Rescuing Moira: Ex-Military Special Forces Hostage Rescue (Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists) by Ellie Masters

Author:Ellie Masters [Masters, Ellie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JEM Publishing
Published: 2021-03-17T16:00:00+00:00

Nineteen

Moira

I wake limp as a noodle, with my body blissfully satiated after spending the rest of the day, and night, in Griff’s bed. Well, mostly. Griff took me in bed, then over the back of the couch. Against the wall. On the kitchen countertop. On all fours in the living room.

We stopped only to eat and hydrate, then went to bed, where he proceeded to show me what I’ve always suspected.

Griff’s a kinky bastard.

He’s not gentle, but damn is he generous, drowning me in so much pleasure I found myself begging for a moment to recover.

He refused.

And I found myself tied to the bed.

Best hour of my life.

I rub at the chaffing on my wrists with a contented smile on my face and stretch my hand out to my side. Griff’s side of the bed is warm, but empty.

I sit and rub the sleep from my eyes. My body, while sore, feels amazing. It’s like he worked out all the tension I’d been carrying from my days spent in hell.

I didn’t have a single dream about Bossman or Shelly. No flashes of red coating the floor, the walls—the ceiling. Hopefully, I never will again.

Griff’s not in the bathroom. I take a moment for myself and look in the mirror. As I wash my hands, I try to see what’s different, because I certainly feel like a different person.

My hair’s messed up. I look like I got my brains fucked out. A giggle escapes me as I think about everything we did last night, then my nose lifts as the wonderful aroma of bacon floods my senses.

I grab one of Griff’s shirts and pull it on. It hangs nearly to my knees and the sleeves cover most of my arms. It’s weird when I think about how much bigger he is than me. He’s a formidable warrior and I’m tiny in comparison. I like it. He makes me feel girly.

And it works. It works deliciously well.

Unwilling to put on any of the clothes I wore into this house, I pad barefoot to the living room and stop dead in my tracks when I see Griff standing buck-naked at the stove. He faces away from me and has on some silly apron tied around his waist. His muscular legs and that rock-hard ass shift as he moves to the music playing through the house-wide speakers. His glutes flex to the beat as he shifts back and forth.

I watch him for a moment, loving this carefree side of my ferocious Guardian, but then his body stills, and he turns around as if he senses my silent presence. The man is hyperaware of his surroundings.

“You hungry, little minx?”

“Famished. Someone forgot to feed me dinner last night.”

“I remember feeding you something.” He unapologetically grabs his crotch.

“And I remember your legs turning to jelly when you came down my throat.”

“This is true. You, my dear, have a very talented mouth, and the things you do with that tongue…” He doesn’t finish whatever it is because the bacon burns behind him.

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