Preservation (The Walshes, #7)

by Kate Canterbary

When had it happened? When had Alex stolen all the warm, tender places inside me for herself? And the rough, barbaric ones, too? It was as though she'd wandered into my life, all tiptoes and whispers, and reached in and rearranged my entire existence until it started and stopped with her.

My mind flashed to our room at the inn and I saw my hand circling Alex's neck. I heard myself saying, "I'm in charge here. Understand?"

"I'm going to serve you like a queen and fuck you like a whore."

"You make me want everything," I admitted. "Things I don't even understand."

Alex was strong and capable—she was my Shortstop for a reason—but she was also a woman. Tender and lovely, and deserving of some deference. I wanted to open the door for her, bring her flowers for no reason, kiss her in the middle of the grocery store, buy her soft and delicate things. And I still wanted to fuck her like a whore.

Alex: If we get married, we'll have shenanies. Riley: If. Alex: I know, I know. Riley: It's funny. Alex: Is it? Riley: Yeah. Like I'd ever let you go.

The one thing I knew to be true was that I needed to be loved all the way through. I wasn't accepting anything less.