Page 60 of California Wild

Because God, that voice—that man—could undo her with a single word.

He slowed down, pulled back until she stilled.

“Good girl,” he said, lips brushing against the inside of her thigh, deliberately soft, achingly slow, the barest kiss against trembling skin. Her fingers clenched the sheets, nails digging in, her chest heaving.

He was toying with her.

Testing her.

She could feel his smirk against her skin.

That cocky, infuriating bastard.

But two could play at that game.

Her hand shot down, tangling in his curls, giving a sharp tug that made his breath hitch, made him groan low in his throat.

“Jesse,” she ground out, her voice trembling with need. “I swear to God—”

His chuckle was dark, full of wicked promise. “Impatient wench.”

And then—he stopped playing.

His grip shifted, firmer, dragging her closer, spreading her wider, and his mouth devoured her like he was starving. Like she was the only thing that had ever fed him. His tongue moved in slow, merciless circles over her clit, then faster, harder, dragging her toward the edge like he needed to feel her come apart.

“Jesse—” Her voice broke on his name, her body coiling tighter and tighter, everything inside her unraveling too fast.

He hummed low against her, the vibration sending sparks through her core, and she shattered.

The orgasm slammed into her, ripped through her—white-hot, bone-deep, mindless.

She cried out, hands in his hair, back arched off the bed, and Jesse didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. He held her right there, right in it, licking and groaning and owning every second of her release until she was trembling, breathless, ruined beneath him.

And still—still—he didn’t let her go.

He kissed his way back up her body, dragging his lips over her stomach, her ribs, his hands skimming up her sides. His teeth grazed her nipple, his tongue soothing the bite, and she moaned, her fingers tightening in his hair.

Then he was above her again, pressing her into the mattress, his weight heavy, solid, safe.

Their eyes met.

Her chest heaved. His did too.

She reached up, tracing her fingers over his lips, swollen from kissing her, from owning her.

The way he looked at her then—wrecked, desperate, hungry but holding back—God, it did something to her.

He brushed her hair from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle now. A contrast. The way it always was with them.

“Tell me you want more,” he said.

She swallowed hard, staring into his golden eyes, unable to look away.

“Always.”

And just like that, Jesse lost his last thread of control. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head, and kissed her like he was drowning in her.

And maybe—just maybe—he was.

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