Intern For My Best Friend's Dad: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance by Flora Ferrari (different e readers .TXT) 📕

Solomon growls out a sigh. “Leave.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“They’ve called the police, you idiot,” I yell, gesturing at the counter, hoping it’s true. “So I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Kenny chuckles. He licks his lips, a grotesque movement that makes me feel as though worms are crawling down my spine. “I’m taking what’s rightfully mine. Boys.”

It’s like the men in the black suits are machines.

The moment Kenny gives the command, they start inching forward, hands raised as though to grab Caitlin.

“Last chance,” Solomon says. “Apologize. Leave. Or I won’t have a choice.”

“You think your gym muscle scare me, jackass?” Kenny laughs. “These men are fucking MMA trained. Give it your best shot.”

Solomon shrugs.

“Alright, then.”

The first man – the tallest, with a scar across his jaws – ducks and makes as if to punch Solomon in the face. Solomon spins away quickly, far quicker than I would’ve imagined a man of his size could move.

He makes a tsk sound as he throws a counter punch, catching the man in the scarred jaw. The force sends him flipping over sideways, letting out a strangled coughing noise as he collides with the next table.

A tray flips over and glass shatters loudly on the floor.

Solomon spins, moving with the grace of a dancer.

Suddenly, perversely, I imagine us dancing on our wedding day, my man spinning me around the same way he does now.

The other two men leap at him, their fists darting out like professional fighters.

I’ve only ever seen a few fights in my life – mostly in high school – and this is nothing like that.

They attack efficiently, wasting no time with their movements, their punches lashing out like whips.

But Solomon is quicker.

He ducks one punch and then catches the other on his arm, letting out a carnal roar as he leaps forward and head-butts one man so hard he collapses backward, his sunglasses shattering and falling from his face.

The third man grunts as he throws another big looping strike, but it’s like Solomon senses it coming. He pulls his head out of the way just enough, that I imagine Solomon must be able to feel a little puff of air against his face, and then he lunges forward with the ferocity of a jungle cat.

He grabs the man by the shoulders and throws him to the ground.

The man goes flying and slams into the same table the other man crashed into, both of them falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

“No, no, no,” Kenny whines, as Solomon moves purposefully toward him. “I’m sorry, man. Shit—I’m sorry.”

Kenny pulls a knife and swipes at the air, making a hiss-hiss noise.

Solomon steps back, head tilted patiently. He looks like a predator when he stands like that, listening to the sounds of the three goons, groaning and grumbling as they try to recover from their injuries.

After a third knife swing, Solomon leaps forward and pins Kenny’s arm to the side of his head by jamming his arm under his armpit. He hooks his other arm around his throat and lifts him off the ground. Kenny’s eyes widen and he kicks and cries out, flailing like a kid picked up by a grownup.

“Apologize to my lady,” Solomon snarls. “Or I’ll break your goddamn neck.

“I’m sorry,” Kenny cries. “I shouldn’t have—ah, man, please.”

“You shouldn’t have what?” Solomon snarls.

“I shouldn’t have called you that,” Kenny breathes.

My heart floods with relief, with love, with contentment.

I know that violence shouldn’t make me feel this way, but it’s not the fists and the blood and the pain.

It’s the knowledge that, whatever happens, Solomon is always going to protect me.

He’ll never let bullies call me wicked and untrue names.

Yes, untrue, because what he said doesn’t matter when my man looks at me like I’m a supermodel.

“Call your goons off,” Solomon snarls, when the men start to clamber to their feet.

“Fellas, don’t touch them,” Kenny whines.

“And now apologize to Caitlin, you goddamn worm.”

“I’m sorry,” he moans. “You’re right. There’s something wrong with me. I should’ve just left you alone.”

Sirens cut through the air, growing closer, and Solomon’s eyes sear into me.

They burn with his passion, his protective rage, his need to keep me safe.

But there’s something else, too.

It takes me a second to identify it.

It’s not fear, but it’s something close, shimmering beneath the surface.

Caitlin knows, his eyes roar silently at me. I never wanted her to find out like this.

I glance at Caitlin, but she’s staring at the floor, tears glistening in her eyes.

She’s barely holding them back.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Solomon

We sit on the balcony of my penthouse as the setting sun turns the city a bruised purple color. I can feel Sophia’s nerves radiating from her, see them in the way she bites her lip and grips her hands together.

That lip biting still gets the primal part of me stirring, even if I know we’re supposed to be focused on talking with Caitlin about our relationship.

“Do you think she’s going to come?” Sophia murmurs, pulling her knees to her chest.

She’s still in her work clothes, her white shirt unbuttoned enough to show me a tempting slice of her bra. Her thighs tucked into her flood my manhood with tension, inappropriate tension considering the circumstances.

But I can’t stop myself from drinking in the sight of her, hungrily, greedily, like the beast I am.

“She’s on her way,” I tell her. “I’ve just spoken with her driver.”

“Oh,” Sophia murmurs, shivering.

“Are you cold?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “I’m just …”

I sigh, nodding.

“I know.”

After the fight in the café, we had to give our statements to the police. And then Caitlin stormed off, demanding to be left alone. She wouldn’t even look at me as she marched out of the police station and into her Uber. I watched her go, a pit opening up in my stomach, a pit with teeth that bit and tortured and told me that everything wasn’t going to work out after all.

“What are we going to