The Wrong Wife (Morally Grey Billionaires #5)(52)

Sure, I’m a bastard for taking what she gave so freely when she was sleeping and unaware of what I was doing to her. But she enjoyed it. And she curled up like a baby on my chest after that and went right back to sleep. She didn’t move when I slid out from under her and placed her head on the pillow. I made sure to cover her up before leaving. And then, my steps had been slow.

I stopped in the doorway to glance at her over my shoulder. The need to go back to her and hold her in my arms, burying my face in the curve of her neck and my cock in her sure-to-be-wet pussy, is what made me turn around and leave. I cannot get addicted to her. I broke one of my rules by insisting she stay overnight. There's no way I could have let her leave last night. Not after tasting her sweetness, feeling her flesh give under my fingers, seeing the marks I left on the inside of her thighs when I dragged my whiskers across as I ate her out.

She trembled and turned to a mass of yearning need under my ministrations. I felt her climb the slope to that invisible edge of no return and backed off. She whined and protested—in her sleep—and I had to stop myself from chuckling aloud. Which is when I realized, I’d almost laughed again in her presence.

She has that effect on me. My sunshine. My Little Dove who shines light into the murky darkness of my life. And I need to make her mine. A-n-d the fact that I’d allowed myself to think that sent me scrambling into my closet to get changed. And then, I ran out. She’s gotten under my skin, and I hadn’t realized it. Thoughts of her, echoes of her laughter, the image of those bright blue eyes alight with mischief as she sasses me again— All of it slips through my veins like adrenaline in the middle of a gunfire.

"Knight, you hear what I said?"

"Eh?" I turn then, almost stumbling on the path. I manage to right myself then turn to find Adam smirking.

"What?"

"You’ve got it bad, man."

"What are you talking about?" I roll my shoulders and continue walking at a brisk pace.

"Thought we were cooling down?" He snorts.

No chance of that. Not as long as I’m thinking about her.

"Knight, man, it’s okay to admit you like her."

"That is of no consequence."

"Of course, it is." He draws abreast. I ramp up my speed, but he easily keeps pace. This is what happens when you have a friend who not only saved your life on more than one occasion, but also is well-matched in strength, in power, and in the way we react to situations.

We’re so similar, our team had teased us about being two pieces of a whole. We’d scoffed at that. It's true, we have similar values—we’d been drawn to a life of service—but that’s where our similarities end. Where I pursue things with an intensity that's borderline obsessive, Adam is more easygoing. He's able to let go of things and move on, whereas I… I can’t forgive or forget that easily. It's why, though we experienced some rough shit together, Adam has managed to move on and re-integrate back into society much faster than I have. But then, he also agreed to see a shrink from the day he returned—something I've refused to. I'm not ready to open that can of worms… Yet.

"You need to stop punishing yourself for what happened." He grips my shoulder, and if it were anyone else, I’d shake it off. But because it’s Adam, I allow myself to slow down.

"You were not responsible for the deaths of those men."

I scoff. Typical of Adam to put out there what any of my other friends and family have hesitated to tell me in all the time I’ve been back. It’s why I love him and hate him.

"Fuck you, too, asshole."

"And I don’t care if you hate me for saying this, but it’s time you put what happened behind you and start living again."

"Have you put what happened behind you?"

He hesitates, then lowers his gaze.

"That’s what I thought."

"What happened there changed us. We’ll never go back to being the men we were before. The difference is, I’ve chosen not to let those bastards hold me back."

"And I have?"

He squeezes my shoulder. The answer is in his eyes. He releases his hold on me, only to grab the back of my neck. "I love you like a brother, man. It’s why I’m all up in your business, you realize that?"

"What-fucking-ever."

He chuckles. "It’s also why I see your other friends—the ones you’ve been avoiding all this time—jogging in our direction."

I groan. "I need to get out of here."

"Too late for that, man." He lowers his arm and steps back. "I’d wish you good luck, but since you’ve met the right woman, you don’t need it."

I frown. "You douchecanoe, what the fuck you talking about, you—"

He touches the tip of his index finger to his temple, then pivots and runs off.

I draw in a breath, then turn, only to be knocked on the side of my head. "The fuck!" I reel back, more from the surprise than the force of the hit, which was just a tap. I’ve been through worse in training sessions before I left for a mission.

Rick throws up his fists. "Wanna go a round, man? You haven’t eaten my dust in a long time."

Typical Rick, an ex-NHL player who served in the military with me, the man is one-hundred percent pure muscle. He’s also the only other man I know who can hold his own against me in a fight. I crack my neck, then take a step back, but Rick steps forward and into my space so his chest slams into mine. "You’re a fucking arsehole. A selfish, motherfucking, wanker of a douchecanoe who doesn’t care about anything but himself."