Page 20 of Made for Wilde
But it can’t wash away thoughts of Koda.
The way his massive hands dwarfed his whiskey glass. How his dark eyes followed me across the room. The rumble of his voice when he said my name.
I imagine they are his calloused ones as my hands slide over my soap-slick skin.
I’ve never done this before, never touched myself while thinking about someone specific, especially not someone forbidden.
But tonight, I can’t help myself.
My fingers drift lower, between my thighs, and I gasp at the contact. I’m already swollen and sensitive, my body responding to just the thought of him. I brace one hand against the tile wall as I circle my aching clit. I imagine Koda’s beard scratching against my neck, his powerful body pressing me against this very wall.
I know it’s wrong, but I don’t stop.
A moan escapes my lips as I slide one finger inside. I imagine it’s Koda stretching me, filling me. My other hand cups my breast, and I tweak the nipple the way I imagine he would with his teeth. Then I add a second finger and pump faster, my palm grinding against my clit with each thrust.
The hot spray pounds against my back as the pressure builds. It coils tighter and tighter in my core as I picture Koda’s dark eyes burning into mine, his deep voice rumbling against my ear, telling me to come for him.
That’s all it takes to send me flying over the edge.
I cry out his name as my walls clench around my fingers and pleasure crashes through me in shuddering waves.
Shame and exhilaration war inside me as I finish my shower in a daze.
Did I really just get myself off to the thought of my father’s best friend?
As I towel off and get ready for bed, I try to rationalize it.
I haven’t seen Koda in years. It was just the shock of him walking back into my life looking like... that. Like every dirty fantasy I didn’t know I had come to life. Maybe I just need to get him out of my system, let the novelty wear off.
But as I drift off to sleep, it’s Koda’s face that fills my mind.
Morning comes tooearly and yanks me from another dream about Koda.
I dress deliberately in pale jeans and an oversized sweater, trying to armor myself against the restless energy that’s been building since last night. Sarah’s already gone, leaving the apartment eerily quiet except for the sound of storm winds rattling our windows.
The drive to Piney Creek Diner is short, but my nerves refuse to settle. The parking lot is packed with locals seeking refuge from the brewing weather, and inside, the place hums with nervous energy.
I step inside and find my way to the end of the line.
The guy in front of me takes forever to order and interrogates the waitress about the gluten content of every pastry in the display case. I stare idly at the chalkboard menu.
The bell over the door rings. I don’t even have to turn around to know that Koda is standing behind me.
I can sense his presence the way you sense a wolf behind you in the woods. The hair on my arms prickles. Every instinct says run, but instead I angle myself to hide, then shift to the far side of the pastry case and pretend to study the muffins.
I’m not ready for this. I can’t be face-to-face with him again, not less than twelve hours after the last time.
Curiosity gets the better of me, though.
I peek over my shoulder, and there he is.
He’s wearing a forest green henley that fits snug through the chest and arms, and jeans that look almost too tight for a man his size. He scans the room, searching for something. His gaze passes right over me for a second, then comes snapping back.
Then we lock eyes, and my pulse goes haywire.
Koda doesn’t smile, not exactly, but the corner of his mouth lifts in what could almost be amusement.
Did he come here looking for me?
