Chapter 31
Hit Up Front: Engaging the opposition head-on, not backing down.
Translation: Facing your fears.
Wolf
“Why is it every time you hurt yourself, I want to fuck the ever-loving shite out of you?” I growl into Everly’s ear as I
finish cleaning her wound on her bathroom counter.
Her breath hitches as she shivers while my fingers are currently gliding up her thighs and under her dress. I can smell jasmine
on her skin, warm and sweet and completely mouthwatering as my thumb teases the seam of her knickers. Yup, damp, as they almost
always are when she’s around me.
“I don’t know,” she whispers, her voice shaky but teasing. “Damsel in distress turns you on, maybe?”
“I feel like the one in distress right now,” I mutter, grabbing her hand and pressing it to my cock.
Her lips part as she feels the ridge of my erection through my jeans. I hiss when she brings her other hand around and undoes
them quickly, staring down at me as she grips my length with her bare hands. The skin-on-skin contact drives me absolutely
wild as she pumps me, rubbing her thumb over my tip, syphoning out precum like it’s her job.
“What were you doing outside the cabin, really?” I stare into her blue eyes, wanting to extract the truth from her before I fuck her into submission. “Because I know you weren’t picking fucking flowers.”
She shoots me a sheepish smile as she stares hungrily at my lips. “I was worried about you. I just . . . I didn’t want them
to scare you away.”
My chest heaves with that admission as I nibble the shell of her ear and down her neck. I like that she worries about me.
I worry about her too. I worry about her morning, noon, and night. She consumes me. I thought fucking her would lessen my
obsession, but it hasn’t. It’s stoked a small flame into a raging bonfire, and Christ, do I just want to burn forever with
this girl.
“You might find this hard to believe, love,” I say, dropping a soft kiss to her bare shoulder. “But I think your family likes
me.”
The corner of her mouth quirks up. “That might change now that they know.”
“Know what?”
“About us. About this.” She squeezes my cock harshly, and I grunt with need.
“They don’t know anything.”
“You were pretty obvious,” she says with a laugh that I kiss right off her face, my tongue plunging between her lips with
a forceful pressure.
“And you were subtle stalking me through the window?”
She bites her lip coyly. “I liked watching you squirm.”
I groan at that perversion in her voice. It’s raw and unfiltered, and it makes me want to come right down her throat. “I’m
about to make you squirm,” I murmur against her mouth, desperate to be inside her, gripping her hips and pulling her toward
me.
She pushes to the edge of the counter and drops down on her bare feet, grabbing me by the waist to trade spaces with me.
“What are you doing?” I ask as she presses me back against the counter.
“Apologizing,” she whispers, stroking my length and staring down at my cock while she licks her lips.
I grip her chin and force her to look at me. “Apologizing for what?”
“For being too much tonight,” she replies with a little smirk and then lowers to her knees.
Her lips graze the tip of my cock before I grunt and pull her up by the shoulders, forcing her to stand in front of me. “Don’t
apologize for that,” I state, my voice low and rough as my cock bobs between us. “Suck my cock because you want to. Not because
you think you’re too much. Saying you’re too much is like saying I could get enough of you. I can’t get enough of you.”
“I feel the same.” She inhales a shaky breath and glances down at my length again.
My eyes half close as I watch her for a moment, her chest rising and falling with every labored breath. Her nipples pebble
through the thin fabric of her dress. I lean closer, brushing my nose against hers, letting the tension thrum between us.
“What do you want, love? Say it all for me. I need to hear it.”
She bites her lip, charging herself up before she looks me boldly in the eyes. “Conri—” She releases a labored breath, her
lips wet from her tongue. “—I want to suck your cock.”
And with that, she drops down to her knees, her ankle magically healed as she pulls me into her mouth, giving me the best
blow job of my fucking life.
Everly
“Is it too personal for me to ask you what your tattoo coordinates are?” I ask Wolf as he lies stretched out on my bed. We’re both naked, tangled up in the sheets, my head on his chest, his right leg exposed in all its tattooed glory.
“After what we just did in your bathroom and then your shower, I expect ‘too personal’ isn’t really a thing anymore,” he murmurs,
his voice low and dripping with sex as he squeezes my ass.
I smile and drag my finger over the lone wolf on his leg that’s howling at a crescent moon before dragging down to the coordinates
etched at the bottom.
“It’s a pitch in my neighborhood of Ballymun,” he offers, his voice soft and reserved.
I glance up at him curiously. “Like a rugby field?”
He nods.
“Any particular reason you got that field inked on your skin instead of Trinity?”
He shoots me a warm, almost tender look as he pushes a strand of hair off my face. “It’s the first rugby pitch I ever played
on. The first time I ever remember feeling truly strong.” His answer hangs in the room, thick and meaningful, and my heart
squeezes at the tortured look in his eyes.
I blink up at him, my mind full of intrigue as I play with the gold chain cross around his neck. “Is that why you like coaching
kids so much? Do you feel like you can help them find themselves the way you did with rugby?”
His jaw flexes as he stares down at me. “I suppose so. Childhood is such a shite time for so many. If I’d found rugby earlier .
. . maybe I would have learned to regulate my emotions better.
Not lost my temper so much.” He drags a deep breath in, raising his chest up high as he stares up at the ceiling.
“A lot of these kids I’ve been coaching with Fergie don’t have anyone showing up for them.
No one at home who cares. My parents aren’t exactly uncaring, but they aren’t exactly hands-on either.
And on a rugby pitch, you’re never alone.
Even the roughest gobshite on the team still knows what it feels like to be part of a team who will support him.
I want to be a part of helping a kid find that kind of support.
Give them teammates to fight for, not against. Maybe if we can work with them when they’re young, they won’t turn into little terrors like me. ”
“You’re not a terror,” I state defensively, propping my head on my hand to see him more clearly.
“The Trinity sports therapist begged to differ,” he deadpans with a grim smile.
I frown. “Did the therapist ever tell you why you got angry so much?”
Wolf inhales deeply. “She said that certain high-stress moments in rugby trigger a retaliation instinct in me that I developed
through years of bullying I experienced when I was smaller. She also felt like I had some unresolved guilt for abandoning
my friend Finn when I started playing, and apparently, that guilt all manifests on the pitch, where physicality is justified.”
I frown at that, absorbing the truckload of information he just dropped on me in a very simple, succinct way. “Do you keep
in touch with your friend Finn still?”
He shakes his head. “No, sadly. But Cliona saw him last month and said he wanted to invite me to his wedding.”
“Wow, that’s really great, isn’t it?” I offer him a wobbly smile.
Wolf shrugs. “I suppose. I probably won’t be able to go anyways.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t even know where I’m going to be at the time. Cliona said the wedding is close to Christmastime. I’ll be in season
then, hopefully.”
My throat feels tight. “You hope to be back in Ireland by then though, right?”
He looks down at me, a curious look on his face. “I don’t know, I guess.”
I chew my lower lip as I think about that. “Well, if you’re home, you should try to go. I’m not a therapist, but I think it’s important to face those fears we have head-on.”
His eyes narrow on me. “What are your fears, Everly Fletcher?”
My body tenses at that question, so I turn to look away from him, not sure I’m ready to unpack whatever that fear might be.
I didn’t have years of therapy to help me define mine so simply.
Wolf’s rough fingers grip my chin as he turns me back to look at him. “Tell me.”
I inhale a shaky breath and admit the truth that I’ve never said out loud to anyone, let alone myself. “Of spending my whole
life finding other people love while never finding it for myself.”
Wolf’s brows pinch. “Were you in love with Hilow when you two were together?”
“No . . . I never said the words.” I lift one shoulder helplessly. “Which is crazy because after two years of being with him,
if I couldn’t say I love you, he clearly wasn’t the right guy for me.”
“Is there a timeline in your matchmaking manifesto for when you’re supposed to feel love for someone you’re with?”
I scrunch my nose. “No, my rules never go that far into a relationship. Probably for good reason. Maybe I’m broken when it
gets to that point, so I shouldn’t be giving out advice about it.”
“I don’t think you’re broken,” Wolf says, shifting onto his side. His arm slips around my waist as he pulls my back to his
chest, fingers splayed low on my stomach like he’s holding me together. “Most people fake being in love. I think it’s cool
that you didn’t.”
I turn my head to look over my shoulder. “I thought I was cringe, not cool.”
“You’re the perfect blend of both.” He presses his lips to my shoulder, which sends butterflies all through my stomach.
“Is that your official diagnosis, Dr. Reilly?”
“Yes.” His hand squeezes my belly. “And my anecdote for your fears is to remind you to be . . . you. Unapologetically. Be
dramatic on purpose. Be extra with intention. Be Everly Fucking Fletcher without shame because then the right kind of love
will find you.”
A pressure builds in my chest. I’m not sure I want to kiss him or cry. I’ll probably do both.