Wild Page 3

  “Stunned, Sugar?” One eyebrow arched adorably.

  “Oh my God. You’re the most arrogant thing—”

  “I know, Sugar. On to dinner.” He smacked my thigh before turning toward the bags on the counter.

  “Maybe I don’t want to have dinner with you now.” I shot him a glare. He suddenly had me raging mad. How could he do that and be so goddamn arrogant? So full of himself?

  ‘Cause he’s that fucking good, and he knows it.

  “I get you off with my hand in your kitchen and then you decide you don’t want to have dinner with me? Nice try, sweetheart.” He turned and started rummaging in drawers until he pulled a can opener out and worked on a can of tomatoes.

  “You’re going to help?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged as he moved onto the next can. “You gonna stand there and watch while I make food for us or you gonna help?” He lifted an eyebrow, his lips curving into a playful grin. Lips so full and lush they felt like heaven on my body. Complete. Fucking. Heaven. And now I had to have an intelligent conversation with the man that’d just had his fingers thrusting in and out of me.

  How had my life become this?

  A very small voice in my head whispered because I’d been a very lucky girl. I grinned to myself as I turned and set to work, pulling out pots.

  “There’s that smile.” He smacked me full force on the ass and had me squealing and rubbing the stinging flesh.

  “You’re an ass.”

  His hearty laugh filled the kitchen.

  “So what do you do, Lane Wild?” We were poking our way along the rocky shoreline just outside my front door after dinner. The temperature had climbed to the low sixties today, surprising after the freezing temperatures last night. That was the thing I was learning about living on the coast: the days were warm and the nights were freezing. The climate operated a bit on the bipolar side, but regardless, I wanted to enjoy the last of the decent weather before winter took hold.

  “First, I don’t go by Lane. Wild, only.”

  “Seriously?” I crooked my head at him.

  “Wild, Sugar.” His lips lifted in a smart-ass smirk.

  “Okay, Wild,” I emphasized his name on my lips.

  “I refinish boats: schooners, sailboats, fishing vessels.”

  “Really?” I lifted an eyebrow.

  “Sure, that’s so hard to believe?”

  “No. Maybe.” I smiled as I plopped down onto a cold slab of rock. He sat down next to me, long, muscled legs extended in front of him, arms straining at the soft fabric of his shirt stretched behind him. His head tipped, mussed hair falling across his forehead, dark eyes gazing at me in the sexiest way.

  “What’d you expect?” The low rumble of his voice caused a delicious shiver to run through my body. I squirmed and shuffled under his gaze. The feelings he lit up in my body at any given moment were so intense it was irritating. I’d never been around someone like this—someone that was hard to be around and actually focus.

  “Construction or something . . .”

  “It is in a way. Working with your hands, sanding the wood, following the grain, bringing out the beauty, painting—it’s somewhere between art and construction.”

  “They way you talk about it is beautiful.”

  He only nodded as I assessed him. His eyes turned to the waves crashing on the rocks just in front of our feet. The emotion that swirled behind his cornflower-blue eyes reflected the angry waves—dangerous, mesmerizing, completely captivating—just like the man. I was becoming obsessed.

  I reflected back on his big body in my little kitchen, stirring spaghetti sauce and draining pasta. I’d taken him in at every chance. His hips cocked to the side, facing against the counter, a kitchen towel tucked into the waistband of his jeans. Hottest thing I’d ever laid eyes on.

  Hot and dangerous.

  And intriguing. So intriguing I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Maybe because I’d never encountered a guy like him before, someone who spent time in the kitchen, someone equal parts vulgar and gentle. He was an enigma.

  He was so bad for me; it was palpable. I knew it with every fiber of my being, but despite it all, he’d sucked me in. When he passed me that look, his breath on my neck, his hands on my skin, I was useless at resisting him. I was obsessed. He’d become my addiction.

  “What are ya thinkin’, Sugar?”

  “I’m wondering why you insist on calling me ‘Sugar.’” I was also wondering why he had this effect on me. Why I couldn’t get him out of my head. And how it was so bad for him and me, that I couldn’t.

  “Because you taste sweet as sugar.” His eyes flicked down my body, pausing at the juncture between my thighs.

  “Eyes up, playboy.”

  A laugh escaped his throat as his sparkling blue eyes lifted to meet my own. “You’re somethin’.” His lips turned up on an amused grin.

  “Thanks.” I shrugged. “How old are you?”

  “Cut straight to the chase, huh?” He smirked and I nodded. “Let’s start with you. How old are you, sweetheart?”

  “Thirty.”

  “What brought a single girl like you to the rocky coast of Maine?”

  “Who said I was single?” My eyes flashed in amusement. I wanted to keep him on his toes just as much as he did me.

  His eyes widened in surprise for a moment. “Okay, a possibly not-single girl . . .”

  “I came for something different. How old are you, Wild?”

  “Older than you.”

  “So that would make you my senior, then?”

  His loud guffaw echoed off the evergreens around us. “Not sure I qualify for that yet.”

  I tipped my head at him, taking in his chiseled jaw and the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. His hair was a dark shade of brown and just long enough to run fingers through, no grey hairs to be found. “Okay, so maybe not a senior. How old? Give up the goods.”

  “Is it important?” His eyes took me in, traveled across my face, down my neck, and I felt a blush creep cross my skin.

  “No.” I licked my lips as I held his gaze.

  “Thirty-two.” His voice lowered an octave as his gaze locked on my lips. His blues eyes darkened with lust and, just like that, he had me thinking about all the things he could do to my body: the heights of pleasure he could take me to.

  “You’ve always lived here?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes turned away and took in the old lighthouse that sat a few hundred yards down the coast.

  “That’s all? Yeah?”

  His jaw hardened for a moment, working back and forth. “Yep.” His lips popped on the word.

  “Okay . . . so married? Single? Divorced?”

  “We really doin’ this, Sugar?” he murmured. The stormy look in his eyes stopped me in my tracks.

  “I guess not,” I mumbled as I turned away, taking in the rocky coastline to the north.

  “Just thought we were over the small talk. We’ve fucked, Sugar; the time for small talk is over.” He trailed one lone fingertip up my arm, past my inner elbow, causing shivers to erupt across my body. My nipples hardened instantly at his soft touch.

  “Stop touching me like that,” I spat. A small chuckle escaped his throat. I whipped my head around to take him in, his beautiful lips smiling back at me like he was amused by my anger.

  “You’re so . . . irritating.”

  “Really? That’s the best insult you got?”

  I narrowed my eyes in my best death glare.

  “You angry makes me hot as fuck, Sugar. Put the claws away unless you want me to take you right here on this slab of granite.”

  “Oh my God,” I huffed. “You were so well-behaved during dinner. I actually thought we could be friends.”

  “No such thing, babe.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean when a man wants a woman like I want you, there’s no ‘friends’ about it. Tell yourself whatever you want, but men and women can’t be friends after they’ve fucked. Or if they
want to fuck.” His eyes danced with amusement as he licked his lips. I was beginning to think it was the hottest habit I’d ever seen.

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Maybe so, but it’s true.”

  “Have you ever tried it?”

  “What? Being friends with a woman I’ve tasted? Been inside of? Who’s come all over my face?” His eyes flicked down my body again.

  My eyes hardened at his words. Fuck if they weren’t the hottest fucking words I’d ever heard, but I wouldn’t let him see that. He knew exactly the effect he had on women, and I wouldn’t fall into his trap. I wouldn’t be just another one of the girls falling at his feet.

  “Yeah, that.” I crossed my arms over my chest to protect myself from the stare that seemed to undress me.

  “Nope.” He shrugged one shoulder.

  “Well, maybe if you tried . . .”

  “You wanna be friends with me?”

  “Not especially at the moment. But if we’re going to keep running into each other . . .”

  “Fucking each other.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Inevitable, babe. I see the effect I have on you. Your thighs shift back and forth, your nipples harden under my stare, your cheeks heat up, all that blood courses through your body, and your chest heaves.”

  “You’re such a pig.”

  “Not a pig, just call it like I see it. And don’t think it’s just you. I’m so fucking hard right now, I think I could split the zipper on my jeans.”

  My eyes flickered down to take in his package, and widened for a moment because it was so obvious, I don’t know how I’d missed it before. The denim straining over his large cock, the memory of him sliding into me, our sweat-slicked skin pressed together, my fingers wrapped in his hair and tugging. The way he’d felt when he’d entered me, so slowly at first, as if he was letting my body adjust to the size of him, before he’d unleashed and fucked me full force.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Sugar. You really don’t want to look at me like that right now.”

  “How come you . . . we didn’t . . .?” I couldn’t form the words. Being vulgar didn’t come as naturally to me as it seemed to for him.

  “How come I didn’t take you earlier?” His lips curved up in a grin. The asshole was enjoying this, enjoying making me uncomfortable. This man had such a profound effect on me on some base level, I wasn’t even myself around him. I was reduced to some primal, sexual need that only wanted to fuck and be fucked. “Earlier was about you. But next time . . .”

  “There won’t be a next time. We can’t keep on like this.”

  “Like what? Taking pleasure from each other?”

  “Yeah, that.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Why not?”

  “Because, it’s . . . I’m pretty sure it makes me a whore.” Ugh, what had I become? What had he made me into? Whenever he was around I suddenly turned into a wanton slut.

  “A woman taking control of her sexual side is a beautiful thing, especially when she has wild red hair and tits like you do.”

  “This ends now. Thanks for fixing my furnace, but you’re just too . . . much for me,” I finished as I stood and swiped the dirt off my backside.

  “I’ll see you soon, Sugar. And in the meantime, you’ll be thinking about my head between your legs.” He stood and swatted me on the ass. I growled at him, actually growled.

  “You’re infuriating.”

  “Night, Sugar.” He nodded at me as I walked to my front door. I crossed my arms and watched his long legs fold up into the front seat of his truck. He started the engine and then his window slid down. “Until next time.” His beautiful lips lifted in the smallest smart-ass grin and I turned and walked into the house, his chuckle following on the wind behind me.

  Her beautiful ass was popped in the air, the denim stretching over the curve of the muscle, as she dug around in the flowers outside of the library. Claire had done me a favor when she’d given Kat the job at the library. Whether she’d remembered saying it that night or not, Kat had mentioned she’d needed to find a job. It was tough finding work in a small town, and I knew Claire could use help at the library, so I’d dropped in the next morning and encouraged her to hire the new girl.

  It also worked out well for me because it meant I could catch a glance of her every day. The library was just across the street from the marina. I could pop over on my break, watch her as she came and went, take her to lunch; the possibilities were endless.

  Long strides carried me to the red-haired girl that I’d been thinking about since that night I’d first been inside her. The way she’d come alive underneath my hands, her green eyes flashing with desire and lust, soft moans escaping her throat, her teeth clamping down on her sweet lips as she came, short nails digging into my skin, causing my own orgasm to shoot through me in the most intense rush of pleasure I’d ever felt in my life.

  I liked to think she was just another in a long line of one-night stands—I didn’t do relationships—but with this girl, I felt like I almost could.

  Almost.

  “Hey, sweet cheeks.”

  She whipped around and took me in, her red hair flying around her shoulders, flashing me back to that night when I’d had my fist twisted in it and tugging. She’d moaned and arched her beautiful body and thrust her tits right in my face, begging for more.

  “You scared me.” She put her hand to her heaving chest. My eyes landed on her tits as she inhaled and exhaled.

  “Stop checking out my tits,” she deadpanned and my eyes shot up in surprise.

  “I love a girl who talks dirty, but you probably know that.” I placed a hand on her hip and leaned in to nip at her neck.

  “Back off.” She shoved at my chest. She could try to push me away as much as she wanted, but I could see the hooded look in her eyes, the passion that swirled there. She was drawn to me in the same way I was to her.

  “Wanna go out with me tonight?” I hooked my thumbs in my jean pockets as I stood in front of her.

  “You’re asking me out?” She arched a perfect eyebrow.

  “Not exactly. I don’t date. Just asking if you want to join me for a drink. I’ll be at Pete’s, if you want to stop by.”

  “I don’t date either,” she said in a rush.

  “Sure. Just a drink between friends.”

  “Friends who fuck?”

  “Seriously, Kat?” I ran a hand through my hair. Her dirty mouth had me wanting to bury myself in her, right here for everyone and God to see.

  “Right, the dirty talk.” Her eyes flashed with amusement and I knew she was doing it to me on purpose.

  I laughed and shook my head; no one fucked with me like she did and it made me want to be around her that much more. “So what do you say? Drink?” What I really wanted was to haul her off to my house. Scratch that. My bed.

  “Wait, you said my name.” Her words shook me out of my dirty thoughts.

  “Yeah?”

  “I liked it.” Her eyes softened as she watched me.

  “Hmm.” I fidgeted with the worn denim at my pocket. “Well, don’t get used to it because I like Sugar better. Reminds me how sweet you taste.”

  “Pig.”

  “So how ‘bout that drink?”

  “What time?”

  “I have to run home and shower and eat . . . unless you want to join me for dinner?”

  “Don’t push it, playboy.” She crossed her arms. I got the sense that she did this as a defense mechanism, but little did she realize it pushed the round flesh of her tits up higher and had me wanting to take them in my hands and dip my head to take her perfect pink nipples into my mouth.

  “Eight then?” I grinned as I took in the soft curves of her body. I didn’t know why I tortured myself. Being around this girl, asking her to have a drink with me, was a sure shot to an all-night hard-on.

  “Just so I’m clear, is this a pre-fuck drink? Or a drink between friends?”

  My eyebrows shot up into my hai
rline at her words. “Seriously with the dirty talk, Sugar. Do you want me to take you right here? ‘Cause the way you’re talking, it’s soundin’ like it.” This time her eyebrows shot up. She swallowed, her throat contracting, her chest heaving with her accelerated breaths.

  “Fine. Eight is fine.”

  “Good. Later, Sugar.” I turned and walked back to the marina, adjusting the raging hard-on in my pants as discretely as I could.

  She stepped into the bar like a vision. An angel sent from heaven meant to make a man’s dick hard, thinking about sinking himself inside her and going all night. The sight of her had need burning in my balls, a need that could only be satisfied one way, by slapping deep and raw into that tight pussy.

  Her eyes scanned the room before they landed on me at the pool table. I sat on a barstool, cue propped between my legs. A small smile lifted her full lips as she walked to me, her dress swaying around her knees. She shrugged her leather jacket over her shoulder in a badass way that had my dick already throbbing. She stepped up to my chair and draped her jacket across the barstool next to me.

  “Drink, Sugar?”

  “Please,” she murmured, her eyes dark and hooded as she took me in.

  Friday night and the bar was packed, but it was like no one else existed. The way she looked at me, she wanted this—wanted us—tonight. She’d come ready to party. I nodded at Dillon, the waitress, and indicated I wanted another drink.

  Kat sat at the barstool across from me and crossed her legs, the fabric of her dress inching high up her thighs. I shifted in my seat, trying to calm the aching erection that was already at full attention. It was going to be fucking torture to sit through this hard-on all night.

  “You play?” I indicated the pool table next to us.

  “Sometimes,” she murmured as her eyes traveled my face, down my torso to my boots propped on the last rung of the bar stool. I hoped she was thinking about getting between my legs tonight, because I sure as fuck was thinking about getting between hers.

  “Slade—she’s in, you’re out,” I called over my shoulder.

  “What the fuck, man?” my best friend bitched from the corner.