Once she’s rested up she can tell me everything, once she’s been claimed good and proper of course.

Once she’s fully mine, filled until she’s overflowing with my seed,I reason to myself silently.

What matters most is getting her some good food and the real nourishment she needs, my seed in her, making those babies I know she’s been having fantasies about since she knew she could make them.

“Cold or hot?” I ask her, starting my truck. Satisfied we’ve covered some ground at least.

“Huh?” she asks, confused.

“Food. Cold or hot. What do you want?” I ask again, but already decided for her.

“Both,” I tell her. “I know an all-night place that does good food to go.”

“Does it come in a paper sack?” she asks dryly, but I have to laugh.

“You’ve got some sass, haven’t you?” I ask, making the observation more than asking her.

“You threw away my dinner and now you want to waste money on more is all I’m saying,” she retorts, making me ask her what was so special about that greasy looking sack of kitchen scraps she almost walked home with.

“Lasagna,” she says, sounding wounded but can’t hide her smile after she says the word.

I quickly check my mirrors then hit the brakes, making the truck skid to a dramatic halt.

I cover her thick chest with my arm so she doesn’t lurch forward, and feeling her heart starting to race, I exclaim, “Lasagna! Then why didn’t you say so?” I cry out, shifting into reverse as I announce jokingly that we’ll have to go back and get it from the trash.

It takes a moment before she realizes I’m only kidding.

“You have a warped sense of humor, Dillon,” she remarks, grabbing my arm and holding it to her chest for just a moment or two longer. Stroking my arm with both her small hands.

Making my dick so hard in a short series of quickening heartbeats I almost forget how to drive let alone what lasagna even is anymore.

“We could skip the whole dinner thing,” she suggests, making my eyes meet hers dramatically in the rearview.

“No. You won’t.” I instruct her firmly.

“You’ll need your strength, I can assure you,” I add, softening my tone but still meaning it. No girl of mine is gonna skimp out on meals or anything else.

Especially the anything else, which tonight involves her coming on my face until she can’t anymore and then me showing her how many more times she really can come still, using my cock instead.

The inside of the truck’s big for her, but I fill most of it and she lets her hand fall casually onto my leg, which I move a little further up my thigh.

Noticing her gasp and then purr, I remind her she’s gonna have to get used to a lot of things.

Including stretching out that sweet, slick little valley you flashed me earlier.

“You said you had a security business,” she says quietly, thinking things over and making me change the subject from her to me yet again.

“You really want the whole story?” I ask, not wanting to go over it ever again.

Living it was bad enough, but she has every right to know. Especially seeing as I’m being so demanding of her secrets.

I’ve never behaved like this with anyone, ever. I’m only being so damned possessive over her because I know she is my one.

The chance I’ve waited my whole life for. We both have.

Glancing over, and knowing how long a drive we have for food, I can tell she’s patiently waiting.

“I was in business with a friend, my oldest friend. Since we were kids really,” I begin, already sensing she knows this story doesn’t have a happy ending but her eyes flash in the rearview mirror, urging me to go on.

“We ran our security firm together, more than twenty years. Until now.” I correct myself. Going quiet as the steering wheel creaks under my grip.

“Wh-what happened?” Becky asks. Sensing my mood but needing to know herself by now.

“He’d been robbing me blind for years,” I sigh, breathing out the words, hoping to be free of them forever. If only it was so easy to be free of the truth.

“I turned up to the office one morning and there they were, the IRS, the cops. The whole circus was there, walking out with all our computers, files, and most things I owned.”

“So he got caught, right?” she asks cautiously and I scoff a bitter laugh.

“No,” I growl. “I listened to his sob story, begging me to take the rap for some tax stuff so he wouldn’t lose his house. He has a wife, kids.” I let her know and she makes a little noise of understanding.

As if it makes any of it right.

“So you have to pay back some tax?” she asks wearily. Trying again to grasp the situation, but like I’ve found it myself, it’s not so easy to take in all at once.

“Once they started digging, they found more than tax evasion. There was fraud, fake checks, and bogus accounts all in my name and used for all kinds of illegal stuff,” I tell her, trying not to sound so bitter and angry but I just can’t help it.

“Somehow,” I continue, “Matt made it look like I was stealing from him. Like I was the bad guy, but what he really is though is a con artist, plain and simple. I fell for his act for a lifetime. Never wanting to see my best friend for what he truly was. Is.”

“An asshole?” Becky ventures, making me smile just from the way she says it.

So true, and she’s never even met the guy. I wished I had her smarts twenty-plus years ago.

“So…” she continues thoughtfully, looking up as if she has to choose the right questions from somewhere in front of her. “How does all that tie in with you working at the club?”

It’s a fair question, and I answer it in one word. “Probation.”

She makes a face. A little like the one I probably made in court listening to the judge before he explained it all.

“It means I have to do what the court says, for as long as they say it and keep my nose clean, or I go back to court and I’m sentenced to a prison term,” I tell her, instantly feeling her hands grip my arm.

“Noooo,” she cries out.

I hook an arm around her, pulling her closer.

She really cares, someone in this world actually gives a fuck what happens to me.

Fuck.

I feel something in my chest. Something like hurt but only because it’s so heavy. So deep.

It’s not a bad feeling. Just intense.

Like if she let go of me right now I’d reach right out for her again, never letting go.

Not ever again.

“You okay?” she asks after we drive in silence for a bit.

I could tell her all my feelings, how all this and meeting her has impacted me, but I don’t, not used to feeling this way or at all.

I grunt and let out a low growl, squeezing her closer as I drive to show her just how okay I really am, now that she’s by my side.

I might never be that guy who says or does sappy romantic things. But by god, I’ll look after her. Defend her with my own life if I have to.

My belly lets out a low and prolonged rumble, like a whale song echoing through a tunnel.

We both let out a laugh and I figure Becky’s gonna say what we’re both feeling.

“Food and then...” But she drifts off.

I figure she’ll say what I’m thinking. Food and then fuck.

But she doesn’t. Or can’t. Won’t say it.

That same tone in her voice, that look on her face whenever that comes up.

Her big secret or whatever you want to call it.

Having heard my own little tale out loud, I don’t judge her for not telling me just yet.

She can tell me when she’s ready, whatever it is, big or small we can face it together.