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It’s not like he could run away…
“What’re you thinking?” he asks, moving some of my hair away from my face as I grin with my eyes closed.
“That’d you’d suck at escaping right now.”
“Escaping what?” he asks.
“The beaver corner of crazy,” I say.
“Makes no sense, and yet adds even more mystery,” I hear him sigh.
To be honest, we could probably have really slow sex that could last for hours, but that would be a lot like making love. And that would be a really slippery slope for me, since he’s already more important to me than he should be.
Relationships aren’t my thing, and I think this may be the longest amount of time I’ve ever spent alone with someone I’m attracted to on physical and emotional levels.
He tugs my hair, and my eyes reopen, seeing the need in his gaze that mirrors my own. Our lips collide in a searching, hungry kiss, and I slip my leg over him, straddling his waist.
I rub against him, feeling my nipples harden and drag against his chest. He grips my ass, tugging me up, and I moan into his mouth when his hand slides around and his fingers press inside me. No, not inside my ass.
I grind my clit against the hard cock between us, and he holds still under me, knowing if he moves, it’ll hurt.
I remember his ribs and lift off him a little, and he continues kissing me like he can’t get enough, while his fingers continue to drive me wild.
But his fingers withdraw before I’m finished, and my breath hitches when I feel the tip of his cock pressing in.
“Condom,” he groans, pressing in a little deeper, stretching me as my breath come out shakily.
My half-lidded eyes find his, and suddenly he thrusts up, going half way inside me.
He makes a pained sound, and I curse, remembering the main reason why we’re not fucking. See? I can’t think around him when he’s naked.
I pull off him quickly, as he once again says, “Condom.”
“Too risky. It’ll hurt you.”
I spin around, and my mouth goes down on him before he can protest. He grabs my hips, jerking me to his face, and devouring me in a way that has my eyes crossing.
It’s like we can’t get enough of each other, and I don’t want it to stop, just as much as I need it to stop.
This can only end bad.
Chapter 7
Wild Ones Tip #49
Don’t bust our give-a-damn switch. We don’t get things fixed too often.
LIAM
“You love this song, don’t you?” I ask as Real Wild Child plays from my iPod dock.
“Reminds me of home.”
“They play this a lot?” I ask.
She turns and grins at me, that secretive grin she uses so often. “The town pretends they don’t love us until we’ve been too quiet. They play this to call us out.”
Makes no fucking sense whatsoever, and she damn well knows it.
“I take it you’re some sort of entertainer outside of painting?” I pry, trying to get at least one of her mysteries solved.
She snorts. “If you only knew.”
“I’d love to know, but you won’t tell me about your home, other than it’s really named Tomahawk, you have a dad you adore, and you live on a lake.”
She continues to keep her smile in place, looking up from the canvas she’s painting in my room.
It’s been just over three weeks since she blew in and started helping me out. I still can’t use the crutches, because—do you know how many ab muscles that takes? And my abs contracting means pressure on my still-healing ribs.
So Kylie is still pretty much wheeling me around in the wheelchair for short distances and helping me move from one spot to another.
But I am getting better. And within a few more days, I may can handle those damn crutches.
I draw the line at the bathroom and grit through the pain when I need to use it, without letting her help me. Even I have too much pride left for that.
And she’s slept in my bed. Every night.
I started out thinking she was cute.
Now, the very thought of her or scent of her has me painfully hard. All the time. She’s the only thing I seem to find sexy anymore. I’ll never view sexy the same way for as long as I live.
Because Kylie is nothing at all like anyone I’ve ever known. She can drive you crazy in four ways at once. She can make you positive you’re losing your mind.
She’ll threaten my life one minute, and suck my dick in the next, assuring me I’d die a happy man if she killed me directly after.
You know those little Sour Patch Kids that slap you and hug you in the next breath? That’s Kylie.
And it’s one of the many reasons for my increasing addiction.
“Outsiders don’t get to know about Tomahawk. Not the fun stuff. It’s for residents only. So until you become a full time local, then no; I can’t tell you anything,” she explains.
