Page 82 of Wilder

Instead of stopping him, I let go of his face and braced my hand on the edge of the desk, using it to push myself up just enough to see what he was doing. I caught the quick flash of his hand as his fingers pinched around the button of my jeans and he gave it a hard yank to pull the fly apart.

A sharp groan escaped me because, fuck, my cock had been straining against my zipper for too damn long, desperate to be freed. Only the thin barrier of my underwear was all that was left keeping me contained, stretched taut over my length and doing a terrible job at hiding just how much I wanted him.

He hooked both thumbs under my waistband to pull the material down, dragging it past my hips.

“Jesus Christ, Wilder.”

I had no time to ask him what the hell that meant before he cupped me in his hand, his palm warm even through my underwear. He traced his fingers along my length at a deliriously slow pace, moving up and down while he touched. It wasn’t near enough to being close to what I wanted—needed.

What I did need was to fuck myself into that hand of his and use it like it wasn’t anything more than a toy made for me. Something to ruin and claim, to make mine completely just like the rest of him.

I wanted to keep him pinned to this desk, hold him down until I made damn sure he knew exactly who he belonged to. Until I painted him with my cum, until he was covered in it. Marked just as thoroughly as that bruising bite on his neck.

Until there wasn’t a damn doubt left between us about what this was.

A low, broken noise slipped from my throat before I could bite it back. I gripped the edge of the desk so tight it made my knuckles ache.

“How the fuck do you ride with this thing?” he asked, squeezing me.

My head grew fuzzy then, wiping any thought I could’ve had next clean from my mind. Nothing but him touching me was getting through, turning me into the kind of lust-drunk, wrecked mess I used to turn my nose up at whenever I saw someone like that out at the bar.

I was losing it, coming apart too fast while being caught up in the heat of the moment. Fucking helpless to whatever he was doing to me and too far gone to stop any of it before it all ended too soon.

I wanted to hold on—drag this out and savor it while I still could. Before I let the shame and guilt ruin it once sense finally hit me again.

“Tell me your secret,” he said.

I nearly cursed when his hand left me, my hips jerking involuntarily, desperate for friction, touching, for anything.

“I’m so curious.”

What in the hell is he talking about?

He shoved my underwear down, freeing me completely.

My cock slapped down against his stomach, the head leaving a slick, wet trail of precum against the front of his t-shirt. It pooled, darkening the material slowly, seeping down into the fibers to where his skin was.

The sight of it made something hot and primal snap loose inside me. A low, guttural sound tore from my throat as I watched more of it leak onto him.

Yes. Just like that.

I reached for his shirt without thinking, twisting a tight fist around the fabric and yanking it up in one swift motion, losing whatever was left of my self-control in the process. I needed to see all of him, needed to mark him all over just like that little voice in the back of my mind was itching for me to do.

His tanned skin was revealed inch by inch, his abs flexing beneath my touch when I grazed the back of my hand over him. I rolled my hips again, dragging the head of my cock along his stomach to coat him in me, smearing more of that wetness across his abs, a claim as blatant as the mark I’d left on him already.

Ridiculous.

Caveman.

Possessive in a way I never thought I was capable of.

But I didn’t care because no one else was ever going to see him like this. No one else would ever know what he looked like beneath them, flushed with those half-lidded, lust-filled eyes that stared up at me, his skin sticky with my cum as he panted my name.

God help me, I wanted to ruin him.

I grabbed his wrist the moment he moved his hand to fist around me, my fingers closing tight before pinning it down to the desk beside his head.

A sharp breath escaped him, his body tensing beneath mine, but he didn’t protest. Like some part of him liked it—liked being held down, that I was taking control.