Accidentally Fudging the Beast Read Online Nichole Rose

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love, Virgin Tags Authors: Nichole Rose Advertisement

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I sit there, staring at the city lights, wondering how on earth I'm supposed to ever look him in the eye again. I almost killed him. He almost died. But here we are, just chilling on his couch, and somehow, it feels like maybe the worst day ever turned out to be…kind of amazing, actually.

I'm not about to admit that to anyone, though.

Especially not to Trent Kirk.

Sleep is a nonstarter when my body is still vibrating, but the longer he snores, the more anxious I get. I should leave. I should get out now, while he's drooling into the throw pillow and can't see me panic-walk to the elevator.

But I don't.

Instead, I scroll my phone, watching reels and triple-checking the group chat for news of a freakout or, God forbid, another allergic reaction to my culinary offerings. But there's nothing but the usual memes and a photo of someone's bare ass getting taped up after practice.

I'm about to send a snarky comment when I hear Trent shift behind me. I glance over my shoulder to find him scratching his neck. His eyes are still closed, but his fingers are digging hard at a red patch by his collarbone.

I launch into professional mode before I can stop myself. "Do you want a staph infection? Stop scratching."

He doesn't stop, so I slap his hand away. It's not gentle. I have four foster brothers. I know the precise amount of force to use to get attention without causing an injury.

His eyes snap open, equal parts surprised and amused. "You have a mean right hook."

"You have the impulse control of a toddler," I snap, grabbing his wrist to keep him still while I examine his neck for damage. He grins, and then—somehow—I'm lurching sideways, half falling, half being pulled directly onto his lap.

There is a moment of pure, unfiltered chaos as I try to untangle myself, but his arms are already around my waist, and I'm straddling the world's most gorgeous, infuriating man. My heart does a triple axel. My brain checks out completely.

"Sorry," I mutter, or maybe I just mouth it, because there's suddenly not enough oxygen in the room. His hands are big and hot on my hips. There's about six inches between our faces. Six inches that I desperately want to close.

I try to scramble up, but Trent just grins, all wolfish and lazy. "Relax, baby. I don't bite unless asked."

And there it is. That endearment again. The one wreaking havoc on my womb.

I try to reassemble a scrap of dignity, but it's not working, not with his hands still locked around my waist and his eyes locked on my mouth. My mind is a parade of screaming, contradictory commands.

Sit still! Flee! Scream! Kiss him!

I am not going to kiss him. I'm not. I'm a medical professional. I'm his medical professional. This is against every rule in the book. Maybe not the literal book, but the unwritten one that says, "Don't bang your patients, especially when you just spent the day patching them up in the ER."

He must see the panic, because his grin shifts from cocky to gentle. His voice drops to a gritty hush. "You're so fucking beautiful."

The words stop me cold. I blink, unsure if I heard him right. "What?"

"You're fucking beautiful, baby." His thumb brushes my hip, slow and deliberate. "You ever hear that before?"

"Not from anyone with a pulse," I blurt. He laughs, and I want to crawl under the couch and die.

Instead, I muster the willpower to break free. Only, when I push against his chest, he barely budges. I have as much effect on him as a decorative pillow. A decorative pillow with feelings and a panic disorder.

"Shouldn't you be unconscious?" I babble. "Or at least pretending to be?"

"Can't sleep with you here," he says, and now his smile is just…soft. "You're too distracting."

There is an entire marching band playing against my ribcage right now.

"What are you doing?" I whisper, because it's all I can manage.

He tips his head up, closes the gap to three inches, maybe two. "Should be obvious by now." His breath is warm against my lips. "I'm getting ready to kiss you."

Oh.

Oh.

I should get up. I should say no. But I don't. Because he's looking at me like I'm the only person in the world, and for once, I want to know what it feels like to be wanted like that.

So I kiss him.

Or maybe he kisses me. Either way, our mouths meet in the middle, tentative at first, then hungry. He's careful, like he doesn't want to break me. But I don't want careful.

I want reckless.

I want him.

I slide my hands up his chest, and his tongue grazes my lower lip, asking permission. I open for him, and he groans into my mouth, the sound low and desperate. His hands squeeze my hips, then my lower back, then up into my hair, pulling me down like he's drowning and I'm the only thing keeping him afloat.

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