Page 11 of Riding Bare

Tears fill my eyes, and one of them falls, but it doesn’t get far because Dare’s thumb catches it. He slides it beneath my eye, taking the stray tear and ridding me of it. His gaze searches mine, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s going to kiss me.

I want him to.

But I’m left disappointed when he clears his throat, his hand falls from my face, and he takes a step backward. “Well, what time do we have to leave tomorrow?”

“My appointment is early. At nine.”

He dips his chin in a single nod. “Okay, we’ll go to breakfast afterward. I’m going to go out to the garage and do some work out there. You’re good in here?”

He shifts from one foot to the other, seemingly uncomfortable to be anywhere near me. I tell him that I’m fine, and he tears out of the house and hurries to the garage. I’m too lost inside my own head.

My thoughts are a jumbled mess. Gone are the images of Samuil. Now all I can think about is Dare… and wanting him to touch me, to kiss me. I need to forget about him and Samuil and every other man on this planet. I’ve got bigger fish to fry here, and it isn’t my husband or the father of my baby.

Even though I want my husband to be front and center.

He can’t be.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

CHASSIS

I’m not sure what time Dare slips back inside the house. I hauled my tired ass to bed a few hours after dinner and dessert. I fell asleep easily, but now I’m wide awake. The sun isn’t shining through the side of the window the way it does when it’s daylight. Which means it’s probably dark.

Reaching for my phone, I pick it up and check the time. It’s three in the morning. Sitting up, I slide my legs over the side of the bed and force myself to stand. I take one step, then another.

Then I stop.

My legs tremble before I lift my hand to my forehead, a dizzying sensation consuming me. I stood up too fast. I’ve never been like this before, but pregnancy has been doing some crazy things.

Slowly, I move toward the bathroom. I’ve never had to pee so much in my life. I’ve seen movies and things where women complained about needing to go to the bathroom all the time, and boy, they did not lie.

After washing my hands, I start to shuffle back to bed when I hear a noise that sounds like it’s coming from the living room. I stop, my breathing comes out in shallow pants as I try to listen and make out what exactly I’m hearing.

Then I remember that Dare’s here. I begin to breathe normally but don’t go back to bed. I stay where I am in the middle of the bedroom and debate whether I should go out to check on him or head back to my warm bed.

Clearing my throat, I debate for another minute, then I decide to just go for it. My feet move through the house, and I stop at the sight in front of me the moment I step into the living room.

The television is on, the blue light glowing against his skin. The way it highlights his muscles is almost orgasmic. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. There Dare is, his body sprawled out on the sofa.

He’s got one arm over his eyes, and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. My god. His chest is huge. His muscles are the biggest I’ve ever seen. The black lines decorating his arms do absolutely nothing to distract from the size of them.

Every single part of this man is lickable. My gaze travels down his chest to his abs that almost send me spiraling, but then I chance peering down to his hips, and my breathing stops. I should not be looking at his package neatly tucked beneath his snug boxer briefs.

Then my gaze continues to his thighs, and I have to press my own together. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never wanted a man like this before, but I want him. I want my husband, and I’m finding the whole thing very interesting. That’s the only way I can describe it.

Interesting.

“You gonna stand there and stare at my dick all night, or what?” Dare asks.

His voice causes me to jump. My gaze flicks to his, and then I blink a couple of times. I don’t know what to say or how to respond, because he really did catch me staring at his dick, and there’s nothing I can say to change that or pretend I wasn’t.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask.

He lets out a sigh and pushes up so he’s sitting on the couch. I watch as he throws his legs over the side and scrubs his palms up and down his face before he shifts his attention to meet mine. It’s in this moment that he looks his age. I know it’s because he’s half asleep, and that half sleeping was done on that sofa.

“I’m trying to sleep but fuckin’ failing,” he grunts.