“What did I say?” His smile is audible. He’s baiting me; he cares too much to really risk being caught.
His thumb keeps stroking, slow and persistent, igniting a fire within me. I breathe in his scent—earth and smoke, the essence of him—grounding as my body trembles.
One finger slips inside, then another, working me open. He’s unhurried, unrushed.
Wilder’s an expert cartographer, mapping my body with aching precision, charting every place that undoes me until I’m trembling, breathless, ready to beg.
The sounds that escape me are low; need swells with every movement of his hand.
He senses my struggle between want and constraint. “Don’t hide. Let me hear you.”
“Faster. I need you,” I gasp, shamelessly moving my hips to grind against him.
He circles my clit faster. I curse inwardly—decorum shredded.
“Oh, fuck,” I cry, voice raw as tension coils so tight I can barely breathe. Fuck, fuck,fuck. Wilder doesn’t stop. I grip the expensive material of his jacket. Wilder’s lips crash into mine, swallowing my wanton moans.
Fumbling blindly, I search for the button securing his pants. I’m desperate to touch him. Finding what I want, I slide my hand down to free him. My palm wraps around his hot, hard, heavy dick. He groans, sending shivers through my body.
“I thought you were nervous about people seeing?” he hisses. “Are you done being shy?”
I’m liquid magma. “Mm-hmm.”
Wilder’s laugh is triumphant. “Good. I want everyone to see how lovely you look when you come. Is that what you want?”
I know we’re alone. I know his games.
“Please,” I breathe, rocking my hips for friction, aching unbearably.
“I can’t say no to you.” He slides his fingers deep, curling until I let out a desperate sound that makes him do it again.
I gasp as he gently bites my lip, tugging it between his teeth. I’m speechless, just a wet, pulsating mess in his hands. He’s leaking pre-cum into my palm, craving more. Just like I am. I want to taste him.
“Your hands… gods…” I manage to gasp out, unsure if I even say it aloud.
“What about them?” Wilder grinds out, holding me so close I can’t escape.
I’m shaking, breath coming ragged. “Fill me,” I whisper, so needful it’s almost a sob. “I. Need. More. More than your fingers.”
I shriek as Wilder lifts me by my hips. My legs lock around him, my back hitting the wall hard enough to rattle paintings, and what was that other sound—books?
He fumbles between us, then lines up, notching his thick crown at my entrance. He teases for just a moment—devilish—then thrusts in quickly but firmly, filling me to the brim. We’ve been having sex for years, yet each time he enters me, the shock of fullness and the perfect contradiction that he could never quite fit but somehow always does catch me by surprise.
Wilder curses, clutching my hips, pressing into me. Both of us are caught in the moment, only breath, tension, and the delicious ache of him stretching me.
“You’re everything,” Wilder rasps. He moves his hips slowly at first, until he finds a steady rhythm. “So fucking tight… So perfect for me.”
He slams into me again and again, pinning me to the wall. My body arches with desperation as he drives faster, each thrust sending pleasure spiraling higher until I’m right on the verge of euphoria.
Wilder groans. “This is such a pretty dress.”
“Ruin it,” I gasp between words.
“What was that?” Wilder’s voice is thick with lust.
“Ruin me,”I demand, jerking my hips. “You’re so deep—I can feel you everywhere.”
For one wild, reckless heartbeat, I almost beg him to forget the brew, give in, fill me, and make me his in every way. Letme carry a piece of him inside me. The craving burns sharp and bright. We’ve whispered about a family in the dark, flirted with the idea, but neither of us is ready for that commitment—not yet.
