Page 16 of Chasing Wild Heart

“I was in the neighborhood,” I murmur, watching her open the refrigerator.

She huffs exasperatedly, bumping the door closed with a hip check, and holds out a bottle of water for me.

“Thanks.” I crack open the seal, grateful for the cold beverage, as my eyes roam over dozens of sketches covering the table.

“Dash,” Juni barks out sharply. My neck snaps up to find her scowling and leaning back against the counter. “It’s late, and I’m tired. I honestly don’t have time to guess what you want.”

“I think I want you.” Both our eyes go wide at the words that simply bypassed my mental filter.

“What?” she squeaks out. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” I exclaim truthfully, running a hand through my hair.

Is now a good time to mention the unexplainable pull that landed me here in the first place? Probably not.

Something shifted between us since dinner at the diner two weeks ago. I still yell at her for being too slow, and she runs through a list of sharp art tools I can shove up my ass. But there’s no real threat behind any of our comically insulting banter – just sexual tension. I think.

I stand behind the fact that I’m an average twenty-something guy with a healthy sexual appetite who wouldn’t say no to a night or two with Juni. Watching her run around in tiny shorts and sports bra during the summer, I’m not hard pressed to imagine what she would look like naked.

I just don’t know what she wants because I recognize all the tell-tale signs of someone flirting or wanting my attention. Not once have I seen her gaze drop to my lips. Or her swinging her midnight black hair over her slim shoulders. Or winking coyly in passing.

Burying her face in both hands, Juni groans loudly.

“Okay,” she breathes out, her hands scraping down her face. “We’re both adults, right? We can have a mature conversation, right?”

Not trusting my mind or mouth, I lift a shoulder.

“For fuck’s sake, Dash! Seriously?”

Watching her throw her hands in the air and rapidly mutter something under her breath fascinates me in the same way when I watch her run. The words I didn’t mean to blurt out earlier ring true: I want Juni. I know I want her writhing with pleasure under my touch. How else I want her remains undecided.

Right now, I’m aching to touch her, but I need to know what she wants.

“Juniper.” I call out her name in a serious tone to catch her attention.

The tirade to herself stops. Her head cants to one side. Her chest saws in and out from her undecipherable word vomit. Tiny fists planted on her hips.

“Dash,” she whispers, her dark eyes glued to mine.

That’s when I see desire crash through her. A tongue running across her upper lip. A faint breathy moan. The slight clench of her thighs.

We hold our gazes for a nanosecond longer before stepping forward and crashing into each other. We are a fucking hot mess, fighting for dominance. This isn’t a sexy coordinated dance of my erection pressing into her belly or her hands weaving through my hair.

My lips dip to her neck, but she tilts her head to the opposite side and my tongue laps at her cheek. Her hands slide up my chest but then collide with mine wanting to cup her face so I can kiss the ever-living shit out of her.

We’re two flames wrecking into each other, just wanting to burn bigger and brighter.

I couldn’t imagine this moment being anything other than crazy, raw, and passionate.

Through the sloppy kisses and the groping hands, I back her into the table covered with notepads and loose sketches and set her on the edge. Keeping her eyes on me, her hands push off most of the mess from the surface.

I reach behind me and yank on the collar of my t-shirt, pulling it off in one fluid motion. Her tortured groan grabs my attention.

“What?” I tilt my head with curiosity.

“That is so fucking sexy,” Juni whimpers, her teeth digging into her lower lip. “The whole take your shirt off with one hand from the back.”

“Really?”

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