Page 216 of Wild Then Wed
“You—”
She lunges for the bowl again, but I’ve already got it behind my back. I swipe my finger across both of her cheeks this time.
She gasps again, then tries to spin out of my reach, but I catch her around the waist with one arm and hold her there.
“You wouldn’t,” she says, breathless, eyes wide.
I dip my fingers again, then swipe a streak right down the side of her neck.
Her jaw drops. “You’re deranged.”
“You started it.”
“You’re demonic.”
“You ambushed me. This is payback.”
She’s laughing again, squirming in my grip, her cheeks pink and sticky with batter. Her ridiculous Christmas pajama pants are twisted at the waistband, and her hair’s falling in her face, and there’s chocolate across her skin.
And fuck me, she’s so goddamn pretty.
Not just now, but always. She looks wild and happy and beautiful. Like joy in motion.
We’re both out of breath from laughing too hard, dancing too badly. We’ve made a mess of the kitchen. Of each other.
And I’m standing here, staring at her like I’ve never seen her before. But I have. I’ve seen her every day for weeks. At the ranch. In my truck. In my bed, in my kitchen, in all the places that used to feel so quiet and alone.
She made them loud again. Fuller. Better.
And I think—this—thisis the kind of life I want. Not something perfect. Not something curated. Just this.
I want the music too loud. I want the dancing that turns into kissing. I want brownies on a Wednesday night and batter on the counter and her laughing so hard she can’t stand up straight.
I want twinkly lights in the hallway and Hank in a goddamn Santa hat. I want her bare feet on my kitchen floor. I want thequiet after. The way she leans into me like she belongs there. The way I feel when she does.
I want this life. With her in it. Every messy, ordinary part.
I dip my head and lick the batter off her neck. She gasps, a real sound, sharp and breathy, and her fingers dig into my arms like she’s trying to keep herself steady.
I don’t stop.
I kiss along her jaw, then drag my tongue higher, chasing the taste of her skin, the warmth of her throat. She pulls back half an inch like she wants to say something, but the second I look at her—really look at her—it’s over.
I don’t just want her. I need her. Not in some possessive, surface-level way. I need her in amy life just feels wrong without her in itkind of way.
I stare at her, breathing heavy, my hand curled around the back of her neck.
I fucking love her. I love her so much it hurts.
She swallows, eyes flicking down to my mouth. “That wasnoton the list.”
I lean in, mouth barely a breath from hers, and say it against her lips. “Then re-write the list. Because I’m not done yet.”
Her lips part, her whole body pulling in tighter to mine.
And just like that, we’re not dancing anymore.
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