Page 64 of Made for Wilde
The door creaks and Charlotte steps onto the porch, framed in sunlight. She has her coffee, wearing nothing but my black t-shirt—bare legs, hair tousled, eyes on me like she’s already planning trouble.
“Don’t stop on my account,” she calls, voice warm. “I’m enjoying the show.”
I wipe sweat from my brow and let the axe rest on my shoulder, breathing hard.
“I thought you said you were cold.”
She lounges against the railing, mug nestled in her palms. “I was. But then I realized that the view’s much better out here.”
I shake my head, stack another log, but my attention is fixed on her.
She stretches, arms overhead, shirt riding up even higher on her thighs. She’s not wearing a damn thing underneath. She wants me to notice.
I bury the axe in the block and cross the yard, boots crunching over the dirt. The morning sun is bright, but all the heat is in my chest.
“You’re asking for trouble,” I say, voice low.
She bites her lip, innocent and wicked at once. “Who, me?”
I walk right up to her, crowding her back against the wall of the cabin. My hands find her waist, thumbs stroking bare skin.
“Yeah, you. You move in, take over my bed, walk around in my clothes, and now you’re out here flashing me in the yard. You think I’m just going to let that slide?”
She grins, presses even closer. “Guess that depends. You going to do something about it?”
My hand drifts up her thigh. I breathe her in, sunlight and coffee and that lazy smile that undoes me every time.
“I might,” I say, my voice rough, “All I can think about is all the places on my property I haven’t fucked you yet.”
Her breath catches, pupils blown wide. “Like where?”
I grip her thigh higher. “Right here. Against this wall. With the whole forest watching.”
She digs her nails into my shoulders, pulling me close. “What are you waiting for?”
That’s all the invitation I need.
I crash my mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp as I press her harder against the rough wood. My hand slides under the shirt, confirming what I already know. She’s completely bare underneath, wet and ready for me.
“Fuck, baby.” I growl against her mouth. “Were you planning this?”
Charlotte nips at my bottom lip. “Maybe.”
I fumble with my pants, shoving them down just enough to free myself. Then I hoist her up and push into her in one smooth thrust, burying myself to the hilt.
The tight heat of her pulls a groan from deep in my chest.
Four weeks, and it still feels like the first time. Like coming home after being lost for years.
“Koda,” she gasps, head falling back against the wall as I begin to move. “Fuck, yes.”
I set a relentless pace, driving into her with enough force to make the cabin wall creak. Her nails rake down my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I bury my face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin mixed with my soap, my sweat, my sheets.
“Mine,” I growl against her throat, punctuating the word with a particularly deep thrust that makes her cry out. “All fucking mine.”
“Yours,” she agrees breathlessly. “Only yours.”
The morning sun beats down on us, turning her skin golden where it peeks out from beneath my shirt. I slide my hand between our bodies, finding that spot that makes her tremble, circling it with my thumb as I continue to thrust into her.
