The Broken Protector Read Online Nicole Snow

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With a whimper caught in my teeth, I arch my back, rubbing my nipple with my free hand.

God, there’s a good rhythm, working up an itch between my legs I desperately need scratched.

I like to draw it out, though.

It’s so nice to sink into a fantasy that comes this easy—a hard body over me, rough hands parting my legs, commanding my flesh.

His lips and tongue roaming, turning fevered breaths into whimpers until I’m trembling all over.

I don’t feel the metal anymore.

I just feel how wet I am, how I’m trying to hold back the name on my lips, digging my teeth into my bottom lip until I taste metal.

“Lucas! God,” I whisper, holding the bullet over my clit.

I squeeze my eyes shut, gasping as I rock my hips again and again, wondering how sweet it would be to meet his rock-hard body, to feel him thrusting, to have his teeth sink into my skin.

Yes, fuck.

Mark me.

My pussy spills all over my hands, the rhythm building to an angry tempo.

I can’t help myself.

I want this and I want so much more.

And I finally give in, focusing on my clit, shocking myself so fiercely my entire body arches off the bed in a sharp, gasping jerk.

I see my whole ideal sex life flash before my eyes.

Green eyes.

Corded muscle.

Skilled, rough hands.

Muscular hips that strike hard, strike deep, and always without mercy.

Dark stubble raking my throat, whispers in my ears, louder and growling with every thrust.

“You think you can hide shit from me, New York? Come for me. Come your little pink pussy sore on my cock, Lilah.”

I’m so gone.

I come so hard my vision turns red with the violent blur of pleasure slicing through me.

There’s nothing here but him.

Nothing but Lucas and his heated expression, his flashing eyes fixed on me, sweat dripping off his hard-toned jaw.

He’s all rippling muscle as his cock claims me in rough, deep, intimate thrusts.

The vision shocks me almost as hard as my orgasm.

My body wrings itself dry and then drops me back on the mattress in a gasping mess.

Suddenly, the vibrator feels like too much.

I toss it aside before rolling my face into the pillow with a moan.

...what the sexy repressed hell was that?

Okay.

So, he’s hot.

But I’m not—I don’t really—

Stop worrying about it, I warn.

It’s not that important.

Just a dirty little fantasy about a big man who’s been around me a lot lately. It’s easy for your lusty subconscious to fill in the blanks.

That’s it.

That’s all it is.

I don’t really want to jump Lucas Graves’ bones, I lie to myself.

I open one eye, peeking out with a groan.

“Emma?” I mumble into the pillow. “You there? Got any idea why my brain did that?”

There’s no answer, of course.

Ghosts don’t run advice columns and I guess they don’t like watching me treating my body like an amusement park.

So I push it out of mind and curl up as the wind growls through the trees like a rabid animal.

Dang.

So much for relaxing.

Now I’m just a hot mess of endorphins and confusion.

Sighing, I stare up at the ceiling, my mind running circles, trying not to think of Lucas.

Yeah, good luck with that.

I’d have an easier time not thinking of a pink elephant when someone challenges me.

Eventually, with the wind still roaring, my brain pings on Emma again.

What were her last hours like?

Did she even realize she was dying before she was gone?

I keep going back to Ulysses, too.

That mood change, the weird look on his face when he thought people actually suspected him of murder.

He looked so hurt, almost like he’s faced this kind of thing before.

I don’t actually know that much about his evil reputation, do I?

But it can’t be that atrocious.

Nora laughs and teases about him being a philanthropist player. Kind of clashes with Lucas’ dire warnings that the whole family is rotten to the core. But if they’re so wealthy, they’re easy tabloid fodder.

Oh, to hell with it.

I grab my phone and pull up Google.

Searching “Ulysses Arrendell” immediately gets hits.

A few puff pieces in national travel magazines about the illustrious history of the town come up first. They rave about how the Arrendells are such grand hosts of their own tiny kingdom.

There are also several AP News hits with a dizzying list of charities and causes and contributions.

The Arrendells are seemingly responsible for curing diseases, bringing several small countries back from the brink of poverty, and revitalizing a slice of the US economy from Davenport to El Paso to Key West.

There are only a few bits here and there in the gossip rags, feasting on the juicy news of whatever hot celebrity just dumped one of the brothers, with no real reason ever given.

One starlet says Ulysses was always too busy for a real relationship. He cared about his nonprofits and NGOs more than he cared about her.

It’s a little crazy, realizing just how far their reach extends outside this little town.


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