Marked as His by Em Petrova Page B

glittered. “I’ll call off work and you can take me to Tommy.”
    Approval was easy to read even in the dark. “Good. But there’re a lot of hours until dawn. And you still have to give me that tattoo.”
    “Maybe it’s you who inks me.”
     

Chapter Four
    When Paxton cupped Santana’s pussy through her panties, she made a hissing noise. He eased his touch, concern filling him. “Getting sore?”
    “A little. I haven’t had this much sex in a long time.”
    “Since the cop?”
    “Maybe.”
    Damn, he didn’t want to hear that. He couldn’t take his hands off her now. He wanted her to only think of him. But he stroked her with butterfly softness, running his fingertip over the bumps through the wet crotch of her panties. Dawn was streaming into the room, airbrushing her skin until she looked like a golden goddess.
    He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Your skin glows.”
    She smacked him. “Don’t get sappy on me now. I’m still your warden.”
    Staring at her through half-lidded eyes, he nodded. “I can live with that.” For now. The past day had been a fun detour from his mission but the fact was, the Hell’s Sons would be looking for him today. He’d be surprised if they weren’t watching the condo now.
    He rubbed his beard.
    “I’m going to shower.” She disentangled herself from his arms and slid to her feet. He watched her pad across the room, half in love with her round ass.
    “I’ll come with you.”
    “No, my shower’s small. We won’t fit. Why don’t you get breakfast? Cereal and milk in the kitchen.”
    He lifted a brow. “You’re trusting me to walk around your house?”
    She lifted a sun-kissed shoulder. “The worst you can do is escape.”
    “Maybe I have Stockholm Syndrome.”
    When she laughed, he couldn’t help but smile too. She disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door. The firm click shutting him out irritated him more than it should.
    He got up and found his pants then walked into the main house. Flicking the blinds in the front windows aside, he peered into the street. Only his bike sat there. Apparently his brothers weren’t that concerned for him.
    After searching her cupboards he found a box of healthy cereal, milk, and a black pottery bowl. He sank to a stool at the counter and dunked the flakes with the back of his spoon. He had to admit, this was out of his normal routine. Love ’em and leave ’em before they woke up was more his speed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had breakfast at a woman’s house let alone slept all night with her.
    Taking his bowl in hand, he got up and walked through the open space. Muted shades of gray and dark blue were accented with white and silver. She had great taste—not much like the sweet butts he’d slammed and thank-ya-ma’amed. Santana had strived to separate herself from that lifestyle and she’d done beautifully.
    Maybe it was wrong of him to yank her out of her world and into his.
    He chewed and swallowed, but it seemed the flakes stuck in his throat as he saw her photos. A younger version of herself looking like a pinup girl in form-skimming dress and heels, her hair done in forties waves.
    His cock liked what he saw too. He should walk into that bathroom and crowd into the shower with her. It really wasn’t that small. She just wants to be alone.
    Another photo of what had to be her mother stood in a silver frame. She was smiling and healthy looking with dark hair like Santana’s and skin a shade darker. Santana resembled her mother, not that ugly fuck Tommy.
    He grinned. Wait till he told him.
    “You didn’t make coffee?” Santana stood in the bedroom doorway, toweling her wet hair.
    He lowered the bowl, the smile quirking the corner of his lips without any ability to stop it. “I didn’t know you wanted some.”
    “I always have coffee in the morning. Actually, a whole pot.” She tossed the towel behind her and he heard it thump into the laundry basket. Then she breezed to the