Page 103 of Wicked & Wildflower

The anxious, insecure mother. The woman who struggles with her body image and what she wants to do with her life. The girl with trauma, who will never stop questioning if she’s good enough at anything she does and whether or not she deserves love.

I’m a lot to take on, and as much as I love flirting, laughing, and having fun with Everett, a part of me feels so sure that the rest of it will catch up with us eventually, and he’s going to walk away.

I sigh against Everett’s lips. “I brought you lunch.”

“You’re incredible.” He smiles. “I completely lost track of time. Let me finish up here, and then we can head into my office.”

I nod, and he steps back, resuming his former place at the hood of the car and picking up whatever tool he was working with before. I walk up next to him, watching his nimble hands move beneath a pair of thick black gloves.

His gaze is fixed on the vehicle, entirely focused, but he’s addressing me when he asks, “What’s got you all flustered, Wildflower?”

“You?” I say it like a question, waving my hand in his direction. “All sweaty and muscled and working on cars. You’re like a walking, talking wet dream.”

He smiles to himself, biting down on his lower lip. “You know that’s not what I mean,cariño.” Gaze still fixed on the car, he continues, “You got that faraway look in your eye after I kissed you that tells me you’re overthinking.”

“How do you read me so well?”

That stops him. His head snaps sideways, eyes finding mine. “Because I study you. Because I want to know you better than anyone else does. Because I want to give you exactly what you need, tell you exactly what you need to hear, without you having to ask. Mostly because I know you won’t.”

His gaze turns intense, eyes of molten chocolate rushing through me.

“I’m afraid that now you’ve had me, you’ll realize I’m not worth keeping.” The words tumble from my lips, because I can’t hide anything from his surefire presence. I know he’d get it out of me, no matter how hard I’d try to fight. I know there’s no point in that anymore anyway, because I always melt beneath his heated stare. “I’m terrified because now that the chase is over, I’m not going to end up being what you dreamed of in your head.”

I expect Everett to do one of two things: he’s either going to go soft, pull me against his hard and steady chest, and speak those insecurities out of existence with reassuring words, or, he’s going to get frustrated with me. As he lets out an exasperated sigh and stands straight, I assume we’re going with the latter.

“Better start running.” He’s still looking at me, his face entirely expressionless as he slowly brings one gloved hand to his mouth, taking it between his teeth and pulling it off.

“What?” I ask.

“I said,” he takes off his other glove, tossing both on the work bench next to him, “you better start running, Wildflower.” Grabbing the hem of his cutoff, he lifts it to his brow and wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead, providing me with a glimpse of his tanned, toned stomach. “When I catch you, I’m going to fuck all those doubts right out of your pretty mouth.”

My jaw drops open. Butterflies flutter through my chest, sparks ignite in my stomach, and heat pools at the center of my thighs. Everett’s face is entirely serious—stern, confident conviction in his features. He means every word he says. The slow rise of his brow has my blood racing through my veins, and suddenly, I’m turning on my heel and sprinting through the bay.

We’d been talking quietly enough that I know his workers didn’t hear our conversation, and their confused faces as I run by them, dodging equipment and darting between vehicles, is confirmation. I hear Everett laugh roughly, his footsteps growing louder as he gains on me. I fly through the glass doors that lead back into the lobby, catching the eyes of several patrons and Sophie. “Dahlia?” she gasps. “Are you—”

I move around her, and her question is cut off as Everett barrels through the door behind her. I’m the one laughing now as her eyes bulge from her head. I run through the aisle of tires and toward the back of the building where Everett’s office is.

“I’m taking my lunch break, Soph!” he calls, voice getting louder as he catches up to me. “Field any calls and don’t let the guys bother me!”

Her laughter follows us as I reach his office door. I fling it open, trying to shut it behind me, but he’s on my heels, catching the door and slipping inside. His office is small—desk at the center of the room, two chairs in front of it, a bookshelf where he keeps financial records and employee files against the back wall.

I spin around, backing into his desk until I’m leaning against it. His predatory gaze tracks my every movement from where he stands against the door, reaching behind him and turning the lock. The click of it sliding into place is deafening. I’m prey, and I’ve been caught.

“On your knees,” he growls.

“Keeping your promises, huh?” I ask breathlessly.

“I’m a man of my word, Dahlia,” he rasps. “I mean what I say, and I think you need to be reminded of that. So I won’t ask you again. On. Your. Knees.”

His tone is primal and electrifying, and I’m instantly lowering to the floor.

He steps up to me in two long strides. His gate strong and purposeful. When he stops in front of me, I lift my head, and my blue eyes clash against his brown ones, enough heat between them to light the room on fire if we stared long enough.

“Take off my belt,” he commands.

My fingers shake, but I immediately comply, reaching for the hem of his pants. I slowly unfasten the leather and slide it through the loops of his black jeans, feeling the bulge of his raging cock beneath my palm. My mouth waters at the idea of having it in my mouth again.

As soon as I slip the belt off, I move to toss it on the floor beside me, but he reaches out and snatches my wrist. “We’re not done with that.” Leaning down, he presses a quick, hardkiss to my lips. “If I do something you don’t like, you tell me, understand? Say no. Say stop. If your mouth is full,” he smirks, “you tap me on the thigh twice. Yeah?”

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