Page 97 of Wilder

A slow grin worked onto his face. “No. But we can pretend if you want.”

He was teasing, of course, but that didn’t stop the jolt of want that suddenly coursed through my veins. It was a problem how easily he could flip the switch on me without even trying. One minute, he was all sweet and begging, the next he was saying shit that made my thoughts turn dark and possessive.

Normally, I didn’t go for baby gays.

Not because I had some kind of rule against them, but because they tended to come with complications I didn’t have the energy to deal with—clingy texts, misplaced expectations, the wide, doe-eyed look the next morning, like they’d already planned out our wedding and were measuring the closet space for two.

Realistically, I didn’t have time to deal with that kind of shit.

If the mood hit and I was feeling restless, I’d drive into town, find someone with a nice mouth and no emotional baggage and get it out of my system.

There was something so goddamn primal about what Asher had said, though. Pretending my mouth was the only one he’d ever had on him. That my hands were the only ones to ever touch and map out every inch of his skin. It was ridiculous how much that turned me on.

I never cared about any of that until right now. Never gave a shit who someone had been with or how many notches they had on their belt.

It didn’t matter when I wouldn’t see them after the sun rose.

But with Asher... I wanted to be the only name he moaned or thought of when his hand drifted down his body while he was tucked up in his room at the bunkhouse.

A shaky breath left him when I flipped him over onto his stomach.

He went easily, pliant under my hands in a way that made something animalistic stir low in my gut. I reached over, smoothing my palm over the curve of one ass cheek, fingers digging into the firm muscle I found there.

Months spent on this ranch had done wonders for his body. It was all built into him now, every lean muscle earned by the sweat and blood he’d poured into this place, every taut line sculpted, and it showed in every inch of him.

He was perfect—to pin beneath me and hold onto while I fucked him slow and deep.

My cock gave a sharp jerk at the thought, the image forming too vividly in my head. His thighs spread, my hands locked on his hips, pulling him back into me over and over until his face was buried in my mattress and his body was shaking from it.

His back arched with my touch, hips tilting up just enough while a soft, needy noise escaped him. “This isn’t you letting me touch you.”

“Later,” I murmured, dragging my hand down the inside of his thigh before sliding it back up to part his cheeks.

I stilled again.

His hole clenched, tight and fluttering around nothing, tempting me to lean down and wet it with my tongue.

Fuck.

Instead, I hovered over him, barely holding back. I skimmed my fingers along the rim, teasing him with just the pad of one finger. His breath hitched again, his hips subtly rocking backward, trying to push my finger inside that greedy little hole of his.

“You’re trouble,” I growled.

“The good kind,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at me.

Parting from him, I slid off the edge of the bed quickly and headed over to my dresser to where I’d stashed lube and condoms hours ago. He watched me from where he was spread out on the bed, his hoodie still bunched up at his chest.

Keeping it on him would give me something to hold onto while pressing him into the mattress. Then again, the thought of sliding my palms across every inch of him, mapping out the dips and planes of his body, watching the little tremors chase up his spine as I touched him just right, was even more tempting.

I tossed the condom onto the bed next to him along with the lube, watching the way his eyes tracked both. I stopped at the edge of the bed, fingers curling into the waistband of my jeans, and shoved them down my thighs in one rough motion before kicking them off to the side.

The second my knees hit the mattress, he rolled himself back over, propping up onto his elbows. His gaze trailed slowly down the length of me, halting the second it reached my cock, his eyes growing more hazy like he wanted to devour every inch.

Before I could reach for him, he beat me to it.

He wrapped his hand around my cock in one smooth motion, fingers tight. The squeeze was just firm enough to knock the breath out of me and made me jerk my hips forward with a guttural sound that got caught in my throat.

He stroked me once, lazily, brushing his thumb over the sensitive tip to smear the precum already beading there. My body jolted again, hips twitching toward him like they were chasing the friction on instinct.