Page 42 of Pretty Wild

“Hold up,” he says, turning around. “Stay.”

I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or the dog, but we both stop and wait. Buddy lies down and starts chewing on the stick he was carrying, as if he has not one care in the world after his owner took off at a fast pace toward the house. “What do you think he’s doing, Buddy? Leaving us alone in the woods to get eaten by bears?”

The dog glances up at me but ultimately goes back to tearing apart his stick.

“You’ll protect me from a bear, right, Buddy?”

After a couple of minutes, I hear the snapping of a stick behind me. I spin around and spot Marcus jogging toward us,something in his hand. “Here,” he says the moment he reaches my side.

It’s a sweatshirt, and as he holds it up for me, I can tell it’s a big one. “Thanks,” I reply.

The next thing I know, he’s helping me into the oversized sweatshirt. Not only am I surrounded by instant warmth, but I can smell him. It’s embedded in the fabric, wrapping around me like a big hug. Unable to help myself, I bring the sleeve up to my nose and inhale.

“It should be clean. It was in my closet,” he says, taking a step back. His eyes rake over me and suddenly darken, as if he really likes what he sees. I’m sure it’s not the massive sweatshirt I’m swimming in, but perhaps the fact it’s his.

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

After a few more seconds of him watching me, we continue our stroll. Two squirrels run past us, chasing each other up one tree and down another. Buddy runs ahead, jumping around and watching the two animals play. A raccoon scurries from behind a tree and slips into a hole at the base of another tree. I’ve never experienced this kind of nature, with woodland creatures just running amuck, before.

It's a bit…thrilling. And more enjoyable than I ever expected.

When the pathway gives way to a clearing, I gasp. The beach isn’t like any I’ve been on before. It lacks the clean, white sand and crystal blue water I’m accustomed to. Instead, there’s just this beautiful sunset over the lake that reflects a thousand shades of oranges, pinks, and yellows. A few boats dot the expansive body of water, and I can see cabins scattered around the shore with families outside enjoying the night. It’s…simple.

Breathtaking.

I’ve witnessed hundreds of sunsets accompanying amazing views, but this one rates pretty high.

“This is one of my favorite spots,” Marcus states, breaking through my private thoughts.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yep,” he says.

Something in his tone has me turning his way. Only, he’s not looking at the gorgeous sunset. He’s looking at me. A rush of arousal sweeps through me, landing firmly between my legs.

I don’t know who moves first, but the next thing I know, his hands are holding my head as his lips press firmly to my own. This kiss doesn’t turn ravenous, at least not right away. It’s gentler, sweeter, almost romantic. His mouth still takes control, but I don’t feel possessed by him. I feel…cherished.

Kissing Marcus is unlike any kiss I’ve ever experienced. My first few boyfriends were always rushed and fumbly. They were all tongue, usually too wet to make it enjoyable. I dated the son of a movie star for a handful of months, and he was awful. Worse than the ones I had when I was a teenager. I ended up breaking up with him because I couldn’t get over the fact he was constantly trying to tongue fuck me, and not in the good way. His tongue action in the form of kissing was a touch on the eager side.

Then there was Vaughn, who, surprisingly, didn’t seem that interested in much kissing. He hated PDA, so I assumed it had something to do with that. But that doesn’t explain why he didn’t want to kiss when we were in private and especially when we were intimate. Of course, now, I know why.

Fucker.

That leads me to Marcus, who practically has a PhD in the act. His lips are firm, his tongue masterful, and his spit not overwhelming. Kissing him is quite enjoyable, actually, and it just goes to show how lackluster my sexual life had been up to this point, because if a man can kiss this good, surely, he can do other things just as well, right?

Buddy barks nearby, letting us know he’s getting tired of being ignored.

“Was that not okay?” he asks, a bit of hesitation filling his hazel eyes.

“No, no, it wasveryokay,” I reassure him, holding on to his arms and praying he wants to continue the kiss. I clear my throat and add, “You’re quite good at this.”

“At what?” he asks, a hint of mischief reflecting in his eyes as a grin plays on his lips.

“Kissing. It must be your thing,” I reply with a little giggle.

A single eyebrow shoots up toward the bill of his hat. “My thing? I don’t think it’s my thing. I rarely do it, actually. I think my thing has more to do with this other thing I can do with my tongue,” he says with a very playful and slightly husky tone.

His comment makes me smile. This mischievous side is one I’ve not really seen of Marcus yet, and I like it. But even though I’d love to talk more about thisthinghe does with his tongue, I can’t get past the first part of his statement. “Why do you rarely kiss?”

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