34
RODERICK
When I plannedan outing with Juliet, I chose riding a motorcycle. A dangerous enough activity for a human, but with my increased reflexes, I figured I could keep my woman safe.
Juliet planned today’s excursion, which involves her clinging to a cliff face with only a thin rope, tiny metal clamps, and my firm grip, keeping her from plunging to her death.
Neither my wolf nor I is happy about this hobby.
Not that we try to stop her. The pair of us just grumble to ourselves as she explains how to belay for her, then slips on the harness that emphasizes her shapely butt. The sight is almost enough of a distraction to have us forgetting about what she plans to do.
Almost.
The day is cool but sunny. One of those beautiful fall days to take advantage of before the freezing winter. I’m comfortable in a T-shirt, but Juliet has on a long-sleeved thermal. The material clings to her body, just like her skintight yoga pants. She may be covered from wrist to ankle, but I can still admire every curve.
My woman has her fiery hair pulled back in two tight braids that run along either side of her head. I give in to the adolescent urge to tug on the ends. Not hard. Just teasing.
“Hands to yourself.” She swats my stomach. But instead of a quick tap, Juliet seems to have found something she likes. Her hand lingers on my torso, fingers spreading, as if she wants to explore me.
My dick twitches at the thought.
And as much as I want her to continue, climbing is going to be a hell of a feat if I’m sporting a hard-on.
Maybe I could entice her into a safer activity.
If I get her turned on enough, she’ll be fine with going back to the truck and fooling around in the bed, wrapped up in a few blankets. That way, we can forget this whole dangerous excursion.
But as I go to snag Juliet around the waist, she dances out of reach, waving a finger at me.
“You’re not getting out of climbing that easily.” She tsks. “You want your prize? Make it to the top.”
She thinks fear for myself is what’s causing my hesitation?
Silly librarian.
“How many times have you done this?” My question comes out on a petulant mumble.
She smirks at me over her shoulder before going back to studying the rock face.
“This climb? Never. But climbing in general? Been going since high school, so probably over a hundred outdoor routes.” Juliet straps a turtle-shell-colored helmet on her head, then approaches the stone wall.
I test the slack part of the rope I have in my hands, making sure the fibers are strong enough to hold her. They seem sound, but I’m ready to lunge forward and catch her if anything were to fail. Even the idea has a cold sweat coating my body.
But I don’t stop her. I’ll never cage Juliet in.
“You ready to be impressed?” Even though her words are for me, her eyes are on the cliff face. She reaches into a pouch at her waist, pulling out hands covered in chalk.
“Be careful.” I sound like a mama bird, and from Juliet’s snort, I think she agrees.
She calls out the required climbing jargon, and I respond like she instructed.
The next moment, her arms stretch forward, as if to embrace the rock. I barely blink, and she’s risen past my height. I hurry to pull out the slack so she’s properly supported.
Juliet is gorgeous as she climbs. Muscles shift and tense all over her body. Small puffs of white dust surround her fingers whenever she makes an aggressive grab.
Strength comes to me naturally. Gifted by the gods. I can hone it if I want to, and I have. But Juliet’s is so much more impressive. She’s earned every ounce in her body. Fighting for it.
At regular intervals, she hooks into a metal bolt previously drilled into the stone by some past climber. A mysterious person I’m expected to trust the safety of my woman to.
