Page 58 of Wildflowers

“And what does that involve for you? What does it look like…me staying in this bed with you?”

“Oh, fuck you,” I say with wonder, pushing myself up into a sitting position. “You want to do a lecture series on consent now?”

He shrugs. “Better late than never.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Apparently I don’t have to,” he says, with no small amount of delight, because he is such an asshole. And he’s all mine.

With a hand wrapped around his thick neck for leverage, I am now where I want to be. Where I wanthimto be. Which is with me straddling his lap and our mouths smashed together. Because there’s nothing nice or gentle about this. It was highly unlikely there ever would be. From day one, we’ve been messed up in a variety of ways. In a normal world, he’d be in jail and I’d be in therapy. But here we are. He’s made me furious and feverish and a thousand other things besides.

His hands are in my hair and his tongue is in my mouth. I can never get close enough to him. The need to feel his stubble scraping my skin. To taste toothpaste and him…whatever the hell that is. I don’t know, but I need it now. And he’s obviously thinking the same thing, since my tank top is gone and soon his tee is too.

Shit. “Dean,” I say. “The door.”

“Right. Legs around me.” With a hand beneath my ass, he stands and takes the necessary few steps to close the bedroom door. “Done.”

“We have to remember to be quiet.”

He raises a brow at me. “You think you can be quiet?”

“That wasn’t a challenge.”

“Sort of sounded like one,” he says, throwing me on the bed. My back bounces against the mattress. He has my boxer shorts off me and is climbing between my spread legs with a feral smile I do not trust in the least. Not one iota. “Here, use this cushion.”

And I take the offered pillow because I’m not a fool. This man has a tendency to keep his word. Having him gaze at me this way has got me hot and flustered. Being laid out naked before him for the first time like this is something. I don’t want to be nervousor anything. Now is the time to be bold and beautiful and words like that. However, it takes me a moment to find my confidence and stare back at him with all of the want and need inside of me.

“You really are the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. I could just stare at you for the rest of my days.” His hand loosely grips my throat before trailing down between my breasts. Each inch of me lights up. Nerve endings coming to life at his touch. “We do this, then I am in here from now on, Astrid. When we have problems, we work them out together.”

“Okay.”

His fingertips trace a path over my belly and down to my mound. Then he shuffles back, making room for himself on the end of the bed. Hands slide beneath my ass cheeks and he gives my sex reverent, sweet, closed-mouth kisses. Nice-to-meet-you, getting-to-know-you sort of kisses. Already my skin feels a size too small. Like all the things he inspires inside of me can’t possibly be contained.

His thumbs hold back the lips of my sex, and he really gets to work.

I feel everything he’s doing to me as if it’s magnified. Enhanced in some way. It’s not just that he knows what he’s doing. And he very much does. From the long, sweeping laps with the flat of his tongue to the sucking pulls of his lips on my clitoris.

Sensation builds at the base of my spine, and I bow my back trying to keep some sort of control. His fingers have a bruisingly tight grip of my ass cheeks. There’s no escaping the intensity of what he’s doing. How he fucks me with his tongue and teases around the ever-tightening bud of my clit. There’ll be stubble rash on my inner thighs tomorrow and I absolutely do not care.

I remember the cushion just in time. My whole body tenses and crashes from some impossible height as it hits me. I am nothing and nowhere and everything at once. The way my bodyand brain are in tiny pieces floating up amongst the stars. Surviving the end of the world just for that single orgasm is honestly valid.

Which is what I’m thinking when the pillow is removed from my face. He is standing beside the bed. I choose not to begrudge him the small, satisfied smile. Just this once. He wipes his mouth with his discarded tee and asks, “More? Or are you done?”

It takes a moment to bring my brain back online. “The first one. Lose the pants.”

“Whatever you want.”

He eases them over his hard-on before letting them fall to the floor. And I honestly love how getting me off got him so excited. Dean in all his glory is a thing of beauty. But then, he always is, dressedornaked. And he allows me to ogle him by candlelight. The sharp lines of his face and the lean power of his muscular body. And the scars that tell such a story of survival and pain. I don’t think there’s ever been anything more spectacular than him standing there with his hair all messed up because of my hands.

His dick is slightly thicker and longer than average. Given the way he watches me as he climbs back onto the bed, I have no doubt he knows how to use it.

There’s the strangest sensation of coming home. With my arms around his neck and legs around his body, he lines the wide, blunt head of his cock up with my opening and pushes in slow and steady. We both catch our breath.

With his hips against mine, he rests his face in my neck and groans. Such a sweet and deep sound. It’s like I feel it resonating in my soul. There’s no room for worries or doubts when he’s with me. My fingers thread through his hair, holding him as close as can be.

“Shit,” he mutters, and lifts his head. “Condom. No wonder you feel so fucking good.”

It takes a minute for the feel-good hormones to calm down so I can think straight. “Oh. Um. Contraceptive injection is good for another five weeks yet. I was clear the last time I tested. No unsafe sex ever. How about you?”

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