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His lips quirk into a crooked grin. “Me, neither. That was hot as fuck, Maven.”
“It’s a fluke. After all the excitement today, it was bound to happen.”
That’s what I’m telling myself anyway before my heart and body join forces and try to get me to want and think about things I have no business wanting or thinking.
Wilder laughs, and the sounds rumble against my chest. His cock twitches inside of me, triggering powerful aftershocks that squeeze him until he has no more to give.
“Oh fuck, babe.” His body jerks almost comically, and he glares at me. “If you think it’s a fluke, I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”
To make his point, Wilder spreads my thighs wide and rubs his pelvis against me. Instantly, I’m wet again and pulsing, begging him for round two. Or is it round three?
I’m too satisfied, too sated and happy to keep track. I lie there with a big-ass, goofy grin on my face until my heart rate returns to normal, and my skin starts to cool. “That was a perfect end to a hellish day.”
“You can say that again,” he grunts and wraps me in his arms, pulling me flush against his chest, letting the feel of his hard body and rapidly beating heart sync with mine. “This is exactly where I want to be right now.”
I want to believe those words, but a woman my age can’t afford to be so ridiculous to think that the words a man says in the afterglow of sex is what he really means.
“Tell me that this between us has nothing to do with you and khaki pants.” Wilder’s tone hints at insecurity, and I turn in his arms.
“This has nothing to do with Cyrus and everything to do with my ill-advised attraction to you, Wilder.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “When you say things like that, it makes me wonder. What’s so wrong with me, aside from the biker thing?”
The last thing I want is to offend him, but I need to make everything perfectly clear. Being vague or coy about it in the past hasn’t worked for me, and I know going into whatever this is that Wilder and I aren’t endgame, so that should make it easier. In theory.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Wilder. You’re gorgeous and an absolute hunk, charming and funny and even kind. But you’re far too young for me, even if your line of work wasn’t a point of contention between us. And that’s just for starters.”
“Wow,” he sighs. “Okay, I’m listening. Hit me with it. All of it.” He motions with his hands for me to give him all the details, but I know it’s only because he thinks he can handle it.
Might as well get it over with,I say to myself on a long, tense sigh. “I can’t have kids, Wilder.”
He blinks once. Twice. Twice more. “Okay.”
I shake my head. “You don’t get it. I was married once, a million years ago, and he wanted kids more than he wanted anything. Even me. After the artificial insemination and fourth miscarriage, he filed for divorce.”
“What? Was adoption not good enough for him? Or you?”
I smile at his quick defense. “I would have happily adopted, but he didn’t want to, and now, as a single woman of limited means, adoption isn’t really an option. I can foster children until they find their forever homes, but that just seems like another form of torture, one I’m not strong enough to handle.”
“Bullshit,” he growls and presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Maven, you’re stronger than you realize, and I know that shit for a fact.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need pretty lies, Wilder. I always prefer the truth. Even if it’s ugly. Even if it hurts.”
He grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing my gaze to his. “It’s not a lie, pretty or ugly. You could have broken down a hundred different times since we showed up on your doorstep, and you haven’t. You’ve buckled down and done what you needed to keep your business going. To stay safe. Alive. Where I come from, we call that strength. Own it.”
I nod at his words and feel myself fall a little more for him, dammit.
“All I’m saying is that you have a lot of life ahead of you, Wilder. You’re young, and you possess all the qualities women look for in a man. Any woman would be lucky to have you. I’m not young, and I’m not fertile, so if kids are part of your long-term goals, I am a bad bet. A horrible bet.”
He nods as if he finally gets it, and I pull back, putting some much-needed distance between us for the conversation that comes next.
“I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to scare me off, and that, babe, is bullshit.”
I frown at his unexpected words. “No, that’s not what I’m doing at all. I’m telling you how it is, plain and simple. I’ve tried fertility treatments, changing my diet, and everything in between. Nothing works. I’m defective.”
“Stop it,” he growls at me. “Just fucking stop it. You’re not defective. There’s not a goddamn thing wrong with you.”
“Wilder.” I appreciate his full-throated defense, but it isn’t necessary.
