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“He did,” I replied. “And I slapped him.”
Wilder raked his fingers through his hair then scrubbed both hands over his face, as if trying to erase the memory of what he’d seen.
“He said he wanted to taste you, Genie. And you agreed.”
I held up one finger. “He said he wanted to taste my magic.”
Wilder groaned and stalked back to the loveseat, dropping down onto the cushions and staring towards the door. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“And what if he has to touch you again, huh? What if he says the only way to taste your magic is by being inside you? What then?”
His anger was so intense it was like another person in the room with us, one who was hovering outside of my range but was ready to throw punches at me any moment, just to really make me feel guilty.
“He won’t.” He might. He might, and I knew it, but I lied. Because I had time to wiggle my way out of that particular outcome. What Santiago claimed to want from me was a little taste of my magic, only a smidge, and while sex was a very powerful source for magical energy, there were other ways. “I’d give him my blood before I ever let that happen,” I said honestly. “And blood is the most powerful magical agent I know of. Ain’t nothing sexy about blood.”
“Tell that to a vampire.”
“Do you know any?”
Wilder glared at me, but the sharp edge of his rage had damped slightly, so I moved closer, standing right in front of him. I got nearer still, forcing him to spread his knees wider to make room for me.
“I know what he wants from you, and it’s not blood.”
“No,” I answered. “It’s power.”
“It’s sex.”
“He can’t have that.” I stared at him, making sure he saw I wasn’t lying. I needed him to see it in my face, to know I wasn’t going to let another man’s desires be the thing that weakened us. Because whatever Santiago wanted, it had nothing to do with Wilder and me. “He doesn’t get to have that.”
Wilder’s expression changed again. It was still raw, still hurt, but there was heat there too, the kind unique to situations like this, where anger bled into passion until it wasn’t easy to tell if you were feeling lust or rage or both. He leaned forward and grabbed me by the back of my thighs, yanking me off my feet and onto his lap.
I settled myself there, hugging my legs tight to his hips and bracing one arm on either side of his head. When I leaned in, my hair fell around us like a curtain, blocking us into a small, secret world that was just us. Just me and him and no one else.
His grip on my thighs tightened, fingers kneading flesh too hard, bruising through the material of my jeans.
It was pain, but I liked it, because he wasn’t doing it to punish me. He was holding tight so he didn’t have to let go.
“He wanted to touch you.” Wilder’s voice was a low, raspy growl.
“He doesn’t get to touch me.” I scooted up higher, our chests touching and my pelvis right over his groin. I settled in, and he let out a little groan, the air escaping his lungs tickling my lips.
He inched his hands higher, cupping my ass, and pulled me so close I felt his belt buckle against my stomach.
“Genie.” This one word, my name, was barely more than a whisper that dampened my lips as he said it. God. Goddamn.
My brain was melting. One more move and I was going to come completely undone, and there’d be no going back. If there was such a thing as a point of no return, I was standing on it, looking over the edge, and he was just on the other side telling me to jump.
“He wanted…” Wilder bit my lower lip, and an electric shock tore through me, making my whole body tremble as a result. His grip tightened, and he arched his hips ever so slightly, enough for me to feel how hard he was.
“I don’t fucking care what he wanted,” I growled against his mouth.
“Do you care what I want?”
“Yes.” I breathed it without hesitation, brushing my lips over his. The smell of him was intoxicating in its familiarity, so masculine and wolfish and so very Wilder. I remembered how I’d felt the first time I ever saw him. He’d seemed too beautiful to be real, like he’d just stepped off a Times Square billboard modeling six-hundred-dollar jeans.
Only he was real, and as handsome as he was, I knew now there was more to him than I could have fathomed when we’d met on that empty stretch of highway.
