Page 12 of Hunting Gianna
The room is warm, too warm, like I’m breathing inside an oven. I shift, skin tight against the soft cotton of his shirt. It moves against me and my body responds, too alive and too strange. My skin tingles and I’m acutely aware of the fact that I’m wet between my thighs. My own wetness, to be exact and I fight the urge to rub my legs together to be rid of the throb. I blink hard against the sensation, the guilt and need that follow. This has to be some fucked up dream, and I have to find my way out of it.
Dizzy, dizzy. Breathe. More flashes. The way here, stumbling in a panic.Calm down, Gianna. Breathe.A silhouette, a door, falling. Dizziness and fatigue. Darkness. Heat. Tea.
He carried me to bed and tucked me in… did he…?
The rough heat between my thighs grows, and it leaves no doubt. Leaves the feeling that I shouldn’t be this sticky. That I should be more angry. More… The pulsing in my body hits each spot I don’t want it to. More… More than a little afraid. But there’s a hint of shame and the smallest thrill that makes me forget the rest. For a second.
I take a breath, turn the awful wonder of it into a thought I can hold. Into something I can maybe understand. My heart is loud in my chest, and so is the heat that pulses through my veins. He did. He definitely did.He came on me. What the fuck else did he do?I cover my face, feel my own breath against my hands. Feel the rise and fall, the hum of it in my bones. Feel the places he’s touched, even if I’m only just now realizing. Despite what my ex said, I am very attuned to my body. To how it reacts. How it feels.
And right now it feels… alive in ways it hasn’t in ages. And that terrifies me. I should be terrified, but honestly, years of shitty sex will do that to you. This… if my savior did use me as a come dumpster… would it be so bad? It’s more than I ever got with Brad.
I get out of bed before I think it through. There’s no other way out except through the bedroom door. The window has bars on it. So… I have no choice but to put my proverbial big girl panties on and go see who the fuck is waiting out there for me.
The edges of the room swim as I stand. It’s too much, all of it. I feel every cut, every bruise, every memory on the verge of coming back to me.God my knees hurt.Looking down, I can see the scrapes and bruises, but they’re clean. Like someone washed the dirt and blood away to let them heal.
With a sigh, I force my legs to walk out the door before I give myself a chance to chicken out.
He sees me before I see him. His gaze, the kind that burns. His eyes are a trap I walk straight into, his body leaning casually against the counter as I approach. The scent of coffee fills the air, fills my head, and he fills everything else, even my confusion. The grin says it all.
"You're up."
My stomach turns. My pulse turns. Everything inside me turns except for my body, still under his control. The grin widens. "Wasn't sure you'd be moving this early. You were exhausted last night.
Everything is warm and close and deliberate. Each movement as precise as his stare. He pours coffee, his gaze unblinking, eyes tracking me, seeing entirely too much judging by the small smile that crinkles the sides of his lips. "You had a rough night."
I clam up. He’s making me nervous, but not in a ‘you scare me’ kind of way. More in a ‘Goddamn how is this man so sexy’ kind of way. He’s got to be at least 6’4, piercing blue eyes, light, sandy hair. But it’s cropped close to his head… I’m thinking he’smilitary? His biceps are massive and it definitely looks like he weight lifts. I can’t stop staring and he notices because he clears his throat and cocks his head.
"Breakfast?" A pause. His eyes linger on the hollow of my throat, on the curves he’s thoroughly eye fucking.
Finally, my voice finds its way back to me. "Who are you?"
"Knox. Knox Milano. The guy who saved your life.
His confidence is unnerving. The air smells like syrup and heat and the slightest bit of danger, and all of it wraps me up. "I saw you collapse." He motions to the pancakes piled on a plate and the ridiculousness of it all makes me bark out a nervous laugh. "Brought you in. Warmed you up." My pulse quickens at the reminder." I guess it worked."
My throat is dry. My body isn’t. Not at all. It's so fucking obvious. If my nipples could get any harder, they’d break glass.
"So?" He leans back, never breaking eye contact. "You hungry?" I swallow against the wild thing inside me that says yes to all of it. The desperate, wrong, and beautiful thing that says yes and says more.
He’s exactly the type momma warned me about. Dangerous. Electrifying. Like standing too close to the sun and expecting to come away unscathed.
Stupid girl, you should run.
I can hardly breathe with the way he looks at me, with the way he makes my skin ignite and my mind struggle to keep up. The slow drag of his eyes is more dangerous than I want to admit. I should be gone. Should have made a dash for the front door when I had the chance.
But the chance is gone, and I'm still here.
"Gianna," I manage, the word catching in my throat as he nods like it’s a prize. "My name’s Gianna." A small, satisfied grin. A dangerous one. I try to look away but I can't. He knows what I am before I do.
"I know your name. Coffee?" He asks again, patiently. As if I’m a child unable to understand words. The cup is already in his hand, and I reach for it, trying to seem unaffected. Trying to keep my hands from shaking.
His attention is consuming, leaving no room for anything else, and it takes all I have to speak. "How long was I out?"
"Not as long as you needed."
I should hate this. Should hate him. Should not feel this drawn, this frantic, this absolutely wrecked human being who thought he was allowed to jizz on my tits because he saved me. But I am, and it’s fucked and now I’m conflicted.
His gaze locks onto mine, more intense than anything I've known. Than anyone I’ve known. A force of fucking nature, this man.
