Page 52 of Wild Devil

She sits on the step beside me, but not close enough to touch. Wearing my clothing, she looks so damn delicate, shrouded in gray cotton. I can’t stop myself from reaching for her, pressing my hand over her shoulder. Despite the tension between us, she doesn’t shrug me off. Thank God for that. Our reunion last night did little to ease the ache I feel without her. It’s more than lust, deeper than pure sex. I need to feel her skin on mine. Taste her.

But I’d be a fool to overstep, especially when she made her feelings more than clear. She doesn’t see this as a serious thing. The strange part? I feel like I could be okay with that, just as long as it meant that she stuck around.

“You can hate it if you want, but I give a shit about what happens to you.” I start to pull my hand away, but her fingers seize my wrist, holding my palm captive against her. Fuck. I breathe out through gritted teeth, and it takes all the willpower I have to keep from pulling her against me.

“I don’t hate it,” she admits, her voice so soft I have to lean in to hear her. “I just don’t want you thinking that I’m some fragile little girl who can’t handle herself.”

“I know you’re not,” I tell her. “Hell, I still have the bite marks to prove it.”

That draws a smile out of her, and I don’t restrain myself from touching her any longer. I sweep my thumb along the corner of her mouth. She sucks in a breath, and I feel a jolt through my body, electrifying every nerve.

I don’t know who moves first, but when I’m kissing her, nothing else in the world matters. Just her scent. Her taste on my tongue. Hungry for more, I pin her down against the steps. My hands roam her body, desperate to feel as much of her as I can. She reaches for me, just as impatient. I feel her hands slip beneath my shirt, and I groan.

Suddenly, a noise comes from inside the house. It sounds like Lyra, still talking to Kane. Judging from the intermittent laughter that follows, he’s one of the few people in the world to crack her shell. Odd.

But that also means she’s awake, liable to hear any sound we make out here.

“Damn,” I whisper. The point is, fucking on the porch probably isn’t the most private location.

Frey starts to pull away, her cheeks pink, but I let my dick do the talking. My eyes latch onto the truck, and when I stand, she’s on my heels. We scramble into the back seat, and I pull her beneath me with mindless need. Having her ride me is sexy as hell, no less enjoyable than plain ol’ fucking.

But in this moment, I need to be on top and press her body into the leather seat beneath. I need to have the leverage to rock into her so deep her eyes go back in her head. I need control.

Because something tells me, that where she is concerned…

I won’t have it for very long.

Already, she grapples for my hips, pulling me into her. Soon, she alone sets the pace, and I’m just along for the fucking ride. Not that I would have it any other way.

She feels like heaven, gripping me like a vice, moaning into my ear as if nothing else in the world matters but this.

“That’s it,” I tell her, my voice thick. “No one’s here to see you, Freylie. Show me what you need.”

Me. Me with my cock buried to the hilt inside of her. More, demanded with throaty gasps issuing from her throat and her nails sinking into my skin. She doesn’t give a damn if she hurts me or not. I don’t want her to.

“That’s it,” I say into the crook of her neck as I feel her body quiver around me. “You’re mine, Frey. All mine. I can feel you coming?—”

And as if my voice is a lit match, she goes up in flames. Her head flies back, hips arching against the leather upholstery, eyes wide, bottom lip clenched between her teeth. She is so fucking beautiful, and a sense of possession slams into me like a freight train. Brutally. Punishingly.

Perfectly.

When I go limp, softening inside of her, I know without a fucking doubt that it doesn’t matter who stands in our way—Heywood, Silas, anyone.

No one will ever come between us.

Never again.

TWENTY

FREY

I wake up in Daze’s arms, slumped over the back seat of a truck, to the thump of a tiny hand banging on the window near my head. Within seconds, my confusion disappears as the memories of last night come flooding back.

Mainly the understanding that Daze and I aren’t alone on this adventure.

“Daddy, wake up!” Sammy’s voice commands, muffled from beyond the window glass. “Auntie Lyra made breakfast! Wake up!”

“I’m awake,” Daze grumbles, his mouth pressed against my shoulder. He sighs and reaches blindly for his jeans. “I’ll distract the tiny human. You go shower and get dressed.”

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