Riggs (Arizona Vengeance 11)

I’ve fucked Veronica enough to know the telltale signs of when she’s going to orgasm. She’s not a multitasker in that department, and she’ll go still seconds before it starts to wash through her.

With a low moan, she plants down on me hard and whispers, “Close.”

“I know,” I grit out and start thrusting my hips into hers.

One, two, three times hard, and she’s crying out her release and I’m exploding inside of her so violently, I might pass out.

Veronica collapses onto me, and my arms go around her back to hold her in place while my cock continues to twitch inside her.

I try to reorganize my thoughts because I came in here thinking one thing, and one thing only. I would look back on my life one day and remember the exact moment I started to fall for Veronica Woodley. It was when Janelle told me what Veronica had done to protect her.

And now, it’s solidified. That was the very beginning, but after what Veronica just did for me, taking care of me when she was the one assaulted today while protecting my sister, I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen all the way.

The only question now is, do I have the guts to continue on this path?

CHAPTER 21

Veronica

My stellar plan to give Riggs a blow job (which led to even more stellar sex) doesn’t seem to have done its job. He sits at my kitchen island while I pour us tea, this after we cleaned up and I donned a robe so as not to distract. He again looks as tense as he did when he walked in.

I walk up to the edge of the island opposite him and push his cup of tea across. I hold mine in my hands, blowing over the top as I watch him. Riggs stares down at his cup but doesn’t touch it.

“I must suck at blow jobs,” I announce.

His head pops up, eyes narrowed. “Why would you say that? You give a fantastic fucking blow job. If someone told me that I could sit around all day and let you give me blow jobs if I gave up my hockey career, I’d give up my hockey career.”

I snort, grinning over the edge of my cup at him. “You seem very out of sorts.”

Riggs pushes the cup of tea aside and folds his hands on the counter. “Let me ask you something.”

“Shoot,” I reply, taking a small sip and setting my mug on the granite.

“Things have changed between us the past two days, and I’m trying to figure out how and why, given my aversion to letting anything like this progress.”

“I can’t answer that for you,” I point out.

“Then tell me why it was that way for you.” His eyes search mine for some type of guidance. “You were as averse to a relationship as I was. What was your excuse?”

I lean over the counter, pressing my forearms down and lacing my fingers. “You know I had an awful marriage. My ex was controlling and abusive. I was horrified and ashamed of myself for even getting into that relationship, so when I was finally able to break free, I felt it was all my fault for my terrible lack of judgment. I wasn’t sure if all guys were untrustworthy, but I knew I definitely didn’t have the ability to figure that out because I never saw it in Jace until after we got married.”

Riggs nods, as if he understands, then his gaze drops to his cup again.

“Want to share with me the root of your dysfunction?” I ask, not really thinking he will. Things may have changed between us to cross over from just sex to sex with some inkling we like each other, and possibly more, but I’m not quite sure.

His eyes come to mine, and I worry over the flatness in them. “When I was fifteen, I stabbed my stepfather—Janelle’s dad—with a kitchen knife, and attempted murder charges were considered.”

There’s challenge on his face, as if daring me to freak out and run. There’s obviously more to the story than that, but I can see he’s trying to scare me away.

Not going to work. I’ve seen some of the worst men have to offer. “Knowing you, I’m sure Janelle’s dad had it coming.”

Riggs lets out a pent-up breath—maybe of relief—and nods. “After my parents divorced, my mom married a man named Bruce Adamik, and he became my stepfather. They had Janelle when I was eleven. Bruce was an abusive drunk, and not the type to merely slap us around. One night, he punched my mom so hard in the face, he broke her jaw. She fell to the floor unconscious. I knew he’d be turning on me next, but unfortunately, Janelle happened to come into the room. The yelling had woken her up.”

“Oh God,” I whisper in horror. “She had to have been, what… four years old?”