Chapter 337
[ 514 words ]
Chapter 337:
His left hand swept up her side, gripping her ribs tightly, his thumb brushing the sensitive underside of her breast. His right arm remained motionless against the mattress, the rigid field splint a cold, unyielding barrier between them.
Caroline’s brain finally booted up. Panic and adrenaline flooded her system as she realized what was happening.
She raised her hands, pressing them flat against his solid, wet chest, trying desperately to push him away.
She managed to break the kiss, gasping for air, turning her face to the side.
“Jarrod, the rules,” she stammered breathlessly, shouting the only words she could think of. “The thirty-day grace period!”
He didn’t stop. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, biting down gently on her pulse point, tasting her skin.
He used his left hand to catch both of her flailing wrists, pulling them effortlessly above her head. His right arm stayed pinned at his side, the splint’s rigid outline pressing against her hip.
W𝘩𝖺𝘁 е𝗏е𝗋𝘆𝘰𝘯e 𝗶𝗌 𝘳e𝗮𝖽𝗂𝘯𝗀 𝗈n 𝗴𝗮𝗹𝘯о𝘷𝗲𝘭𝘴.cо𝗆
He pinned her wrists to the mattress, completely neutralizing her physical resistance in one fluid, tactical move.
Caroline froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was entirely at his mercy.
Jarrod lifted his head, his dark eyes burning with a terrifying, unhinged mixture of lust and jealousy.
He stared down at her flushed face, his chest heaving, water dripping from his wet hair onto her collarbone.
He lowered his face until his lips were barely a millimeter from hers, his breath hot and ragged against her skin.
A sharp intrusion of his weight jerked her from the depths of sleep.
“The grace period is over.”
The words hung in the air, a death sentence to their fragile truce. Before Caroline could form a protest, he crushed his mouth against hers. It wasn’t a kiss of affection. It was pure, brutal ownership, a branding.
Her mind screamed. The image of the smiling woman, Elena, flashed behind her eyes, a toxic slide show fueling her resistance with a cold, sharp fury. This kiss wasn’t for her. It was for a ghost.
She twisted her head violently to the side, breaking the seal of their lips, gasping for the stale, conditioned air of the room. Her lungs burned.
“No,” she choked out.
Her hands, still pinned above her head in his single, massive grip, struggled against the iron clamp of his fingers. Her CIA training screamed for a counter-move, a joint lock, a pressure point, but she couldn’t reveal it. She was a nurse. She was supposed to be helpless.
So she fought like a cornered civilian. She brought a knee up sharply, aiming for his hip in a move of pure desperation rather than tactical precision.
He blocked it effortlessly with his thigh, his body an unmovable wall of muscle. A low growl of warning rumbled in his chest, a sound that vibrated through her ribs. The blatant, easy dismissal of her struggle ignited a fresh wave of panic. She was utterly, completely powerless.
In a final, frantic attempt to escape the suffocating weight of his body, she arched her back, trying to throw him off balance, and threw her head backward.
There was a sickening, dull thud.
.
.
.
If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.