Take Me Over: A Protector Enemies-to-Lovers Romance Read online

  I felt the air leave my body. As he placed a hand on my thigh and the other on my waist, I felt it all return—reinvigorated by a lust for life that I’d thought lost. Making me feel like the angel he’d always thought I was.

  I was his angel and he was my god. It was like nothing that I’d ever experienced.

  He pulled me onto his lap where his erection had already been fighting for freedom. It’d nearly been ripping through the fabric of pants, struggling so fiercely that it’d have been no surprise if it tore the zipper from its seams.

  He wrapped both of my legs around him and pulled me close, just short of his hard cock rubbing against my dripping wet pussy and sealing our fates together without so much as a sober thought.

  It was intoxicating—bathing in his aroma, tasting his mouth on my lips and feeling the heat from his desire blare between my legs with a promise to make them shake.

  I was lost in it. I was lost in him and never wanted to be found. I wanted to be there forever in that eternal bliss that was nothing but a hotel to most. For me, however, it was more than just lustful venture or seeking out of complication. It was my salvation. My redemption. My second chance—a chance to make things right.

  To be the woman that he’d always deserved.

  He pulled me up a little further so that I could feel his throbbing cock pulsing between my legs. The very instant that they’d touched, I was filled with feeling of falling and knowing that he’d be there to catch me.

  I placed a hand between his legs and let the tip of his dick fall into the center of my hand. I began massaging it, just enough to please him. To satiate that desire that’d made him more animal than man. More mine than anyone else’s.

  It was bigger than I’d remembered. I could barely touch my fingers around it. As I contemplated the mechanics of fitting him down my throat, he seemed to have a second thought. A concern. I couldn’t blame him. By then, he’d already had me. What better time to ruin things?

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” He asked and thrust his waist between my legs, teasing my quivering lips with promise that he’d soon enter them.

  “Yes,” I muttered. I was hardly listening to what he’d said. Even if I had been paying attention, it would have been for naught. All I’d wanted since Brenton Fox had walked back into my life was the chance to be the woman that he needed. The pleasure that he desired. The love that he deserved.

  I wondered if he felt the same.

  I wondered why he’d waited this long to be inside of me.

  I worried what would come of it and then I kissed him. I kissed him long and hard as his cock throttled between my legs, doing what I could only imagine was a stiff mating call beneath his thin layers of cloth and skin.

  I took off my suit jacket. Beneath it, I’d worn a thin black tank top that looked professional enough so long as I’d kept the jacket on. As it hit the floor, he ran a hand across my exposed skin as if to claim it for himself.

  Goosebumps jumped from every place that he’d touched as if the smallest parts of me wanted to leave with him. To feel that warm embrace forever.

  When I could take no more of admiration, I told him, “Undress me.”

  Without hesitation, his fingers curled beneath my shirt and glided up the length of my body. He took extra care not to be too rough with my skin, basking in its silken texture as if it were a fine linen. His breaths became short and rapid—dizzying, to say the least.

  Soon, my shirt and bra had fallen to floor as well. Outcasts of our union. Relics of a time before either of us had sought that feeling. That same feeling that someone gets when they’re in the midst of a moment that will redefine their life as they know it. That feeling of becoming more than what you were and a guarantee that you could never be that again.

  My brain had been firing on all cylinders. Apart from the liquor that had still been rolling like a tidal wave in my stomach and made me feel as light as a feather, I felt altogether high.

  My mind was awash with fantasies and thoughts of what that moment had meant. What we’d come from. What we’d conquered and survived—all just to have that time together.

  My skin felt like it was on fire but didn’t burn. My spirit felt as if it’d been straining through my bones, relentless in its entanglement with his own. I was no longer just Victoria Mills. I was Brenton Fox’s. He treated my body like it belonged to him. Then, he proved to me that it did.

  My breasts floated between us like a cushioned bridge that brought us together. As the heat blared, I could feel them melting like chocolate as they pressed against his skin and our tongues danced in each other’s mouths like fighting cobras, swirling in our juices as our hands explored each other’s bodies.

  When he wrapped his lips around my nipples, it felt like they’d turned to stone, whetted by his want and spilling into his mouth. By his panting and tightened grip on my ass, I could tell that he’d enjoyed feeding from me. Perhaps too much.

  When I finally had a clear thought, the objective was simple. As one hand held the back of his head down on my breasts, the other ventured off between his legs where my Prince Charming’s sword had still been standing at attention seeking freedom.

  I unzipped his pants and without any help, his large, hard, and throbbing cock emerged—casting a shadow on my legs as it erected between my thighs. He laced an arm around me and laid me on my back.

  “Take them off,” he whispered as I jerked his dick with both hands and swallowed the heaps of saliva that had built up in my mouth. My hunger for him then was so tangible that you could have cut it with a knife.

  I shimmied out of my dress pants as he focused his attention on my neck, swabbing his tongue and teeth beside my throat as I moaned. I moaned for him. I wanted him desperate. I wanted him crazy. I wanted him to be as savage as his instincts had told him to be.

  At the sound of my pants hitting the floor, he just as quickly descended to my pussy, which had already been leaking onto his couch. He didn’t seem too concerned about it or anything else besides making my toes curl and my spine wrinkle as I fought to control my speeding heart rate.

  He kissed my body all the way down to my navel and stopped to slide a finger inside of me. As I dripped into his hands, he slid in another. Then, a third, hooking onto my g-spot like few men ever could. He’d found it and rang that bell until I screamed for him and begged.

  “Fuck me, Brenton,” I said.

  It sounded more like a breathless whine than anything coherent. I quickly found that neither mattered as he had his own agenda. His chin dragged down from my navel to my pussy and he helped himself to a mouthful of what had always been his. Splashing his tongue around in my juices, I thought of him drinking from me and nearly flooded.

  With three fingers in and a swirling tongue around my clit, I could have sworn that I’d lost my mind. I saw curves of light illuminate the inside of my eyelids as they locked around my blurring vision.

  “Brenton,” I said—still breathless. Still weak. “Please...Please, Brenton....Please, fuck me.”

  He took one long upward lick from the base of my pussy to my clit and let me watch him gulp it down.

  “Brenton...” I whispered again as my eyes and my legs seized around his waist.

  He erected upright on the couch—his steely body glistening with sweat’s anticipation as he tore the pants free from his lower half. I traced my fingers through his abs just to prove to myself that it was real. It was all real and everything on Brenton Fox’s body was hard as stone.

  I wanted to feel it smacking against my skin.

  I wanted to cover him with my glaze.

  I wanted to feel him deep inside of me. So deep that I could taste it in my cheeks and feel its entry prod into my stomach.

  Before I could process him creeping between my legs, he was already half inside of me.

  His mass of cock penetrated my insides like a missile, shooting through me at top speed and pulling out slow so that I could feel every morsel of him unravel into my p
ussy.

  He felt even bigger than he looked, craning over me like a muscular shelter of tattooed and sun-tanned glory, crunching his abs as he gave me every inch of deliverance from my life as he could manage without popping too soon.

  As the air inflated our bodies, things became livelier. I squirmed beneath him like a worm at the end of a hook. I suppose that, to some extent, that’s exactly what I was. I would have done anything that he desired in that moment.

  Digging my heels and elbows into the couch as I felt myself prepare to explode, I moaned cries of ecstasy that he couldn’t understand; that I couldn’t fix my lips to say without grinding my teeth or shouting it so loud that it could be heard from anywhere.

  “I love you,” I muttered as he pounded between my legs like a jackhammer into the concrete. “I love you,” I said, still muffled by gritted teeth and the feral urge to howl until my throat was swollen.

  “Fuck me, Brenton!” I finally eked and it was met with his subtle acknowledgement.

  “I love you too.”

  Breathing as heavily as the wind had been blowing, he dripped his sweet smelling sweat onto my body as he filled me up, shooting his load inside of me until I was full and leaking of his cum.

  He filled me up and turned me over.

  He’d enter me again shortly after, simply stating, “I’m far from done.”

  For that, I was glad.

  I woke up at a quarter to eleven, feeling like my legs had taken a direct hit from a cargo truck. They wobbled beneath me before I’d even touched them to the ground, shaking like an erratic metronome and attempting to sync with my breathing.

  I was still too out of breath to speak more than a handful of words at a time. I guessed that was all for the better. Brenton was still fast asleep. By the sound of his snoring, he likely wouldn’t have awoken any time soon. I took the opportunity to leave without further confusing what it was that we’d become.

  In my times of crisis, I’d garnered the habit of spewing my mental bile alongside a mixed drink at Shaky’s.

  My only hope was that Milton would be as in a mood to listen as I was to talk. That old man was nothing short of a therapist. With his experience, the least he could have done was make sense of anything that’d been happening in my life. At best, I thought that he might at least offer me a job.

  As of that evening, I needed to start looking.

  15

  Victoria

  I’d left him...again.

  As I trekked down the winter-wetted streets, wearing wrinkled clothes and a “love-pain” limp, I could hardly forgive myself for walking away. I didn’t know what plans that Brenton had had for me. What was clear, despite the mystery, was that he wasn’t absolutely sure himself.

  One second, he was the kind and gentle-hearted soul that I’d been too foolish to let myself fall in love with. The next, he was the cold and calculating man that he’d had to become—just to survive his industry. When he fired me, I was filled with both relief and a deep-seeded hate that made Luthor’s demeanor feel like its natural end.

  I left because I understood. I left because no matter what I could’ve said or done, our fates were sealed. Luthor would go down in a heap of flame and ash with me alongside him.

  Brenton would go on to take over the world, one dollar at a time. I never doubted his inevitable success. What clamored its way up my spine instead was my fear for his happiness. He had everything in the world that he could’ve wanted. Yet and still, he was conflicted and volatile.

  He was still my Brenton somewhere in his militant facade. That wasn’t the problem.

  The problem was me.

  I supposed that not much had changed at all.

  “Let’s get the white girl wasted!”

  The cab dropped me off a block away from home to avoid the poorly plowed streets and drunkards who’d been stumbling around like zombies. Ironically, I envied them. When you’re dead inside, your entire instinct tells you to numb it.

  For a moment, I considered heading home to lay in the fetal position until the day of eviction.

  By the time I got to Shaky’s, it was past midnight and the place was near overflowing with drunks. Apparently, there’d been some convention in town, meant to celebrate the coming holidays and Milton was more than excited to have an in with one of the organizers.

  It was good.

  Crowded meant that I wouldn’t have to worry about Milty reminding me to buy something every half hour or wait for him with his wife Midgy. Neither was very ideal. Midgy was a lovely woman—if not, then a proud nudist.

  Needless to say, I preferred to straddle a bar stool than risk sitting on their wool covered couches.

  Love is fine.

  Even theirs.

  But not worth the trouble of love-staining my clothes with smears that I didn’t have a hand in making. With that in mind, I’d chosen Shaky’s far more often than not. That day was no different.

  “Vicky!” Milton greeted me like the long-lost daughter he’d always claimed that I was. Rather than his usual scowl, he donned the type of smile that I’d only ever seen him make for Midgy. Milton was a dour man on most occasions. He’d often blame it on his past.

  Needless to say, the smile was discerning.

  “What’s going on, girl!” He said, so excited that he nearly slipped on some fallen ice behind the bar. Catching himself, he continued as if his legs hadn’t just failed him. “Where’ve you been at? It’s a regular Woodstock in this place tonight!”

  To compliment his open exuberance, Milton had gone through the trouble of digging up one of his old pin-stripe collared shirts from his back room. It was originally intended to be the “official” uniform of the bar. He’d passed the point of caring on that matter, however, that night it behooved him to “promote the brand”.

  He’d even gone through the trouble of fixing a loose bow-tie around his neck.

  He cleaned up well.

  “I...Uhm...” After piercing the crowd, surveying them mostly, I’d finally made my way to the bar where a few dozen new patrons had piled on top of one another to get in line for a drink.

  “Come on back here, girl!” he invited. “Bar won’t bite ya...But be careful. Spilled some ice back here an hour ago. The floor’s like a hockey rink.”

  With my luck, it’ll take me out, I thought, as I pardoned my way through the gaggle of men who'd all seemed intent on mentally undressing me.

  “Whooo, baby!”

  “I like that!”

  “Look at that ass on her.”

  And, there I was. The lowest point of my life. Fallen from grace and being visually dissected by a gang of ingrates who’d never learned to respect a woman. Those types of men were nothing more than auctioneers, bartering for random sex with nothing but their glossy gazes and poorly ironed attire.

  On any other day, I might have been interested.

  Milton got the message loud and clear. Even I could nearly see the frown dripping off of my chin.

  “Hey!” Milton barked. “You assholes can do that all you want over at the strip-bar across the way. There will be no disrespecting of this woman in my bar. Understood?” Suddenly, I’d gotten a glimpse of the man that Midgy had fallen in love with.

  Just as quickly as the men had begun their host of complaints, Milton politely pointed to the shotgun that he’d kept, loaded, and behind the bar at all times.

  It shut them up and freed some seats.

  “Come on over here, Vicky...” His tone took on that paternal care that bled of honesty and sang true of an empathetic compassion that I didn’t deserve. “What’s going on? You look like someone just bought you a puppy and drowned it.”

  “I...” I still didn’t know what to say. Though, I suspect that there wasn’t much that I needed too. Behind the bar where patrons sat were shelves of liquor fixed onto a large pane of glass. On busy days like that one, you could stare straight at your own reflection and diagnose accordingly.

  I looked like I’d just fallen out of tim
e. Shocked. Angry. Confused. Miserable. All in a treacherous cocktail that would motivate the first complete sentence since I’d entered the bar.

  “I need a drink...” I said.

  “Well...I’d be hard-pressed to call that news.” Milton poured me my usual “tough-day” drink. It was a Long Island Iced Tea topped with bourbon and enough seltzer to deaden the fiery-sour taste of the gin.

  No ice.

  “What’s really going on,” he asked as he handed me the brew and watched me chug enough of it to turn my pale skin tomato red. “You in any kind of trouble?”

  There was something about his tone that broke me. That made me feel all at once, alone and as if he was the only man in my life who actually cared. I would thank Milton for his kindness much later. At the time, however, I could do nothing more than break into a million shambles of my own shattered life.

  I wrapped my arms around him and cried into his chest like he was the only one who could make the pain go away.

  “I ruined everything...” I cried as the patrons each snuck a look at what must’ve been a disturbing sight. Me, a near thirty burn out, crying in the arms of an aging minority and periodically sipping on a drink that wasn’t making anything better.

  I was a mess. Unwanted. Unneeded. Unloved.

  “Take it easy, girl,” Milton said as my bended forearms tightened around his spine. “You’re going to give me a stroke.”

  The tears fell from my face, unhindered and freely.

  “Hey!” One of the drunken “bro’s” calledafter returning for yet another round of beers. “If you’re done tending to the drunk chick.”

  Milton held me close and tilted his head toward the shotgun on the wall before the man could finish his sentence. He capped off the awkward exchange with a subtle warning. “Bar’s closed for the next five minutes, honky. Go sip on your mother’s tit or be patient!”

  The two exchanged more than a few hostile glances before he skated back to his table, leering and drafting his gang to do the same. I didn’t care. Neither did Milton.