Page 58 of California Wild

Her fingers twisted in his shirt when he let her hands go, dragging it up, desperate for skin, for contact, for something that felt like control in a moment that was all surrender.

When their bare skin touched, they both froze.

His chest against hers.

His forehead resting against hers.

His breath trembling.

Her eyes burning.

“This is a mistake,” she whispered.

“No shit.”

Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, gasping into his mouth as his tongue tangled with hers—hot and rough and needy. His body was all around her, above her, between her thighs, hard muscle pressing her into the mattress until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. His hard cock thumped against her pussy, only separated by her panties.

He groaned low in his throat, lips trailing fire across her jaw, her cheek, the shell of her ear.

“I used to get high to forget what I hated about myself,” he breathed, voice cracked and wrecked, “but with you…”

His mouth returned to hers. Kissed her like he’d never stopped. Like he couldn’t.

“…I got high to forget how much I fucking loved you.”

Her whole body stilled.

Her heart cracked wide open.

And still—still—his mouth was moving on hers, coaxing her deeper, dragging her under. She was drowning in him, in heat, in hunger, in heartbreak that hadn’t healed.

He pulled back just an inch—just enough for his eyes to burn into hers.

Amber. Blazing. Bare.

“You want me to stop?” he rasped.

Hayley shook her head, too far gone to lie. Her throat burned. Her chest ached. Her mouth found his again, searching, giving, desperate.

“Then tell me,” he said against her lips, his voice gravel and sin, “to keep going.”

His hands slid up her thighs, rough palms grazing bare skin, hiking her dress higher until it was bunched around her hips. Her breath caught. Her hips lifted toward him on instinct.

“I fucking hate you,” she whispered, breathless, broken, lying through her teeth.

“Again.” Jesse let out a dark, ruined laugh. “Liar.”

And then he kissed her again.

Deeper. Hotter. More dangerous.

Like he could remind her who she belonged to with just his mouth.

Like he already knew she was his.

Her hands clawed at his back, nails dragging over the ridges of hard muscle, anchoring herself to him as the world spun out.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed.

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