Page 58 of Riding the Edge

“I don’t care.”

“Excuse me?”

“Had you under me, Lady, and I saw every inch of you,” I explain, standing in the doorway. “You don’t got to hide from me. If you want your privacy, I’ll give that to you but don’t send me out of the room because you think I’m going to look at you any differently than I did last night. Trust when I say I’m itching to throw you up against that wall and fuck your brains out.”

In all my years, no truer words have left my lips.

I don’t know what this thing is between us if we’re just two lonely people finding comfort in one another or if it’s more. What I do know is that I’m not willing to forget last night happened. As far as I’m concerned, it was a prelude and there is more of that to be found—plenty more. Am I the right guy for Maria—probably not, but I don’t want to walk out this door with just another notch in my belt.

Without speaking, she lifts her hands and starts to undo the buttons of her blouse. Wincing slightly, the fabric slides off her shoulders and down her arms. My eyes move to her breasts and I catch sight of the bandage covering the underside of her breast. Before she can reach behind her to unclasp the bra, I move towards her and pin her arms to her side. Lifting my hands to her shoulders, I turn her around and dip my head. Finding her neck with my mouth, I unclasp the bra and gently draw it away from her body. She hisses through her teeth causing me to lift my gaze. I find her staring at her reflection in the mirror, inspecting the bandage covering the incision site.

“You never think it can happen to you,” she whispers, meeting my gaze in the mirror. Running my hands down her arms, I kiss her shoulder. Seeming to remember the nightgown, she takes my hand and shoves the soft material into my palm. “Will you help me put it on?”

“Anything you need,” I reply hoarsely.

It must be painful for her to lift her arm because her face contorts with discomfort as she closes her eyes. Wanting to ease whatever she’s feeling I make quick work of pulling the nightgown over her head. Her arms drop to her side as I kneel and reach under the silk. Finding the elastic of her pants, I drag them down her legs. She holds onto my shoulders as she steps out of them.

Looking up at her, my hands travel up her legs, between her thighs and around, squeezing her ass.

“Can I ask you something?” she questions, pushing her fingers through my hair.

“Ask away.”

“Why does everyone call you Wolf? I know the nicknames are something you all have but why, Wolf?”

Considering her question, I keep my hands on her ass and stand tall.

“Lots of reasons,” I say. “Mainly because a wolf is a patient and powerful, relentless creature. He walks alone until he chooses the pack that stands behind him, then he fights with all he is and all he’ll ever be to protect and honor them.”

“I get that,” she replies thoughtfully.

“Yeah, you do.”

Because I choose you.

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