Page 107 of Wilde's End
Wilde growls, and his feral need really does something for me.
“Come,” he demands, shallow thrusts speeding up. He buries his face in my neck. “Fuck, Hudson,pleasecome.”
Who would have thought that Wilde begging could be the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed? I strangle my cock, jerking myself hard and fast, needing to get there. My balls are aching forrelease, and I need that little more. That little nudge closer … closer …
Like he knows exactly how close I am, Wilde reaches up and pinches one of my nipples. The simmering pressure releases, a burst of pleasure, rolling through my shoulders, out to my limbs, causing my back to arch as my cock throbs out my load into my waiting hand.
I’m so shiveringly checked out that Wilde’s hard thrusts and deep grunts take a second to reach me.
“So tight … fuck … it’s fucking beautiful … the way … you come on my cock.”
It’s more affirmation than I’ve ever heard from him, and he stills, muscles locking up as he twitches behind me and milks out the last of his orgasm.
He slumps against my back, head bowed forward on my shoulder, damp hair twisted into tighter curls, and eyes closed as he catches his breath. I reach back and stroke my fingers through his hair before I realize what I’m doing, and Wilde arches into my touch before he picks up on it either.
I know the moment between us is fragile. That we’re kissing the edges of what we are, dangerously close to ruining everything. But if this is what ruin feels like, maybe I want it.
Maybe I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
“I’m staying here tonight,” I whisper.
Wilde doesn’t respond.
But for the first time, I can understand his silence.
Yes.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
WILDE
I’m not sure what last night was, but I carry it with me through the day. I dropped Hudson home earlier, and it’s hard to wrap my head around the way I’ve gone from no one being allowed in my house at all to him staying the night.
I mean, fuck. I can still taste his mouth. Still feel the way it curved under mine. Those tiny sighs that cooled my wet lips.
I should have gone to Wayward.
I’m sitting in the back of my truck, tray down, guitar I haven’t touched in over a decade sitting ignored at my side, looking out past the trees toward where the swimming hole is. Somehow, even though the view is exactly the way it’s always been, it feels crisper today. The sun that’s filtering through the trees is hot, and after dropping Hudson off, I got to work checking our land is ready for summer. It’s a demanding job, but I love it.
I love everything about Wilde’s End.
Even thinking that allows a sliver of darkness to creep into my good mood because how long will this be Wilde’s End?
An engine slowly picks up through the happy insects and birdcalls I’ve been listening to, and it doesn’t take long for the dirt bike to come into view. My immediate instinct is to smile, but I keep it locked away as the bike pulls to a stop.
It’s only been a few hours since we’ve seen each other, and I’m not going to start acting like this is a regular, expected thing for us. Sleepovers are not on the table, despite last night, because when it comes right down to it, he still wants to destroy my whole life’s work, and we haven’t found a way around that.
The man climbs off the bike, and his size immediately alerts me to the fact that it’s not Hudson. I don’t need him to remove the helmet and set it on the bike for me to know which brother this is.
Kennedy ruffles his damp hair as he approaches, uneasiness crossing his face when he catches my eyes.
“Hey, Wilde. How are you?”
I watch him curiously, eyebrows peaked, but don’t bother to answer the pointless question. Kennedy shifts to his other foot, struggling to keep his happy expression under my unwavering gaze.
“I, uh, wanted to catch you, actually,” he says. “Have a quick chat.”
