around her, one low at her waist, the other high across her shoulders, and he pulled her into his hold as naturally as breathing. She just fuckin’ fits me. “Oh, sweetheart. You didn’t hurt…” I don’t want to lie to her, ever. “Okay, it hurt a little, but I’ll get over it. I’m already over it, hearing the why behind the what you said. I get it, honey. My brain goes a thousand miles an hour all the time, too. It’s hard for my mouth to keep up, and then there’re the times when my brain-mouth filter doesn’t engage and should have, so I don’t doubt there will be many times in the future I’ll have to ask your forgiveness for something I said.” She angled her head back to better look into his face, which had the added benefit of arching her pelvis towards his body. His dick woke and took notice of the soft flesh pressed against him, fattening with a delicious tingle low in his groin. “Let’s get this finished so you and me can get on the road.” Her face held an expression of confusion as he backed away, fingers trailing down his arm in an effort to stay connected. “Unpack everything you won’t need, and I’ll get it put away.” He pulled the tarp out first, went to the closet, and dropped the folded plastic on the top shelf. “Just like that.”
Turning back, he found her staring at him, not having moved an inch away from where he’d left her. Instead of asking, he tilted his head to the side and arched an eyebrow, waiting.
“I don’t understand you.” Myrt moved towards her bag, thighs pressed against the edge of the mattress as she sorted through the contents. “But I know you’re being patient with me, Bane. Thank you.”
“Don’t have to thank me for common courtesies.” He picked up the small pile of things she’d laid on the bed beside the bag, assuming they were the discard pile for their trip. She made an aborted grab for them, but he’d already turned towards the dresser. Smiling at her dismayed expression, he told her, “I got this, Myrt.” Once at the dresser, he found out what had her cheeks staining such a pretty shade of pink. Working carefully, he placed the folded underwear into a top drawer, shirts in the next one down, and the shorts and pants from the pile in the one under that. He idly noted there was plenty of room for another whole person’s clothes in the unused drawers. “That it, honey?” Glancing over his shoulder, he took in her still-puzzled expression. “Anything else in the bag you won’t need?”
She shook her head, and he slid the bag over in front of himself, zipped it closed, and carried it to the doorway so he could scoop up his own bag. With both straps over his shoulder, he pressed one hand against his stomach, bowing slightly as he swept his other hand wide. “Milady, your humble servant.”
Fingers twisting in the hem of her shirt, she stared at him. A brisk nod seemed to end her internal conflict, and she sidestepped into the hallway, not touching or brushing up against him. The movement was so calculated, it couldn’t be on accident, and he chided himself for his overt display of affection a moment ago.
When a woman’s had all her choices stripped away, the last thing she’s gonna want is to tumble into bed with a controlling prick of a man.
He wouldn’t put himself into the same low class as—he stumbled over what to call Sallabrook. Not a husband, not a lover. Her owner? Fuck, that’s messed up. Sallabrook was levels and levels below Bane in terms of human decency, but Bane would never deny his own sense of possession could get a little intense. Only when it’s a give-and-take situation. The woman he was with would never wonder about how he felt, and he demanded the same in return.
Which was why he’d picked up three years ago and left everything once again, moving from Wyoming to Texas. A woman he’d been involved with hadn’t been honest about how she’d felt. Wasn’t like I wanted anything out of the norm. Just to be the only one in her bed. He’d found out later the woman had been using him for a place to live and as her own personal ready supply of money. Never loved her. Never claimed to. Bane had finally come to understand what