My Protector by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Eleven

Becky

The food is great, I can just tell. And way better than paper sack leftovers.

I see at a glance from the neat, crisp beige boxes and foil trays with white card monogrammed lids that Dillon’s choice of take-out is on point.

Mostly though, I can tell from the fresh aroma of quality ingredients prepared with something I’ve never tasted since today.

Love.

The chef who made this has more than skill, they understand human needs as much as Dillon understands my need for him in a very different way.

The need for food, for nourishment versus the need for something bigger than all of us.

The need to have babies, to reproduce.

That’s what Dillon stirs deep within me, making me wonder if that’s what he really wants from all this or if it’s just the effect he has on me.

A man like him? He wouldn’t want to be tied down with a wife and kids. Would he?

This is no drive-thru service either, he makes me go into the restaurant with him, and speak with the cook who’s also manning the register in the pre-dawn light, he makes sure I order what I really want.

“My place is right around the corner,” Dillon smiles once we’re back in his truck, pulling his door closed after tucking me on my side.

The rain is still leaving little rivers on the windshield. The aromatic box of food making my thighs hot.

Leaving me time to think of everything that’s going to follow the food.

I’m dessert. But I just don’t know how far he wants this to go tonight…

Distracting myself with the cheese fries from the red and white checkered cardboard basket Dillon ordered. I have something to munch on for the ride home, as I cast my eyes over to him again.

Still unable to fully comprehend how the past day has panned out.

I want to worry about my apartment, all my stuff. But that’s all it is when I’m with Dillon. All my worldly possessions are nothing when I have the man himself right next to me, knowing he can grant my every need, my every desire with a single look or touch. With a simple movement of his hand.

“You still have money though?” I hear myself ask, groaning in apology as I squelch thin strips of cheese and potatoes between my jaws, offering him one by way of formal apology which he gladly accepts while keeping his keen eyes firmly on the road ahead.

His lips hold my fingertips again, driving a pulse of white heat straight between my legs.

Making me forget I even asked him anything.

“I have a month on several cards before repayments are due. Not everything went through the business or before the courts,” he says curling his lip in satisfaction.

“The house and my truck? That’s still under investigation but deemed necessary by the courts so I have a safe place to stay and means of getting to my court ordered means of income. The whole thing leading up to my job at the club,” he says, confiding in me like I know he hasn’t with anyone else, ever.

“I still have a few tricks up my sleeve though,” he adds. Shooting me a rare but full smile, showing his perfect rows of gleaming teeth that seem to dance in the rain-dappled night.

Catching the reflections of an endless spray of street lamps and the warm glow of his own truck’s dashboard, I study his mouth. His chin.

His eyes.

“You really are perfect, you know that?” I ask aloud, not meaning it to be a question for him.

He looks at me sidelong as I feel the truck slow.

“Here we are,” he announces, shifting my attention to the glossy black wrought iron gates swinging open in front of his truck.

“Home sweet home,” he sighs.

For now?I wonder, letting my eyes drift to the huge house set on at least a couple of acres of well-kept gardens with a fenced off area with shimmering blue light I just know is a huge swimming pool area.

“Forever,” he says firmly, reading my mind. Spelling out for me he has no intentions of letting his house nor his truck and livelihood slip out of his grasp.

How could he? He’s Dillon—

“What is your last name?” I ask, feeling my eyes grow wide, my mouth forming into an O shape as we pass through the huge gates.

Like the diner which was more like a high end restaurant, this house. The whole street. The neighborhood is on a side of town I’ve only heard about.

I’ve ever been here myself. It’s the side where all the rich people live.

“Maxwell,” he grunts. “Why?”

“No reason,” I chime quietly, thinking to myself with a growing smile.

Becky Maxwell.

Mrs. Becky Maxwell.

Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom, Mr. and Mrs. Dillon Maxwell…

Well. Maybe a tiny reason for needing to know.

I know already to stay put in my seat when we come to a stop.

Dillon opening the passenger side door for me is a big deal to him.

He wants to be a gentleman, and I couldn’t be more impressed.

I almost forget all about the food, the hot boxes leaving my thighs sweaty and singed as he scoops me up in his arms, moving towards a side door I somehow just know is the kitchen as he growls gently in my ear.

“You’re home now. No more apartments. No more eating from paper sacks.”

“You.”

“Are.”

“Mine.”

I feel myself melt into his strong embrace, willing myself to be strong, but knowing I’m totally at his mercy from this moment forward.

Knowing he has complete control over my destiny.

I know for the first time that I really do love him. I’ll love him forever.

I’m his before he’s even claimed me.

Feeling him scoop me up while I still hold our hot food is nothing compared to the heat between us.

“You need to eat, we both do,” he growls in my ear. Nudging my lobe with his lips, nipping it is the closest thing to a kiss he’ll dare.

I feel my heart falter, almost exploding in my chest, and ask him like I have nothing to lose. “Why won’t you kiss me? Properly,” I ask, needing to know.

And he stops mid-stride through his doorway. The huge wooden door he’s unlocked with a passkey, still holding me tight.

“Because once I start to, I know I’ll never stop,” he cautions me, not even missing a beat as he steps over the threshold of his kitchen, setting me up on a polished marble counter that makes me shiver with cold against the heat of my now burning slit.

The heat I have for him literally set on ice for just a moment.

I watch him reach for fresh plates, cutlery, and cloth napkins. All with the ease of someone who’s master of their domain.

Every inch of it.

“Eat,” he commands, setting plate upon plate of perfect food across the counter next to me.

Lasagna is there, but also other kinds of pasta, steak, and a ton of vegetables cooked a dozen different ways.

“Eat,” he growls again, letting his eyes fall between my legs but moving them away, moving his stare back to the food.

Letting me know I need to have strength for what he has in mind to follow.

“I think you might be a little disappointed with dessert,” I comment, glancing wide-eyed over all the food.

A veritable feast for me, I know there is no way I could ever eat as much as he could in one sitting.

“Dessert?” he asks, looking like he’s annoyed at himself. Forgetting the one thing I might have been craving.

Maybe.

I look down, embarrassed.

And not for want of sugary treats, not even for the food in front of us.

But for him. I only want Dillon, and feel stupid for this one and only thing left between us.

I sigh loudly, bitter that he doesn’t get it.

“I’m barely nineteen, Dillon. You’re a man of the world,” I exclaim.

But he only cocks a brow, interested beyond words at what else I have to tell him.

“Go on,” he orders me in a husky tone, leaning forward and moving some plates to one side so he can put his hands square on the huge marble counter.

His shoulders flex under his clothes. His huge V-shaped torso tensing in anticipation from what I’m about to say.

Like he already knows.

Like he already knows everything about me from tasting me on his fingers.

Some strange chemical message he’s deciphered already.

Damn. I love him.

I love everything about this man. He had me the first time he tasted me. But he’ll have me forever once he stops reading my mind and starts to claim it as his own.

Mine to give. And only his.

Forever.

“I’ve never…” I whisper, looking away, feeling stupid again.

Knowing a man like Dillon Maxwell doesn’t wait a whole day and night to hear someone murmur, “I can’t…” or, “I never…”

“You never had a man do this?” he asks, moving over to me like a flash of lightning. Grappling my legs wide at the ankles and pulling me, sliding me up against his rock hard frame.

His even harder cock pulsing through his pants up between my legs.

“I’m a—” I gasp, trying to tell him again before it’s so obvious I have no idea what I’m doing.

“I know you are,” he rasps, finishing my sentence and gripping me harder, sliding his firm grip from my ankles all the way up to my thighs.

“Now say it,” he commands firmly.

“Say you’re my little virgin girl, begging to be fucked. Needing my fat cock up your tight little hole until you scream for me to let you come all over it,” he growls.

I’m shocked he knows, and a part of me wonders how he even could.

Being a virgin isn’t exactly something I’ve broadcast throughout my life. Quite the opposite.

It’s the deepest secret I’ve carried for years, torturing my mind the moment I met Dillon.

Fearing if I even did stand a chance with him, he’d outclass me with his experience. His sexual prowls that I know match his physical size and strength.

I prepare to say it for him though, for me as well.

“I just know,” he tells me, reading my expression and easing his grip to a gentle stroke that lands his hands inside my thighs, pushing them further apart.

“I’m not sure I....” I start, my whole body shivering under his touch.

He leans closer, pressing his mouth over mine.

“I’ll show you how. Teach you how,” he murmurs slowly, setting my nerves on edge with his words while his whole body presses against mine.

“First things first,” he remarks formally, yanking at my tights and making me moan so loud he can’t help but smile.

He’s exposed my quivering pussy in one swift movement, pushing my skirt up and my tights down, just enough so he can see my already creaming valley.

I can feel the cool air of the kitchen and the even cooler counter under me stiffening my arousal instead of canceling it out.

My pussy feels like it could melt steel it’s so hot.

My whole body jerks, my back arching when he runs a thick thumb up the length of my sex, bringing it to his lips and sucking on it in one fell swoop.

He makes a loud smacking sound, grinning like a manic before dropping to his knees as mine hook over his powerful shoulders.

I was right to have him stop me in the basement, and hope he can see now, I wanted to be somewhere truly alone with him instead.

Not that I was ever a keen self-pleasurer. Trying to pleasure myself is useless against this sensation, the ultimate feeling his mouth over my drenched pussy gives me.

I grip his silver flecked hair in both hands, writhing my hips and grinding my clit hard against his tongue as I purr his name.

“Dillon… Di-llon…”

Already feeling just how long and loud I’ll be repeating it for some time yet.