Page 93 of Wicked & Wildflower

Disappointment and rejection coat my throat, and when I swallow, it feels as if all that emotion is stuck inside. I push past the choking sensation, breathing away the thickness andthe heavy sting of tears behind my eyes. I refuse to cry over something like this.

Inhaling deeply, I step off the door and set my phone down on my nightstand before entering the bathroom. I decide I’m going to do a face mask, order chinese food, and binge watch some awful horror movies or something. Yep. That’s what I’m going to do.

I’m halfway through washing my face when I hear an incessant pounding that sounds like it’s coming from downstairs. I turn off the faucet and dry my cheeks with a towel before tip-toeing back into my bedroom and quietly open my door, just enough to hear the commotion.

Irrationally, when I hear any kind of pounding on my door, I assume it’s my father. I know that can’t be true. I know it doesn’t make sense, but the cowardice in me doesn’t want to risk it. So I wait, hoping Leo will answer instead. I can’t see downstairs, but a moment later, I hear the front door creak, and two male voices begin speaking in hushed tones.

The door shuts, and the lock clicks. Two sets of laughter ring throughout the house before I hear Leo shout, “C’mon, Honeysuckle! Let’s go take a walk down to the pier. I have a feeling this house is about to get real loud tonight.”

Now, it’s the stomping of footsteps up the staircase that has me backing away from my door. It flies open just as the back of my knees hit my bed, and suddenly, he’s standing in front of me. He leans against the frame casually, his broad chest and thick arms taking up the entirety of the space around him. Muscles flex beneath his shirt, threatening to rip it to shreds. My eyes rake up his chest, snagging on his neck, watching his throat bob as he swallows. The tattoos on his skin seem to dance with the movement. As I find his eyes, I realize he’s doing the same thing to me.

My skin pricks beneath his gaze, now aware that all I have on is a t-shirt. His fingers flex, fist clenching at his side, like he’s fighting to stay still.

Like he wants to grab me.

“I thought you were meeting your friends,” I say.

Everett cocks his head. “You honestly think I’m going to find out that I can get you all alone tonight and choose to spend my evening drinking shitty beer with a bunch of assholes in a dive bar instead?”

I pick at my nails, pretending to be unbothered. “I mean… That’s what you said you were doing.”

“I was fucking with you, Dahlia.” He crosses his arms. “I had already been sitting in the bar parking lot when you called. I pushed you off the phone because I didn’t want to talk and drive, and it had become imperative that I get my ass over here as quickly as possible.”

I roll my eyes, glancing up to find a playful look in his. My instinct is to block out my feelings and pretend I don’t care, pretend it doesn’t matter to me if he’s here or not. But I’m so goddamn sick of pretending. I spend my whole life pretending. Pretending I don’t fear I’m a bad mother. Pretending I don’t feel lonely. Pretending I’m not head over heels for the man standing in front of me.

Pretending I’m not afraid he’s going to grow tired of me and walk away too.

I don’t have the strength to pretend anymore, so I let him see all the vulnerability I’m used to hiding. I wear it plain as day on my face. “It made me feel like you didn’t want me.”

Everett’s shoulders drop, jaw going slack, brows knitting at the center of his forehead. Deep brown eyes fill with worry and regret. “Dahlia.” He takes half a step into my room before stopping himself, and I realize it’s because I haven’t invited him in yet. “I’mdesperatefor you. I don’t just want you. I fuckingcraveyou.” He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry. I was just… I thought…”

He was just playing around. He thought I’d find it funny.

I think if I wasn’t so damaged, I probably would have. Everett makes me want to be playful and confident. He makes me want to be wild and have fun. I let my insecurities get in the way of that, because in the six months I’ve known this man, he’s never done anything but show up for me time and time again. Remind me how badly he wants me. Look at me the way he is right now, everything he feels written across those brown eyes.

He makes me wild and playful. He makes me want to believe that I’m all the things he thinks I am, that I’m confident, desirable, and worthy, and I hate that I doubted him—doubted myself.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, I guess you’re just going to have to prove to me how desperate you are, then,” I say, sitting back on the foot of my bed and crossing my arms. “What would you do for a whole night alone with me?”

“I’d do anything.” He hesitantly steps into my room, pulling my door shut behind him, but he keeps himself pressed against it. “Anything you want, Wildflower.”

I lean back on my forearms, and my shirt hikes up high enough to reveal the orange panties I’m wearing. I rub my legs together, drawing his attention there. “Would you beg?”

“Beg?” He huffs a laugh. “I’d fucking crawl.”

I smirk.

Everett’s jaw drops, snapping shut as he slowly lifts a brow. “That’s what you want, Wildflower? Do you want me on my knees, pleading for another taste of that pussy?”

My breath hitches as I watch him slowly—so fucking slowly—slide down the length of my bedroom door until he hits his knees. “I’m entranced by you, Dahlia.” He falls forward, bracinghis weight on his arms. “Allured.” He begins crawling at a glacial pace across the floor. “Obsessed.”

Desperation and pride and subservience reflect on his face as he moves toward me. This man—masculine and strong—is crawling for me, at my mercy. It awakes something inside me, something I think may have been dormant my entire life. I never knew someone could crave another the way Everett appears to crave me, the way IknowI crave him. I’ve never known a desire like this. I’ve neverbeendesired like this.

My heart pounds erratically against my chest. Electric heat sparks in my blood and flows through my body, settling in my core. Part of me wants to meet him on the floor and show him how much I need him too, but something else—something I’ve never felt before—likes the control I have over him, the power he lends to me.

Just as Everett reaches my feet, I pull them up onto my bed and sit up. “You know, because you convinced me you weren’t coming over tonight….” I smile to myself as I decide what I want to do next. “I decided to play with my toys instead.”

I keep my eyes on Everett, watching as his darken. He stays at the foot of my bed, studying me intently as I lean back and reach into the drawer of my nightstand, pulling out my vibrator. It’s thick, long, and bright pink. “But maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll let you watch.”

---