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But now it's on me to make things right.
33
Erica
I wake up to sunshine streaming in the window, across the fluffy brown form that has his furry chin on my belly, bright green eyes looking into mine.
I’m feeling both happy and sad at seeing Riley’s wolf.
“Hiya Scoob,” I whisper, scratching behind one of his ears.
He stretches and licks my chin, his tail thumps against the bed, then his fur melts away and he’s Riley again. And he’s on me. He’s on me and he’s naked. We both are.
“Hey,” Riley replies gruffly as if it was him and not his wolf I’d been greeting.
I drop my hand. My mouth also drops open.
His eyes coast over my face, then his knee nudges between mine and he guides the tip of himself to my entrance. Immediately, I feel my body react and ready itself for him as he slides an inch into me, pulling a gasp from my lips.
He slowly moves inch by delicious inch until he’s fully inside, then his eyes drift half shut, and his mouth is on mine, those pillowy soft lips touching mine, then the tip of his tongue licking my bottom lip before dipping in just enough to touch the tip of my tongue.
I whimper and my legs wind around his butt as he deepens the kiss. My fingers dive into his soft, messy, curly hair. He pulls three quarters of the way out of me and then slams hard. I cry out. Loud. Oh my goodness that feels fucking amazing. He does it again, our eyes locked. His eyes sparkle with what looks like mischief.
What?
His hands cradle my face, and his mouth is a hairsbreadth from mine as his eyes rove my face.
I feel… seen. And scared. Scared out of my mind.
Sheesh, he smells good, feels good.
He pulls out and then slowly drives back in, to the root.
It’s slow and deliberate. He’s awake, looking in my eyes, and holding me, staring at me while he makes love to me. That’s what this feels like.
Making love. Not just biology. Not just an urge that comes from innate behavior.
But… it can’t be.
Can it?
Don’t hope, Erica. Don’t.
Something shifts and he goes from gentle to wild. Like something inside – self-control – has shattered. He pins me, wrists cuffed over my head by his hand and he’s glaring into my eyes like he’s furious. It’s gone from making love to fucking. Hard fucking. And it’s incredible. Riley Savage fucks into me over and over and over. His pace is punishing, his grip likely bruising. And I’m along for the ride, staring directly into his gorgeous green eyes, not protesting, because he can fuck me as hard and as long as he wants. I’m his. I’m his for as long as I live, even if he has me sever our connection, even if he wants to forget I exist and find someone else. Someone else to love. To have a family with. To wake up beside each and every day.
A tear drifts down my cheek, landing on my shoulder and I choke on a sob.
“Fuck!” he snarls and then he lets out a roar as the vibrations rev up and take me over the edge, hurling me into an eruption of sensation punctuated by light and noise. Noise that comes from the depths of me.
His eyes flash a glowing green before his mouth clamps onto the bitemark on my neck and this sensation sends things into overdrive. He sinks his teeth into it, not enough to break my skin but enough that I feel it. And it feels like a light show crackles and sparks from between my legs. I’m not sure where I begin and end. I close my eyes to hide from the intensity. I feel like I’m folding in on myself, falling apart. This could be the end. This could be the last time.
I convulse around him, holding onto his knot as tight as I can with my inner walls, wishing I could keep it forever. Keep him forever.
“Yeah,” he groans softly, sexily, licking, then pressing his lips against that mark on me and then he stills as I take his full weight.
I luxuriate in it, until he slides out of me, and I’m left feeling empty.
He sits up and throws his legs over the side of the bed, giving me his back.
I stare at the muscles of his shoulders, back, and arms for a minute before I swallow down a giant lump of harsh emotion.
He stays like that, hunched, forearms resting on his thighs. It’s a position of defeat, I think.
“Are you okay?” I ask in a whisper. The bandages from those stab wounds are on the table. He must have taken them off before he shifted. His skin looks healed. He looked pretty rough yesterday with at least five different wounds, one of them round, from the bullet.
