Page 89 of Wild As Her

“Please don’t,” I mutter. “I'll have to carry you all the way back to Wilder Ranch house.”

But I'd secretly love to carry her. I love having her in my arms.

“That sounds better than walking,” she says primly, flicking a leaf off her shirt.

I roll my eyes and settle back against the tree, arms crossed behind my head, pretending like she doesn’t just fit here like she’s always belonged.

The leaves above us rustle in the breeze. It's quiet out here, too quiet. That kind of quiet that makes you start thinking things. Dangerous things. Things likewhat would happen if I kissed her again? Would she let me? What would she say or do?

“So,” she says like she is easing into something. “Poppy and I were talking the other day about hate sex?—”

“Pause. Hate sex?”

“Yes, you know, hate sex. Anyway?—”

I shake my head. “What exactly do you mean by hate sex?”

She blinks at me. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head again? Do you not know what sex is?”

“I'm well aware of what sex is, Cami,” I tell her dryly.

“Okay, well anyway.” She stretches again, all sin and smugness. “We were talking about hate sex.”

I choke on air. “What about it?”

“Hate. Sex.” She enunciates each word like she’s giving a spelling bee answer. “It’s a concept. A vibe. A very intense, very combative form of therapy.”

I blink. “Why were you talking about that with Poppy?”

“Because it's hot, Jessop. Keep up.”

“I’m not sure what’s more alarming—that you said that… or that I kinda want to argue with you just to test the theory.”

She turns her head on my shoulder to look up at me, all fake innocence and sparkling mischief. “We were just debating if it’s a thing. Poppy said no. I said absolutely.Somepeople bring you flowers. Others shove you against a wall and hate fuck you hard until you come.”

I cough again. “And which category do we fall into, exactly?”

She smirks. “You? You’re one argument away from me throwing you against that tree and questioningallmy life decisions.”

“Jesus, Cami.”

“What? It’s hypothetical.”

“It isnothypothetical if you say it while actively laying on me.”

Her brows lifted. “Are you blushing, Jessop?”

“I don’t blush.”

“Sure,” she says, patting my chest. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jessop.”

I suck in my breath at her touch and the way this conversationis going. It's making me sweaty again.What in the actual hell is coming out of her mouth right now?

She’s smirking like the devil, talking about hate fucking like it’s just another topic over coffee. Like we’re chatting weather and feed prices. And I—God help me—I can’t breathe.

Cami, the only woman who’s ever made me feel like my heart's not just something taking up space in my chest, is lying here talking dirty to me. With a straight damn face.

And now she’s all casual, like she didn’t just light my entire nervous system on fire. My brain’s short-circuiting. I’m sweating. My jeans are suddenly way too tight.

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