Page 44 of Pucking Wild

No, she’s sweaty like she was just working out. Naked?

And then it hits me.

Oh, fuck.

She’s not alone.

I glance over my shoulder, waiting for whatever hotshot she’s here with to come strolling in from the bedrooms looking full of himself and satisfied. I hate him.

“Oh—Ryan,” she says, her voice cracking with relief. But it quickly turns to anger. “You scared the fucking shit out of me,” she shrieks. “How the hell did you get in here? How do youalwaysget in?”

“Through the front door,” I reply, my voice raised to match hers.

“It was locked!”

“I have a key—”

“How?” she cries, tears in her eyes. Fuck, I really did scare her. She’s shaking with it. I’d try to comfort her, but she’s still holding that damn butcher’s knife.

“Jake,” I say simply. “He gave me a key. It’s in my pocket if you want to check,” I add, nodding down to my right front pocket of my grey sweats.

I try to avoid looking at her peaked nipples, but I can’t help it. They’re so pink and perfect. Was Mr. Hotshot touching them? Surely, he got a taste—

Stop.

The anger fades in her eyes, replaced quickly with concern as her gaze settles on my crutches. Then the knife goes clattering down to the counter. “Oh god, what happened to you?”

I’m oddly stung by her unintended dismissal. She doesn’t know. She wasn’t at the game. She didn’t even watch it on TV. Which means she didn’t see the hit. She didn’t see me lying on that ice—

Actually, now I’m glad. I don’t want her seeing me like that.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“You’re not fine,” she retorts. “You’re on crutches, Ryan. What happened?” She steps closer, her nakedness now within my reach.

I grip tighter to the handles of my crutches. “I got clipped during the game,” I explain. “It’s nothing. Just a knee sprain—”

Her eyes go even wider, her brows arching high. “A knee sprain?” She reaches for me. “Let me help you.”

I stiffen, readying myself for the feeling of electric shock that is her touch. “M’fine,” I mumble, not daring to watch her hand glide up my arm.

“Stop saying you’re fine. You look dead on your feet, and you’re swaying like you’re about to fall over. Come sit down on the couch.”

“I’m just tired,” I admit, letting her lead me over to the living room.

It’s been a hell of a long day, starting with a night of no sleep and an 8:00 a.m. hospital discharge, followed by a two-hour mechanical flight delay in New York and a weather rerouting over Virginia that added an hour to our flight time.

I wanted to just go home, but the guys wouldn’t hear a word about it. Morrow dropped me off here. Two rookies are at my house packing up some of my shit to hand off to Jake, who will come over with a grocery delivery later. Then Sully’s wife will be here tomorrow to finish stocking the fridge. They’ve all settled it. All I get to do is just let it happen.

Tess helps lead me over to the couch, and I sink down onto it with a groan. Big mistake. Now the world’s most gorgeous woman is standing over me naked, her pussy right in my eye line. My gaze locks on the soft thatch of trimmed curls pointing down like an arrow.

This is cruel and unusual punishment.

Tess seems wholly unbothered. “Why are you here, Ryan?”

“I could ask the same of you,” I counter, putting a hand up as if I can block her pussy from view. Fuck, I’m too tired to deal with this right now. And Mr. Hotshot will probably come swaggering out here any minute. I bet he’s using Mars’s shower like he owns the place. I fucking hate him.

“What are you doing?” she says, looking down at my raised hand.

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