There is no doubt in my mind we are becoming an us, at least I’m hoping we are becoming an us, because with every touch and conversation we share, I’m becoming more and more addicted to this woman.
It isn’t only her beauty that has captured me—those golden eyes and luscious lips. It’s the way she smiles so innocently when her eyes light up with sin, or the way she beautifully cares for others but easily keeps me on my toes with her wit.
Racer was right to try to protect Adalyn from me because right now, I feel like a wolf, stalking his prey.
Back and forth, back and forth we rock, our breath mixing together, falling in rhythm. Adalyn’s fingers start to slow, her body pressing heavier into mine.
“Hey,” I whisper to see if she’s awake.
No response.
“Adalyn.” I press a kiss against her forehead.
“Mmm . . .”
“Are you sleeping?”
“Maybe,” she grumbles.
Knowing how hard she works and how long her shifts are, I don’t think twice when I scoop her into my arms and take her inside the house. Her head lulls into my chest. No doubt the wine and long hours conked her out.
I have three options here: I can drive her back to her place and help her get into bed, I can walk her into the guest room and tuck her in, or . . . I can take her to my room and spend the rest of the night wrapped around her lithe body, running my hand over her soft skin, smelling her delicious lavender scent.
I’m a good guy, but I also have my selfish moments and spending the night wrapped around Adalyn is going to be one hell of a selfish moment I’ll capitalize on.
Turning the lights off, not worrying about the wine glasses outside, I do a quick lockup and carry Adalyn to the back of the house where I lay her on the bed. As I remove her shoes, her eyes flutter open, lazy and sexy, and she asks, “What’s going on?”
“Just getting you ready for bed.”
Instead of putting up a fight like I thought she would, she nods and lays her head back down. Chuckling, I finish up with her shoes and head to the bathroom where I brush my teeth, shuck my jeans and shirt, and grab a cup of water and toothbrush for Adalyn.
She’s half awake when I offer her the toothbrush, running through the motions of brushing her teeth. But to her credit, she doesn’t forget to brush her tongue. She’s high-functioning when practically sleeping, her eyes closed the entire time.
When I return from dropping off the spare toothbrush I had, I find her struggling with her jeans, the zipper giving her a run for her money. Okay, not as high-functioning as I thought.
“Do you want your pants off?”
“Mmm,” she answers with a sleepy nod.
“Okay.” I assess the situation and wonder how I’m going to make this happen when she flops to her back, arms spread, giving me easy access to the button and zipper. “Well, that’s one way to do it.”
Without trouble, I undo her pants and ease them down her legs, her tight black shirt painted onto her stomach, a few inches higher than the waistline of her . . .
Oh fuck.
She’s wearing a thong.
For the love of God, don’t flip over. Please don’t flip over.
Turning my back to her, I fold her jeans and place them on the bench at the foot of the bed and work my way to my side of the bed. She’s going to be covered in blankets. This brilliant idea is not going to turn into a painful one. I know it won’t.
I sit on my side of the bed, plug my phone into its charger, take a deep breath, and turn to find Adalyn curled up in a ball, her backside to me, her black lace thong burning a hole straight into my soul.
Her ass . . .
Fuck.
Smooth, round, begging for my hands.
