Read Online Loving Ean (The Fae Guard Book 2) by Elle Christensen - Free Book Online Page A

slow, painful death for him—whoever the motherfucker is.
    At least that thought took my cock down to half-mast. Small victories and all that shit. Laying here is only prolonging the inevitable. I should go, take her up on the opportunity she’s given me to get out. With movements like molasses, I get out of bed, trudge out to the living room, grabbing my clothes from the floor. As I dress, my ears perk at every little sound, wondering if she is out of the shower yet, if she’s coming down the hall, if— stop moping and get the hell out of here, jackass.
    Laila’s lacy, light blue thong drops to the ground when I pick up my shirt. I stare at it for a moment, then take a quick look around (as if someone would see me?) and shove them in my pocket. I want something with her scent to keep with me. I studiously ignore the voice in my head telling me what a stalkerish thing this is. I don’t care. With my keepsake safely in hand, I make my way to the door and shut it quietly behind me before going into my own apartment.
    In my bedroom, I flop down onto my bed and immediately feel bereft at the lack of her fragrance. I never feel more alone than right after I’ve left her presence. And yet, being with her like that took some of the sting out of my shitty trip and I feel lighter today. The two sides of me are warring against each other, so I focus on the remnants of my night with Laila, shoving the darker emotions away. What I wouldn’t give to be able to use this same method to rid me of my stress every time I come off an assignment. But, I can’t use Laila that way, and I haven’t felt desire for another woman for longer than I’d care to admit. I’ll just have to find another way.

    Turns out, I’m a monumental prick and complete fuck up. For the last several weeks I haven’t been able to get any kind of control over myself. Anytime Laila and I are in close proximity—and don’t even get me started on when we are alone—we go up in flames. I’m pretty sure we’ve fucked in every closet, bathroom, training room, anywhere with a modicum of privacy. On the nights I come off an assignment, I find myself at her door, keeping her up all night, running an orgasmic marathon. So far, the record is eight but, with a little more practice, I’m confident that I can blow through that statistic. Pun not intended, but hey, if the shoe fits.
    Every encounter ends the same, no conversation about what just happened, sometimes a little bit of innocuous small talk, and then a final kiss before we separate. No cuddling, no sleeping over, just walking away as though it never happened. Laila’s last words to me are always a statement, “no regrets.” I never answer. See? Colossal prick. I can’t give her any more than that without getting in even deeper. Telling her that I don’t, will never wish away each and every time that we’ve been together, will only make it harder for when it ends. So, I keep it as impersonal as possible, even though I know she deserves so much better. With each encounter, I become more, and more addicted. I don’t know how to stop.
    When Christmas came, I spent it with my parents; the only time we ever get together for more than a day. They were pretty much absentee parents while I was growing up; still are, technically. They aren’t bad people, and I have never doubted that they love me. When they were around, I wasn’t ignored or forgotten. We spent time together laughing, and acting like a typical family. However, those times were few and far between, at minimum: my birthday and Christmas. The thing is, I came in second to the job. They were off saving the world. How do you compete with that? So, I spent the majority of my time at the Foster’s where Aden and I became more than friends, we became brothers.
    It wasn’t an unhappy childhood, per say, but I wouldn’t wish it on any child. With my complete focus on my job, I knew a wife and any children I had would be put second, like I was. That