Page 51 of First Verse

“It is.”

He blows out a breath, turning back to the counter. “Go have a seat. I’ll bring your tea. Two spoonfuls of honey still?”

“Yes,” I say weakly, then retreat to the living room.

My steps slow and stop when I see the couch, specifically the lack of cushion where we’d been sitting. The cushion itself sits near the slider, stripped of its casing.I’m still staring at the empty space when Wilder comes up behind me.

“I put the cover in the washer. The cushion should be fine.”

There’s something in his voice that brings my head around. Amusement mingled with…pride?I squint at him, growing more confused by the second. We couldn’t have made that big of a mess. Could we have?

“Thanks,” I say uncertainly.

He hands me a mug. I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic as he takes a sip of his tea to hide a smile.

“What are you not telling me?”

Twinkling eyes snap to mine. “Have you ever squirted before?”

I almost drop my tea. “What?”

He grins. “I didn’t notice until I stood up, probably because that was the most intense orgasm of my life.” His smile turns smug. “Apparently it was good for you, too.”

Closing my eyes, I will the heat crawling up my neck to recede. It doesn’t work. Warmth eclipses my entire face. How did I not notice? My thighs had been excessively wet, but I’d thought it was sweat.

“That’s definitely never happened before.”

“Hey.” His thumb stokes my jaw and my eyes pop open. “It was a first for me, too, and I’m not even remotely weirded out. There’s nothing your body could ever do that would make me not want to worship it.” He pauses, then smiles slightly. “Remember that night on tour when you did too many tequila shots and spent an hour puking in the hotel parking lot and I held your hair back for you?”

I grimace. “Yes. Why?”

His smile widens. “I still wanted to fuck you.”

A startled laugh escapes me. “Ew.”

He chuckles and heads for the other end of the couch, then flops onto one of the two remaining cushions. I follow slowly, my thoughts bouncing between gratitude for how fast he normalized what happened and trepidation for the conversation we need to have.

A few steps from the couch, I realize that sitting next to him will be too much of a distraction. And if he touches me, I’ll forget everything I need to say. So I veer to an adjacent armchair and sit, tucking my feet under me.

Wilder sips his tea and watches me with a cocked eyebrow. “What’s on your mind?” he asks, a note of wryness in his tone.

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “I’m not sure how to start.”

He puts his mug on the coffee table, sinking back into the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. While the position is defensive, his expression remains easy to read. Resigned. A little wary.

“I bet I can guess at least one thought banging around in that beautiful head.” When I don’t say anything, he continues, “Since you’re close with your parents and hate keeping anything from them, you told them we hooked up last month and your dad flipped out. He probably reminded you what a piece of shit I am. And now that the orgasm endorphins are wearing off, you’re remembering I’m a piece of shit, too.”

I stare at him, my vocal cords paralyzed. I shouldn’t be surprised by how well he can read me, but I am.

Wilder’s smile is a sardonic twist of lips. “We may not know all the boring little details about each other’s lives these days, but don’t forget I’ve known you since before you could walk.” The smile dies. “I know I’ve hurt you. I wish I could undo the past, but I can’t.”

I find my voice. “I don’t think you’re a piece of shit. I think you’ve made mistakes. We both have.”

Dark eyebrows lift. “But?”

My stomach clenches with unease as words rush to the tip of my tongue. Words that might send him out the door—words that still need to be said.

“If this is going to work, if you really want a…” My throat closes.

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