Then Derk was gone. His warmth two feet away from her. His chest heaving. Turning on his heels, he stormed out the door and down the steps.
"Lock your door," he threw over his shoulder before jogging down the remainder and disappearing into his truck.
Mackenzie watched until he drove away, stunned. What the hell was that?
4
Derk allowed the scalding water to beat off his tightly wound body. Man, if his new obsession hadn't needed rescued from those seven punks, he would have killed every single one of them with his bare hands. No, that was a lie. With his knife‒minus gloves.
Thank fuck his natural stalking habits kicked in and decided he needed to find out Mackenzie’s habits and follow. When she'd plopped down on the bus stop bench, he knew then she didn't have a ride home. He'd watched the bus pick up riders twenty minutes earlier. He about had a coronary when she got up and started to walk home. That's when he became creepy guy and inched his truck in a slow pursuit, staying a couple blocks behind. Tomorrow she'd receive a stern lecture about noticing her damn surroundings.
After he'd left the bar, he couldn't get Cookie off the brain. Hell, five minutes after contacting Claire and ordering her to meet him, he canceled the easy lay. Instead, he went home, logged onto the House of Cards website and cyber stalked Mackenzie A.K.A. Cookie. He loved the innocent ones. Got a hard on every time for a girl he could break. This girl had all that and more. Her ink free body looked virtually virginesque and her shy return kiss made her innocence even more appealing. Her online photo didn't do her justice. In person, she was phenomenal. He could still feel her grasping his chest when he attacked her mouth. Those delicate hands on his solid body had sent his dick into instant overdrive. If he could have taken her against the nearest wall, he would have.
His body stirred just thinking about her. Slowly, his hand wandered down to his now semi-hard length. He wrapped his fingers around himself in a firm grip. When was the last time he got himself off? Years ago. He had plenty of women on speed dial to give him a good release at a moment's notice. But none of them were named Mackenzie.
Palming himself in a slow stroke, he thought of her at the bar and that tiny damn outfit. If she was his woman, there was no way in hell he'd allow her to work at that seedy bar displaying off her tits and ass. She probably warded off handsy men every shift. Plus, the dancing those bartenders did, hell, they might as well have poles embedded into the bars. According to the website, she'd been working at Cards for six months and was already a patron favorite. Further internet research and hacking of records, he found she'd been married at the time. What kind of jackass husband allowed his wife to get pawed-at every night she went to work? Especially a cutie like Mac.
The way she leaned on the bar, pushed her cleavage high on her chest, left zero to the imagination. The image danced in his head. Increasing the speed of his firm grasp, the water his lube, he thought of how her creamy skin might taste. He imagined his tongue creating a path from her ear down to those breasts. Bet her nipples were the color of strawberries. Redheads always had strawberry tits.
Squeezing himself tighter, he thought of those eyes, lined too harshly in makeup. If she wiped that makeup clean, he’d bet anything a man could lose himself in those blue babies. But it was her lips that propelled his release closer to the edge. Envisioning those plump, glossed lips wrapped around him, doing with her mouth what he was doing with his hand, but far more satisfying. He envisioned pushing himself deeper into her warm, moist mouth, forcing her take all of him, pumping his hips. Wet slaps filled the shower. His hips pistoned. He groaned, feeling his balls tighten. Lost in his erotic thoughts of Mackenzie and his dick in her mouth, his body jerked and his fluids shot out, not giving him the true satisfaction he needed.
Fuck.
He fell back against the tiled shower, his body spilling out his seed. Derk recognized he was in trouble. This woman wasn’t his type. He liked the younger ones. At least a ten-year age difference. A rule he instilled a few years ago. The older, wiser ones were too much to handle. But that wouldn't quite stop him. He was fixated. He'd stick to his usual routine‒conquer then desert.
5
Mackenzie tossed and turned all night. Even though her body was exhausted, her mind raced. Thoughts crashing together of the searing kiss by Derk, the near miss she had walking home, then her bazaar rescue by Derk. All of it jumbled and fumbled around.
Tall, at least six three, coal black hair he wore a bit longer, and a hard body that screamed he worked out religiously. His arms were the size of her thighs. Evident though his tight tee. Any woman would drool over him. He spewed danger, and she had no doubt he was lethal. The evil glare he sent those seven boys was murderous.