“Get the fuck out of my way,” he growled, and everyone scurried back.
“Wait, Bernadette,” I said, trying to see where she was.
“I already took care of it. I have someone taking her home.”
I had an arm wrapped around his neck as he held me tightly to his body. He was so big. I was so small. There was something so very intimate about this moment that I couldn’t even breathe.
“Where are we going?”
He looked at me then, never stopping his stride as he made his way outside into the night, into the large graveled opening where everyone parked.
“Home, Bryn. I’m taking you home. With me.”5BrynWhen Oli said he was taking me home, I hadn’t anticipated it was his home. But here we were, me sitting on his couch, my arm on my thigh, palm upward as I followed his direction and waited for him to return.
I’d never been in his place before, but it screamed masculinity. It felt like Oli in all ways.
Sparse decor. Black leather furniture. Gray walls. Chrome accents. I hadn’t been able to really get a good look at his place when we’d first gotten here. He’d flipped on the living room light and ushered me in, gently pushed me down on the couch, and in his deep, gruff voice told me to wait for him.
Then he left, a light flickering on from another room, the sound of him rummaging for stuff.
I inhaled deeply. Everything smelled like him.
He was back only moments later, a small, red first aid kit in his hand. I shifted on the couch to give him room, but he surprised me by falling to his knees between my legs. I was very aware of how close he was, very aware that even though he was on his knees, Oli still towered over my small frame.
“Hand, Bryn.” His voice was naturally harsh, but I detected a note of tenderness in it.
I held my hand out, palm upward, and saw as he studied the cut. He looked pissed the longer he stared at it.
“You shouldn’t have been there,” he grumbled.
I swallowed as he started cleaning the wound with a piece of gauze and some peroxide.
“It’s dangerous at the fights.” He lifted his eyes to mine for only a second. “You see what happens?” He had his hand wrapped gently around my wrist, and after he spoke, he tightened his hold ever-so-slightly.
“It wasn’t my fault.” I bristled, instantly getting defensive, like he was blaming me for it.
He exhaled roughly and looked into my eyes. “I know it wasn’t your fault. The guys there, hell, even the girls, they’re drunk, reckless. If anything happened to you, Bryn,” he growled. “If anything really serious happened, I’d lose my shit and kill a motherfucker.”
I sucked in a breath at his words. He went back to my palm, being thorough, like he was a surgeon performing an important operation.
“I like watching.” You fight. I kept that last bit to myself.
“I can’t keep you safe while you’re there. See what happens.” He didn’t look at me, and he didn’t phrase it like a question.
“I can handle myself,” I lied. Clearly, I couldn’t. I probably would have been trampled if Oli hadn’t stepped in.
“I know you can,” he said in a softer voice. “But you shouldn’t have to.” I felt something shift in him at that but couldn’t place what exactly was changing. “You need someone to be there to take care of you.”
My heart beat a frantic tempo, and something fluttered in my belly as I stared down at his dark head bent low over my hand. My fingers twitched to touch the short strands.
God, I wanted him.
I loved him.
I didn’t know how long we stayed like that, Oli almost meticulous as he cleaned the cut and checked it to make sure I didn’t need to go to the hospital for stitches, but with every second that passed, I felt my body shifting to things that I needed to stay away from.
I felt hotter, Oli’s close proximity making my body temperature rise. My heart was beating so fast and hard I had no doubt he heard. How could he not? I felt like the sound filled the room. I glanced down at my chest, my nipples poking through the material.
My face heated at the sight, and I snapped my head up before I was caught looking at them. I clenched my thighs together to try to stem off the arousal centered right there, but all that accomplished was adding more pressure to my clit. I bit my lip to hold off the moan that would have spilled out.
Oli lifted his head then, and for as much as I tried to act like his very presence didn’t affect me, I knew I failed miserably.
After a second, he murmured, “Your dress.” His voice was deep, scratchy, and gruff. He looked back down at my outstretched hand.