Before Harper let us share her and claim her for ourselves.
Harper and her sweet ass. The sight of that jeweled plug nestled so nicely. Fucking her pussy with it in.
A low groan escaped my lips at the thought. She was so fucking tight, so responsive. I rubbed my thumb and index finger along my jawline, now covered with stubble. No fucking way was I letting this woman get away.
My cock stirred, throbbing in agreement. Leo was on board too, I could tell. By now, with the other women we shared, we’d both be bored and ready to move on to find the next catch. Never once had Leo shown any protectiveness or concern for a woman we shared. Yet he’d stood there with Harper bent over the counter, naked and covered in honey, butt plug in her sweet ass, and his handgun inches away, at the ready in case anything unexpected should happen.
That mental image occupied my mind. I was ready to take her all over again before her clothes were fully on her body. With that fucking gun on the table, with my acceptance that Harper could be in danger, I still wanted her, even though I shouldn’t have.
But neither Leo nor I could help it. That ship had long sailed.
She was ours now. She just didn’t know it yet.
If Shamus O’Sullivan wanted to hurt her, he’d have to go through us.
The anxiety bubbling beneath the surface infuriated me further, just thinking the bastard’s name. Harper might have to hide from this man and his crew because she’d gotten a glimpse of his dirty laundry. It was going to be a tough few days for her, maybe even weeks or more if this situation didn’t get addressed and fast.
Since I’d walked in while Leo was eating her pussy, I knew he hadn’t heard anything new through his sources. Time was ticking away, and it was clear to me that Harper was not about to put any aspect of her life on hold to avoid the potential shit storm coming her way. Not by the sight of shrimp on the stove and little appetizers neatly stored away.
But that was the thing.
The potential shit storm.
It was possible.
Maybe.
A part of me wanted to stop hiding and face this shit head on, to deal with this like I would solve any issue in my own business. Step one: Define the problem. Step two: Assess the problem. Step three: Solve the problem. Step four: Maintain and troubleshoot the solution. Step five: Bill the client an insane amount each and every month for being their fucking hero.
In Harper’s case, we were still stuck on step one.
I was itching to get answers so we could rally our way to step four.
That had to change.
I stared off into the distance, taking in some of the little things around Harper’s kitchen I hadn’t bothered to pay attention to. Why would I when there were better things to look at when I came in? Like Harper. Naked. Yeah, I’d missed the small picture box window a few feet below the ceiling. It brought bright sunbeams sideways into the room and onto Harper’s head and shoulders. From where I stood, they lit up her hair, highlighting the rich brown and red undertones all through it. Soon, I was hard as granite again, wanting to bury my hands in all that hair once more, craving the woman before me instead of fixing the issue of O’Sullivan. Pursing my lips together in frustration, I forced myself to focus. I could fuck Harper six ways to Sunday once this shit was resolved.
As Harper tidied up, washed her hands and returned to her food prep, my mind raced. If she insisted on continuing to work, Leo would end up devoting his time to watching over her, and that put the onus on me to get us out of this.
Us.
I shook my head and smiled inwardly. We were an ‘us’ now. I’d known this woman for less than twenty-four hours and had already inserted her into my definition of us.
Thinking back to the phone call I’d tried to make to my client—the father of the bride from the engagement party—I began to believe I was on the right track. Maybe not with him, but with someone else Shamus O’Sullivan and I had in common. I just needed to land on who exactly that was. With my long list of contacts, there had to be someone. Someone who had something on him that we could use.
Just that resolution alone chipped away some of the anxiety-filled edginess weighing on me. Taking out my phone, I pulled up my contact list and tapped open my high-value client list. Their names were in my personal cell because I was their main point of contact. That was how business was done in my industry. Powerful, wealthy people didn’t want to sit on hold or deal with the intern when it comes to their most guarded secrets. They wanted to know their shit was safe, and five layers of employees didn’t tend to instill confidence.
There had to be at least one person—
The blast of gunfire rang out so close that my hands flew up over my head. Leo and I rushed over to Harper at the same time, shielding her body with ours as we dropped to the
floor for cover.
“Oh my God! What’s going on?” she cried in a panic as Leo craned his neck around a shelving unit to determine where the bullets were coming from.
Pop! Pop!
“What the hell happened to our backup?” I asked Leo.