Page 87 of Wicked Court

“You have some nerve,” she mutters.

I shrug, a challenge lurking in the casual movement. “You didn’t tell me to stop.”

Her lips thin. “That doesn’t mean I enjoyed the risk of dying.”

“Did it feel like dying?” My eyebrows arch, my interest piqued by her response.

“No,” she admits, her voice just a notch above a whisper. “It felt ... alive.”

I smooth my expression. I fold my arms across my chest, leaning into my bike. “That’s what life should feel like, sweetwitch.”

She looks at me, the moon reflected in her wide eyes adding to the depth within. Her hand comes up to push away a wild strand of hair blowing in the breeze.

The sight sends a wave of heat through me, setting off a fresh round of revving in my veins.

“I don’t know how you do that,” she says, gesturing vaguely at the bike. “It was terrifying, and...”

“Exhilarating.”

She looks at me sidelong, her eyes still wary with disbelief at what we just did together. “I could feel the wind through my teeth. And I had a helmet on.”

I answer with a smirk that stretches across my face.

“Will you take me back?”

Her request is simple, but behind it lingers an unspoken question—will I take her back safely?

I tilt my head mockingly at her. “What, you don’t trust me anymore? I’m hurt. Did you ever?”

I glance down at my body before looking back up at her again and spread my arms, challenging her to deny me.

Her chin lifts defiantly at that, golden fire reigniting in her eyes. “Fuck no.”

A rough laugh rips through me at that, vibrating along my chest. Right then, she’s all fire and ice and damn if that isn’t sexy as hell.

The scent of damp earth lingers in the air. There’s a distant hoot of an owl whom I suspect mirrors my predatory instincts at this moment. My fingers twitch for contact, for the feel of her soft skin against my rough callouses. But I resist, balling them into fists at my sides to ward off the temptation.

“Say it,” I challenge, daring her to admit what she really felt during our ride.

I’ve always found some perverse pleasure in pushing limits—in finding that boundary and smashing against it until it caves under me.

She purses her lips—an act of refusal as much as an attempt to gather her thoughts.

“You’re wet, aren’t you?”

I let a slow grin crawl onto my features, because I fucking know she is. I can damn well smell it.

I don’t expect her to admit it. My eyes never leave hers as I take a step backward. Another dare.

Her gaze narrows. “Wilder.”

“Tell me how wet you are for me right now.” The cliff’s edge is but a few steps away—a death trap hidden beneath the deceptive tranquility of nightfall.

“Wilder, stop.”

I allow the corner of my mouth to curl into a mischievous grin as I continue to teeter on the very edge of the cliff, my lean torso balanced precariously over a deadly drop to the forest below. I stretch my arms out for balance, one foot dangled carelessly into open air, teetering on the precipice of oblivion.

Elara’s no fool. She knows exactly what game I’m playing, that every movement of mine is calibrated to elicit a response from her.

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