Page 118 of Bulletproof

“What?” I yelled at him. “I got the hell away from Aaron because I knew that if anyone touched you, I would lose my mind, and it would not be fair to ask you to understand that he had done it just because he was my ex!”

“Breathe,” he said, chuckling.

“Fuck you and your breathing!” I yelled again, shoving him away as well as his hands when he reached for me.

“You’re cute, all jealous and possessive.”

“Sam!”

He lunged forward, grabbed me, and kissed me until I was breathless and panting and I was unsteady on my feet.

“We both know I didn’t do anything,” he said, staring down into my eyes.

I was held there as firmly in his gaze as I was in his arms.

“And do you think after all this time, I don’t know I’m the only one?”

There was no way he didn’t know. The years between us spoke to that truth.

I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe as his hands rubbed up and down my arms.

“You know I know, right?”

“Yes.”

“So, why would I worry, then?”

He wouldn’t.

“I love you, I only want you, and I know it goes both ways. Are we done?”

“Yes, we’re done.”

“Good.”

As I suspected, he had a key, which I had left a message with the front desk to give him whenever he showed up, and opened the door and shoved me inside, locking it behind him.

“I should take a shower,” I told him. “I’m covered in saltwater.”

When he didn’t answer, I turned to look at him, and he pounced on me. I was laughing as I went down under him on the queen-size bed, his face nuzzling at my now-hardening cock through the nylon of the board shorts.

“What’re you doing?”

“Stop giggling and squirming and take it like a man.”

Which sent me into peals of laughter as his face broke into a huge, mischievous grin that made his eyes sparkle.

“Sam!” I gasped as he yanked my board shorts off my hips and my hard, needy cock sprang free.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said as he fisted my shaft.

My back bowed up off the bed, and his other hand slid under my ass and squeezed tight. The way he touched me, every time he touched me, showed possessiveness and ownership, and no one but Sam Kage had ever treated me like that, like I was his. Aaron Sutter had talked a good game, but Sam made me feel it.

“Kiss me.”

Normally, the kissing came afterward, slow and languid, once the passion was burned off. In bed, Sam normally wanted me under him, buried in me fast.

I reached for him, and he stretched out beside me, him still fully clothed and me naked. When my lips touched his, I heard a deep sigh rise up out of him. He loved it when I took control, and what started out tender and soft soon became devouring and hot. But he seemed content to kiss me—one long, wet, tongue-tangling, bruising kiss after another—hand on the back of my neck, the other on my ass, petting me.