Page 42 of Riding the Edge

Chapter Twelve

Closing the door behind me, I slide the deadbolt into place and turn around. Standing in the foyer with the lights off, I stare at Maria’s back, as she slides her feet from those sexy fucking heels of hers.

The first time I thought about fucking her was when she was sitting across from me at the restaurant and trying to decide what type of wine she wanted. She crossed her legs and my eyes caught sight of her shoes. Pictures of her on her back, wearing nothing but those heels flashed in my mind and I was never more grateful for a checkered tablecloth in my life. Getting control of my cock, I pushed the illicit thoughts to the back of my head, reminding myself Maria wasn’t the kind of woman you fucked like an animal. She was the type you took your time with, someone you explored and eased into.

As the night went on, I found her to be incredibly sexy in an inconspicuous way. She didn’t put any effort into driving me hot for her and I knew by the time we left the restaurant any plan to be a gentleman in bed was shot to shit. Therefore, I swore I wouldn’t fuck her—not tonight. Not when I felt like I was losing control. Hell, I didn’t even trust myself to kiss her, but that couldn’t be helped either.

I needed something even if it was just a taste and the minute I got it, I realized she needed something too. More than that, I realized she didn’t need gentle either. She needed a filthy mouth between her legs and a man who could deliver on every dirty promise he offered her.

“Do you want something to drink?” she questions, tossing her purse onto the small table. “I don’t have beer, but I think I might have scotch left over from last Christmas,” she says, padding down the hallway.

Sensing her nerves by the change in her tone and the fact that she hasn’t looked at me, I follow her into the kitchen.

“I’m fine but why don’t you go ahead.”

Rising on her toes, she reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a glass. Moving to the other side of the kitchen, she fills her glass with ice and snatches the scotch from the baker’s rack. I don’t know why but that makes my lips quirk. Maria Bianci is a lot of things but predictable sure as fuck isn’t one of them.

With her back still facing me, she fills her glass.

Knowing what she needs and what she wants are one and the same, I also know she’s too much of a lady to ask for it.

“If you want me to leave—”

“No,” she interjects.

Crossing the kitchen, I close the distance between us and place my hands on her hips.

“I’m out of practice,” she whispers, dragging the scotch to her lips. Moving her hair away from her shoulder, I press my mouth to her neck as she gulps the liquor.

“It’s been a while for me too,” I tell her, sliding my hands down her sides.

“That’s not what I mean,” she stammers. “I don’t think I’ve ever fucked or been fucked and certainly never rough or hard.”

Hearing her curse sends the blood rushing straight to my cock. Trying to ignore it, my hands slide around her hips, splaying across her stomach.

“I’m an excellent teacher,” I quip as my fingers find the button on her jeans.

“I bet you are,” she mumbles.

Sliding one hand into her pants, I slowly draw the zipper down with the other. Her breath hitches as she places the glass on the counter and leans against me.

“Let me take good care of you, Lady,” I gruffly whisper against her ear. “I would’ve bet the house you’d be covered in silk.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she croaks as I lick the shell of her ear.

“Don’t be,” I growl, taking her earlobe between my teeth. “Like lace too… it tears easily.”

“You’re not tearing my panties, Al.”

“Sure, I am,” I reply, sliding my finger under the lace. Finding her nice and wet, I smile against her ear. “Question is, am I going to use my fingers to do it or my teeth.

“That mouth,” she moans as I hook my middle finger inside her pussy. “Oh God,” she murmurs, gripping the edge of the counter.

“You like that don’t you?” I ask, adding another finger. “My dirty mouth in your ear and my fingers deep in your pussy. Tell me, Lady, tell me, how bad you want to be fucked.”

“Oh God,” she pants, wrapping her hand around my wrist. “Stop, please…” her words are contradicted by her hand as she jerks my wrist, controlling the rhythm of my fingers. “I can’t… I’m going…”

“Let go, Lady,” I order, sucking her neck. “There’s more coming your way.”

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