Page 34 of Wicked

“And if free will is already compromised?”

“Are you asking me a hypothetical question or asking for a friend?” Resting his chin on my shoulder, he leans into me. I have this insane urge to reach back, angle my palm over the back of his head, and bring him closer. His hair, of dark chocolate and copper, would be soft beneath my fingers.

“For a friend,” I say.

Catching his smile in the corner of my eye, I bite down on my bottom lip. He’s so darn adorable and sexy, a contradiction of boyish charm and sexy hunk, though I know he’s all man under his swim shorts.

“Then I’d ask how much is that free will worth to your friend? Is it worth ending a friendship? A codependent relationship?”

Is that what he thinks Shephard and I have? Codependency? I blow out a breath. God, he’s not wrong.

“Why the big sigh, sprout? Did I hit on a truth?”

I sputter laughter. “Please don’t call me that. I’m not a baby plant.”

“Okay,squirt.”

“That’s worse!”

“Squirt, squirt, squirt,” he says near my ear, the thickness in his shorts rubbing along my ass crack with every uttered, heated word.

Needing to be near him, I recline full on him and bring him closer with my palm on the back of his head.

“How’d you get so wise about relationships?” I ask, my lips grazing his beard. God, I love this part of him. I bury my face fully in his glorious beard. Rub. Inhale. Coarse, but soft too. And he smells divine. A mix of sweat, salt, and man.

“I can so eat you up right now,” I murmur.

“Harper.”

His groan rumbles against my back. Hot need grabs at my core.

“Answer the question.” I throw his earlier words back at him.

“My parents. They’re role models for true love.”

“Yet you turned out to be . . .” I wave my hand in the air.

“A douche?”

“A nonbeliever of love. Why?”

“Why act the way I do?”

“You’re skirting my question,” I point out.

“I’d like to someday stick my head under your skirt. Make you come on my face.”

This guy. He’s so dirty, and I like it! I continue my train of thought before more dirty words spill from his mouth and I’m nothing but a puddle of need and want at his feet.

“You’re focusing on the part you show to the world, but it’s not the real you.”

“And what, may I ask, is my real self, Harper?”

He turns into me. Trails his fingers down my arm that’s stretched above my head, my palm firmly on the back of his head. He caresses low. Lower. Over the curve of my breast. Down my side. Along my outer thigh. My breaths come out in spurts. The room spins. Molten heat sweeps over my body.

“Ryker.” I’m panting.

“Babe?” A knowing lilt in his voice.

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