The Protector

MELANIE

Ever since I was a little girl, my mom had always warned me of one thing—boys.

“Be careful, Mel. They could ruin your life,” she’d always tell me, her voice dripping with the bitter residue of her own failed relationships.

But there was one thing she’d never cautioned me about—Men.

She never told me what a real man could do to you, or the absolute, irreversible sort of damage they were capable of leaving behind on your body and soul.

“Melanie!” my mom called in that awfully loud voice that always irritated me.

We were right there in the living room together, but she always yelled like I was a thousand miles away. She turned away from the mirror, smoothing down her nurse scrubs.

"Your stepdad is going to the airport to pick up his brother."

I almost choked on the mouthful of coffee I was drinking. My eyes widened in pure shock as I swallowed hard, the hot liquid unapologetically burning my throat.

“Wait, what?” I breathed “Why is my step-uncle coming over to our place?”

My mom gave me a sharp, disapproving frown, her lips tightening into that familiar thin line.

“Melanie,” she said sternly, using that tone that meant I was being difficult. “You must be respectful to him when he comes. There were some security issues at his base overseas, and he’s going to be spending some time with us. It’s temporary.”

I frowned, setting my mug down with a loud clack against the counter.

“So a new addition is joining the house for who knows how long, and I’m just finding out about it now?”

She picked up her heavy canvas bag that contained her extra scrubs and sighed, completely brushing off my annoyance.

“It skipped my mind, Mel. I've been pulling double shifts.” She walked toward the front door, pausing to look back at me. “Be good. Don't cause any trouble.”

And with that, she left.

I picked up my mug again, sipping the coffee as if the warmth could somehow push down the heavy, suffocating weight of the piece of information I’d just received. My mom always thought I was being disrespectful or difficult because she assumed I hated Liam, my stepfather.

But she had it all wrong.

Liam had been married to my mom for over five years now, and it had been five years of absolute torture for me.

But it wasn't torture in a bad way.

No, it was much worse than that. It was the kind of delicious, agonizing torture that made my heart race wildly against my ribs whenever he walked into a room.

It was the sick, filthy kind of torture that made my pussy pulse and ache between my thighs when he kissed my mother on the cheek while she prepared breakfast in the morning—leaving me standing by the toaster, wishing with every fiber of my being that I was the one being kissed, the one being held by those massive arms.

It was the kind of torture that made me curl on my bed and touch myself to the thoughts of him every single night.

I would lay in the dark, imagining those thick, calloused hands of his—hands that worked on turbo engines daily, covered in grease and raw power—pinning my wrists to the bed while his huge cock drilled me from beneath.

I’d seen Liam's cock once. Just once, but it was burned into my retinas forever.

He’d been swimming in the pool, and through the tight fabric of his wet Calvin Klein trunks, the thick, heavy outline of his manhood had been completely visible. I’d nearly melted on the spot.

I’ve never understood why I was so drawn to him.

I’d never been attracted to older men before, but what’s it they say? There’s a first time for everything.

But then, why did my fucking first have to be Liam? My stepfather?

The very man my mom fucked every single night down the hall. The one she claimed was the best thing to ever happen to her, which was true, especially after my real dad fucked up her life and walked out.

Just as I was about to get up from the barstool, the sound of tires crunching gravel echoed through the quiet house as a car entered the driveway.

I stood up instantly, still holding the ceramic mug, my heart racing at a dangerous speed.

My mom had told me once that Liam had a twin brother who was in the Navy, but I’d never met him.

He hadn't even come to their wedding five years ago because he was somewhere in Ukraine being a hero on some classified deployment.

I swallowed nervously, my throat tight, and thought it wise to hide away before they came through the front door. I took my coffee and rushed up to my room, climbing the stairs two at a time, my heart hammering in my chest.

In my room, I set the coffee down on my dresser and tried to calm myself down.

I took deep breaths, forcing myself to think rationally.

How bad could it really be? What if they were identical twins?

Only one of them was my stepfather. I’d only been secretly starving for one of them. There shouldn't be any big deal about Liam’s twin coming into the picture.

But no amount of mental affirmations could calm the storm brewing inside me. The thought of seeing another version of Liam—another tall, muscular man with the same DNA—made my stomach flip in a sickly delicious way.

Suddenly, a firm, heavy knock rattled my bedroom door, and the air left my lungs in a sudden rush.

I paused, completely frozen, almost choking for the second time that morning. I drew in a quick breath and tried to put on the nonchalant, icy mask I’d been using for years whenever I interacted with Liam.

I walked slowly to the door, hyper-aware of the fact that my cheeks were burning and probably matched the hot pink crop top I was wearing.

Liam was standing right there.

God, he was massive.

His broad shoulders seemed to fill the entire frame of the doorway, cutting off the light from the hall. His jawline was as sharp as ever, dusted with a bit of dark stubble, and his intense hazel eyes locked directly with mine the second the wood parted.

His dark hair was tousled, looking like he’d been aggressively running a hand through it on the drive back. His expression was completely unreadable as usual, solid as stone.

He was every dark romance author’s dream—a walking, breathing fantasy, the wickedest and hottest kind.

His dark brows quirked slightly as his eyes flicked down to my bare midriff, and I immediately caught myself, realizing I was staring.

I couldn't stop the heat of embarrassment from crawling up my neck and flooding my face.

The fucking bastard obviously knew I’d been ogling him. Regardless of the panic inside me, I lifted my chin high, putting on my signature attitude.

"What are you looking for, Liam?"

He smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. But I wasn't stupid. I knew every single one of his polite reactions toward me was just a facade. I was completely sure the man hated me because I’d never once regarded him as a stepfather.

“We have a guest downstairs,” he said, his deep, gravelly voice sending a direct shiver straight down my spine. “I’d like to introduce you to my brother.”

I swallowed hard, trying to keep a brave face despite the way my knees felt like jelly. I noted to myself that for all my twenty-three years of existence, I’d never been this incredibly nervous.

I swallowed again, clearing my throat. “I didn't know we were having guests today.”

Then, just to get out from under his piercing gaze, which seemed to have caged me completely against the threshold of my own room, I took a step back.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Liam gave me one final, long look—his hazel eyes scanning my face, lingering on my lips for a fraction of a second—before he finally turned and walked away down the hall.

What the fuck?