Page 87 of Made for Wilde
“First time meeting the parents?” She gives Koda a knowing look. “That’s always nerve-wracking.”
“Sister,” Koda corrects. “And she’s going to love Charlotte.”
Madison’s professional smile falters slightly at the possessive way Koda slides his arm around my waist.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find something perfect,” she replies. “What kind of vibe are you going for?”
I tap my chin thoughtfully. “Something that says ‘responsible adult’ but doesn’t make me look like I raided my grandmother’s closet. And something that won’t be too tight around my middle.”
“Got it. I’ll pull some options.” Madison’s smile returns full force. “Your boyfriend can wait right here if he wants.”
The dressing room door closes, leaving Koda and me alone in the small space. The mirror takes up most of one wall and a cushioned bench along another, along with hooks for hanging clothes.
“You know she was checking you out, right?” I say, hanging up the few dresses I’ve collected.
Koda settles onto the bench, looking amused. “Was she?”
“Please. She was practically undressing you with her eyes.” I start pulling off my sweater, hyperaware of his gaze on me. “Madison probably thinks I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”
“Are you?” His voice drops to that low rumble that never fails to make my pulse stutter.
I meet his eyes in the mirror, and the intensity there makes my breath catch. Even after months together, he still looks at me like I’m something precious and rare.
“Maybe,” I whisper.
Koda stands, moving behind me until his chest presses against my back. His hands settle on my hips.
“Definitely,” he murmurs against my ear.
The combination of his touch and his voice makes heat pool low in my belly. These pregnancy hormones have turned me into an absolute mess—constantly wanting him, getting turned on at the most inappropriate moments.
“Koda,” I breathe, not sure if it’s a warning or an invitation.
His reflection grins at me in the mirror. “What? I’m just helping you get dressed.”
That’s when we hear it. A soft moan from the dressing room next to ours, followed by what sounds like fabric rustling. Then another moan, definitely female, with an edge of desperation that makes my skin prickle with recognition.
Koda and I freeze, staring at each other in the mirror.
“Did you hear—” I start to whisper.
Another moan cuts me off, louder this time, followed by a distinctly male grunt of pleasure.
My eyes widen. “Are they...?”
The rhythmic thump of something hitting the wall answers my question. Someone is definitely having sex in the dressing room next to ours.
I should be embarrassed.
Instead, liquid heat floods my panties so fast it takes my breath away.
The knowledge that two people are fucking just a few feet away, separated only by a thin wall, sends arousal spiking through my system like a drug.
Koda’s hands tighten on my hips, and I can see in his reflection that he’s noticed my reaction. His dark eyes have gone molten, pupils dilated with desire.
The woman next door lets out a particularly breathless whimper, and I have to bite my lip to keep from echoing the sound. My nipples peak underneath my tank top, and I can feel myself getting wetter by the second.
What is wrong with me? Since when do I get turned on by listening to strangers have sex?
