Page 85 of On The Edge

“Tell me something, Cruz,” she asks above the rim of her wineglass.

“What’s that?”

“Why haven’t you had a girlfriend?”

“Jesus.” I cough the word out and laugh. “Let’s not jump that far ahead of ourselves, huh?”

“I’m not talking about me.” She rolls her eyes, but why do her words hit me wrong? “It’s just . . . from the outside looking in, you either get bored quickly—which is worrisome since we’re stuck together for the time being—or you have a serious commitment issue that you’ve yet to address.”

Shit. That footing I just said she found? She’s really digging in.

But it’s Sofia’s words that come back to me with a vengeance right now. I shove them and the feeling they cause all the way down.

“People are rarely what they seem.” It’s a chickenshit answer but my place still smells like the sex we just had, and the last thing I want is to ruin the high of that.

“Maybe it’s because you never stick around long enough to find out.”

“And maybe you stick around too long because you’re afraid to just go for it. Change isn’t always bad.”

Her grimace tells me it was a direct hit. A punch to deflect the ones she could easily hit me with if she keeps going in this direction. But unlike me, she takes the hit and nods. “It isn’t. I figured that out over the past few days and am trying to fix that.”

“Well, all that fixing better not have anything to do with Oliver Rossi. Ever.”

She lifts an eyebrow, no doubt noting my deliberate change of topic. “Is that so?” Her smile taunts.

“That is most definitely so.” There’s amusement in her eyes. And then it hits me. “There was no Rossi. No date on a boat. Was there?”

Her smile widens and she stands and moves toward me. “Whatever would give you that idea?” she says coyly as she sets her glass down on the table.

“Fucking hell. You did play me, didn’t you?”

She steps forward and trails a finger down my bare chest. “I can neither confirm nor deny, but I can tell you, we ended up right where we needed to be.”

Me in you. Yeah. No fucking complaints there.

I reach for her hips, for the globes of her ass, and pull her toward me so that she has no choice but to straddle me. “You’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Madds.”

I lean forward and kiss her. Lick between the seam of her lips and dig my fingers into the flesh at her hips.

“Watch out. I just might bite.”

“Pretty please?”

“I like you jealous,” she purrs against my lips before kissing her way down my shoulder. “I like you sweaty.” She flicks her tongue over the disc of my nipple and sucks, her eyes looking up at me as she slides back on my knees so that her thighs are spread wide. I can see the pink of her pussy. “I think you’re sexy as hell in your fire suit before the race.” She moves off my lap, her knees hitting the floor between my feet. “And completely fuckable after when your hair is wet and your muscles are tense.” She leans back and pulls my shirt over her head. Her nipples are pink and the little marks on her breasts from where I sucked too hard—turn me the fuck on.

I marked her as mine. Why does that give me such a sense of satisfaction?

“Madds.” It’s the sound of a desperate man. Please tell me you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do.

Her laugh is throaty as she takes both hands to pull my sweats down when I lift my ass up. My cock springs free. It’s hard as a rock and pre-cum is already glistening at its tip.

“And I especially like you like this. Desperate. Wanting. Your eyes dark. Your cock hard.” She leans forward and licks the drop off. “I want to taste you, Cruz. I want to feel you hit the back of my throat. I want to hear my name on your lips. I want you at my mercy.”

Have me, Madds. Fucking take me.

And when she places my cock between her soft lips, when the first slide down goes to the back of her throat, when she hollows out her cheeks and sucks hard, my eyes roll back in my head. I’m a fucking goner.

“Maddix.” It’s the softest groan and the closest thing I’ll ever give to submission.