Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC #8) - Anne Malcom Page 0,85
guns were in our bedroom. Because we lived a life where it was totally plausible that we might need them in a hurry, they were kept where the kids couldn’t get them, but close enough for him to grab in a hurry. He’d trained me relentlessly when he first patched in. I’d hated it at first, but once I’d accepted guns as part of our life, I liked them. Knowing that I was capable of defending myself. My family, if need be. As much as I loved my protective, alpha male husband, I did not love the idea of being some damsel that always needed to be saved.
And now that I was the only point of defense in my home, I should’ve been more aware. There were two humans relying on me to keep them safe.
I turned, ready to throw my wine glass. To attack. Claw off the face of the fucker who would dare to put what remained of my family in danger.
But it wasn’t a home invader, murderer or rapist standing in my kitchen. No, it was a man wearing a Sons of Templar cut.
“How did you get in here?” I demanded, glaring at Kace, hating that everything inside of me heated up at his mere presence. All of the things that I’d tried to make myself feel all night, finally making themselves known.
“I’m an outlaw, Lizzie,” was his explanation. His voice was off. Cold. Dangerous. Same with his face. There was nothing easy or familiar about the way he was looking at me. No, Kace was giving me a glimpse of the man he was when the Sons needed him to be cold, fierce, deadly.
And I fucking loved it. My thighs pressed together with need.
“Kace, you shouldn’t be here,” I said, fighting to keep my voice even. Battling to sound convincing.
He raised a brow, a silent challenge of my lie.
“You gave this to another man?” Kace growled, eyes running over me.
Fire and ice left a trail in they’re wake.
“Kace,” I began, not quite sure what I was planning on saying next.
He didn’t give me a chance to say anything else because he was there, right there. His hands were on my hips first. Then they went their separate ways, one going down, moving to cup my ass firmly. The other went up my ribcage to knead my breasts.
Air hissed from my mouth as my entire body responded to him.
“That’s okay,” he murmured against my lips. “That you went out with another man, let him think he had a chance of doing anythin’. That you put this on for him.” He fisted the fabric of my skirt. “That you got all dolled up like this for him.” His hand moved to my hair, tugging at the strands to the point of pain.
My knees were in danger of failing me.
“Because I’m the one who gets this.” His hand moved quickly under my skirt. Kace didn’t move slow or tenderly once he reached the lace of my underwear, he went right in, coating his fingers with my wetness before plunging them inside.
I let out a muffled cry.
“Yeah,” he grumbled, his mouth moving at my neck. “You weren’t this wet for that fuck in the suit.” His fingers kept moving with expert grace, my orgasm building from the bottom of my stomach.
“You wouldn’t let him in,” he continued, mouth moving down as his other hand yanked my dress so my nipple was exposed. “No fuckin’ bra,” he hissed before he landed his mouth on my nipple.
Every nerve ending in my body felt electrified. I made another sound, or tried to. He was commandeering all of my motor skills. I was his.
“You’re not gonna let some lawyer fuck you like I do,” he informed me, removing his mouth to look me in the eyes.
He pulled out his fingers, and I moaned at the loss. At the orgasm he’d stolen with his retreat.
He stepped back, and it was all I could do not to sink to the floor.
Kace picked up the wine from the counter, draining it without taking his eyes off me. “You think I was going to make it that easy?” he asked, voice guttural. “That you’d get off wearing that?” He shook his head. “Get in the bedroom. Now.”
Fuck me if I didn’t heed his command immediately.
I hurried down the hall, and he trailed me like the predator he was. My skin was hot, heart beating in my throat. I was excited. Nervous. Desperate.