Page 77 of Riding the Edge

Chapter Twenty-three

Turning into my driveway, I pull behind the Charger, kill the lights and cut the engine. Jack didn’t answer my call and after I left the hospital, I swung by the garage but the only person there was Linc. Apparently, I had just missed everyone convening over the latest crisis to hit our doorstep. Catching me up to speed, he informed me that after the Yankovich mess, Bas took off on a family emergency. He returned today with his late brother’s wife and son who need protection from the club. Since taking the Brooklyn patch, Bas has been staying in a shady apartment in a bad part of town—not your ideal setting for a woman or child. Pipe being on his mission of positivity offered his house to them and the club was busy helping them get settled.

Realizing I wasn’t going to get to talk to Parrish, I left Linc to whatever it was he was doing and stopped off at the deli for a sandwich. Now, me and the twelve inch sub have a date in front of the television. Here’s to hoping the t-shirt wearing, cab screaming fool isn’t the only thing on television.

Taking the hero out of my saddlebag, I shove it under my arm and start up the walkway. My boots come to a halt as I lift my head and lock eyes with Maria.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, using the banister to lift herself from the stoop. Raising her other hand, she produces her phone. “The doctor called,” she says before sliding the phone back into her pocket.

Instantly, I close the distance between us and climb the two steps. My hand reaches for hers on the banister and the hero falls to the floor.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

“I missed the call,” she says, glancing at our joined hands. “She left a message, but I couldn’t bring myself to listen to it. Even after everyone left my house, and I was alone, I couldn’t do it.” Her chin lifts and her gaze bores into mine. “I didn’t want to be alone and the first person I thought of was you.”

“I’m right here, Lady,” I say. “We’ll go inside, I’ll pour you a glass of—shit,” I hiss. “I don’t have wine,” I explain, squeezing her hand. “I have whiskey though. I’ll pour us both a shot and you’ll play back the message.”

She doesn’t reply right away. Instead, she lifts her hand to my face and touches my beard.

“I’m terrified,” she admits, meeting my gaze. “And I can’t figure out why. In all my years, I’ve never needed another person to hold my hand and suddenly I need you,” she cries, brushing away her tears. “I don’t know how to act or feel, I just know that I can’t make this call without you next to me and that scares me. No, it terrifies me.”

“Lady,” I rasp. Pulling her against my chest, my hands travel up her back and my fingers glide through her hair. “That’s not something to be afraid of, that’s something to embrace,” I say.

Pulling her hair, she angles her head back and our eyes meet.

“If it turns out that I’m sick, that’s not fair to you,” she whispers.

“If you’re sick, I still get you and that’s more than fair. That’s fucking everything,” I reply, touching my nose to hers. “Got in line too late to be any of your firsts but, Lady, you and me we’re gonna share all our lasts.”

Her eyes close as she wraps her arms around my neck.

“It’s not that crazy is it?”

“No, sweetheart. It’s not crazy when it feels right,” I tell her. My hand travels down her back and I press her closer to me. “Want your mouth, Lady.”

“Take it,” she whispers, opening her eyes. Rounding her body, my hand moves to her neck, cupping the back of it, I give it a squeeze before covering her mouth with mine. She opens for me and my tongue takes a greedy swipe of heaven. Her arms tighten around my neck as I lower mine and lift her into my arms. Winding her legs around my waist, she tugs on my hair and kisses me back with a fever I’ve never experienced before.

I climb the last of the steps and lean her against the front door as I dig into my pocket for my keys. Ripping my mouth away from hers, I curse as one hand cups her ass and the other fumbles with the lock.

“Wait,” she says, looking over my shoulder. “I brought you eggplant parmigiana and some more spaghetti.”

“Fuck the eggplant,” I growl.

“But you hardly ate.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m going to eat, Lady,” I tell her kicking open the door. Hiking her higher, I carry her into my dimly lit house and slam her back against the closed door.

“You know what else I realized?” she questions, dipping her head to nip at my lips.

“You like the beard,” I mutter between kisses.

“That, she agrees, licking my lips. “And I like it dirty,” she whispers.

“Good, ‘cause I like dirtying you up, Lady,” I reply, finding her neck. Sucking the delicate flesh into my mouth, I spin her around and kick off my boots. Not willing to trek up the stairs to the bedroom, I carry her into the living room and set her down on the couch before climbing over her.

In an instant she’s all over me, ripping my shirt over my head and undoing my zipper. I don’t know if she’s desperate to forget or desperate for me and I don’t give a shit. If she needs me to ease her troubles, I’ll do it. If she needs me between her legs, reminding her she’s alive, I’ll do that too. Whatever she needs, I’ll be.

Buttons fly everywhere as I rip her shirt open and bury my head in her neck. Lifting her hips, she grinds her sweetness over my stiff cock and slips her thumbs into the waistband of her pants. Shimmying them over her hips, she drives me fucking crazy and I lean my weight into her, pressing my denim covered cock against her.

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