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"Blondie?" Taya's eyebrows knit together as her eyes dart from me to the new tattoo on her son's arm.
Wilder smirks. "Relax, Mom. It's not a big deal."
"You got a girl's name tattooed on your arm and I'm not supposed to freak out or anything?" she questions him.
"Technically," Wilder winks at me, "it's her nickname."
"Oh," Taya purses her lips, "and that's supposed to make it better?"
"Mom," Wilder places a hand on her shoulder, "it's fine. Go to work."
"We're not done talking about this," she points a finger at him. "It was nice meeting you, Ingrid, and finding out that my son got your nickname tattooed on his arm."
Wilder shuts the door as soon as Taya's out of sight and then leans back against it. "I thought she'd never leave."
"You keep saying the tattoo isn't a big deal," I bite my lower lip, "but I'm starting to think you like me. You really like me."
"Eh," he plays off, "you're okay."
"I'm just okay?" I laugh. "I'm better than okay. I'm literally a symbol etched in permanent ink on your arm. You like me."
"I'd like," he leaves the door behind and stalks toward me, "for you to shut up."
"But I can't!" I squeal as his arms wrap around my waist and he lifts me off the ground. In one fluid motion, he has me pinned beneath him on his bed. "You like me."
"Fine," he gives in as he pecks my lips. "I like you. But if you tell anyone, I'll deny it."
My fingers graze the area above his tattoo. "I think I can prove it, even if you do deny it."
"What about you?" he challenges as his knee slips between my legs and his hand slides under my shirt, tugging my bra down.
As his fingers massage my hard nipple, I lick my lips. "What about me?"
"Are you going to tell me what the lightning bolt represents?"
"Bottled-up lightning," I answer.
"Bottled-up lightning?"
"Rare, electric, and extraordinary."
"Am I supposed to know what that means?"
He rolls my nipple between his fingers, making me groan.
"No."
I slip a hand behind his neck and bring his face closer. Then, I kiss him. I kiss him knowing that no matter how hard I try holding onto something wild and majestic, it can't be tamed—can’t be caged in.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket as Wilder slides my long-sleeved shirt over my head. I ignore it and reach for the clasp on my bra. As soon as it's undone, Wilder yanks it off me and reaches for the button on my denim skirt.
I fumble with his shirt, forcing it over his head. We laugh as we lightly bump foreheads.
Again, my phone vibrates. I grab it from my pocket and toss it to the side.
Wilder drags the denim skirt and underwear down my legs. I watch, propped up on my elbows, as he discards his jeans and crawls onto the bed above me.
"Didn't your mom say not to do this while your grandparents are home?" I inhale sharply as he grips Wild Cox in his hand and runs the tip of it through my soaked core.
