The intensity of his cock slapping against the sensitive spot inside me makes my nipples harden and my legs shake.
“Louder,” he demands as another moan leaves my mouth.
My head spins and my breathing is shallower than before as Wilder lifts my ass, pulling my knees off the crumpled comforter and pushing himself further inside me.
“Wilder,” his name comes out in a strangled moan.
“Good girl,” he praises behind me as my hands dig into the mattress. “You're doing so good, Ingrid.”
The headboard slams against the wall as Wilder jack-hammers into me. I usually put a pillow behind it at Mom's request.Whoops. We might actually wake the whole house if we keep this up.
“Wilder,” I say again.
“You're so close,” he responds as his thumb strokes the inside of my thigh. “Give in. Give in to me, Ingrid.”
My eyes squeeze shut as my limbs tremble and my stomach quivers. Blood pumps through my ears as I let go and my back arches.
“Yes!” Wilder shouts as he keeps up the pace, his movements sloppy and loose.
I'm not sure how loud my moans or screams or whatever are, but my throat is hoarse when I say, “Fill me up, Wilder.”
Seconds later, he's stiff and rigid before dropping my hips and bending over me, his mouth pressing a chaste kiss to my shoulder as he unloads in me.
Warmth spreads between my thighs as we breathe hard, neither of us moving.
“You were so fucking loud,” Wilder proudly proclaims. “I'm pretty sure the whole neighborhood heard that.”
“It was kind of nice,” I manage to get out. “Not holding back.”
There's a sharp knock on my door. “Ingrid?”
No. That’s the last voice I want to hear after sex.
My eyes widen in horror. “Dad?”
“Can you please get dressed and come downstairs?” He sternly requests on the other side of the door. “Wilder, too.”
We. Are.Screwed.
I clear my throat. “Yep.”
Wilder chuckles as he pulls out of me and I collapse on the bed.
“You think Jason is going to ground us?” he laughs.
I shrug half-heartedly. “No, but he might start charging me rent.”
“For having sex with me?”
“For not putting a pillow behind the headboard,” I clarify.
“Cash isn't using his mansion,” Wilder jokes. “We could go live there for free, and you can scream as loud as you want.”
“That's not a bad idea,” I say as I prop myself up on my elbow. “There are so many rooms to defile in that place.”
“Twelve,” Wilder answers. “Twelve rooms.”
“Who needs twelve rooms?” I guffaw.
