Page 15 of Wicked Lies Grow Wildflowers
His words sink in, igniting my fight or flight response, but I don’t want to do either. I wanthim. I hardly know him, but the pounding of my heart and the pulsing between my legs is undeniable. This could end very badly for me, but I don’t think he would hurt me or he already would have. There have been plenty of opportunities.
He wants me. No one has ever wanted me like this before and my next words leave my lips before I can stop them. “Maybe I want to be caught.” A stroke of boldness has struck me and I’m impressed with myself.
His nostrils flare as lust fills his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“No? Why don’t you show me?” I try not to shake as I hoist my purse back onto my shoulder and straighten myself to leave, hoping he’ll follow. What the hell am I doing? The echo of footsteps sounds behind me as I’m followed out. It’s just what I wanted, but I’m not bold enough to act first. As I fish my keys out of my bag he grabs my arm and spins me around, pinning me to the door of my car with his body, caging me in with his arms.
I look up into his gray eyes, breathing hard and waiting for his next move. I don’t feel in control of my actions. It’s as if I’m outside of my own body because the me I know would never do this. I’d certainly never speak my darkest desires out loud. I’d never stand up to anyone like I stood up to Xander, either. But here I am, pressed up against my car in a public parking lot bya man I barely know, one who’s making my breathing rapid and shallow.
Xander grabs my neck with his hand, looking down into my eyes, his gaze flicking to my mouth before he leans in and seals my lips in a kiss.
For a second my mind goes blank as it tries to rationalize what’s happening. All of my senses feel jumbled until the tingle of the hand on my throat and the warmth of another mouth on mine brings me out of my haze. Xander tastes like mint and everything I could ever want, his kiss just as harsh as his demeanor. He presses his body tightly to mine and licks the seam of my mouth with his tongue, asking for entrance. My lips open up for him and he delves in, tongue swirling against mine.
Every inch of my body is on fire and I drop my bag to the ground, grabbing the sides of his jacket with my hands, desperate to feel him against me. His erection presses against my waist, his need to be closer matching my own. My heart races at the thought of what it would feel like in my hand.
Before I can get too swept away in my fantasies, he tears his mouth from mine, breathing heavily now, his chest heaving. His eyes are wild and erratic as I try to steady myself, but it’s difficult with his hand still at my throat. My need for him is extreme and I’m aching to be touched in places I’ve mostly forgotten. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone so badly,neededanyone so badly.
“That’s just a little taste, Wildflower. You still have no idea what kind of man I am, and I don’t think you’re ready for it. So, get in your car, and fucking drive,” he warns as he releases my neck. His jaw ticks and his eyes are hooded with lust.
At a loss for words I do as he says, dropping back into reality when a cold breeze cuts through me, making the loss of his body heat far too evident. I pick up my bag and get into my car, driving away as he stands there, still watching me until I can no longer see him.
He called me Wildflower.
CHAPTER TWELVE
XANDER
I got exactlywhat I wanted. My real motive for meeting Maeren was to see her and get under her skin. Plant myself a little deeper. I knew I had to be inside her head already so it wasn’t going to be too difficult; I could sense the tension between us at the showing. All I had to do was buy that stupid fucking house: two million isn’t necessarily pocket change but I can consider it an investment property.
Anything to help me get to her. I could tell how much she wanted me, and it pleased me to know how right I was about her. She tasted divine too, so fucking sweet. Her racing pulse underneath my hand made me painfully hard.
The mix of her fear and arousal was potent. I told her to be scared of me and I can tell she isn’t, not truly. But if she ever discovers the real monster that lurks under my skin, she will be. I can’t let her know, not now that I’ve had a sample of her. Because that would mean I’d have to let her go, and I can’t do that. One look at how black my soul is and she would be gone in an instant. Any sane person would be.
The kiss wasn’t enough. I need more of her. She’s my fucking obsession and she doesn’t understand what that means. Shecan’t possibly grasp how deeply I want her. I don’t exactly know what I’m doing with her myself and I barely know her. I have the facts, the public info, but I don’t knowher.What makes her tick, laugh, smile, cry. What drives her. Iwillfind it all out though. I’ve never felt like this about a woman before and that counts for something.
She. Is. Mine.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
After she left, I stood there in the parking lot until her car faded into the distance. Against my better judgment, I quickly followed the familiar route to her house. I sat outside just down the street as I watched her windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, a flutter of a curtain, any sign of life. I was disappointed and eventually went home.
The ice cold water of my shower does nothing to numb the fire building inside of me. I fist my still hard cock, needing release. Our searing kiss coasts through my mind and I imagine it happening all over again. I close my eyes and lean into the memory, thinking of the sweet taste of her mouth, the soft planes of her body, the voyeuristic appeal of claiming her out in the open. I think of her soft breasts pressed so tightly to my chest and wish that I could know what they feel like pressed against me without a single layer of clothing between us. How would they feel beneath my palms? I pump my fist at the vision of us until my release is found, and then I plot my next move.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MAEREN
My mind was reelingthe entire drive home. I couldn’t stop thinking about how good Xander smelled. I wish I could have bottled the scent. The feeling of his hand around my throat is permanently tattooed on every nerve beneath my skin. His presence is hulking and as unnerving as he is, I also feel a sense of security. Regardless of what he says, I won’t run from him, there isn’t a reason to. At least, not yet.
When I pull into my parking space, something on the ground catches my eye. Reaching down, I pick it up with shaking hands, realizing that it’s a polaroid photo of myself. Inmyassigned parking spot. I look closer and notice that it was taken on one of my runs last week. I’m facing away from the camera, the person who took it clearly following me. Tears well in my eyes at how violated I feel. The flowers, the note, this photo—all absolutely connected. They have to be. There isn’t any writing on it either, no way to identify who took it.
Locking my car, I run inside my apartment, slamming my door and making sure it’s locked tight behind me. I slide to the floor and pull my knees to my chest, trying to think logically. Calling the cops is probably the wisest decision right now, justout of precaution if nothing else. This no longer feels like a funny game I can brush off or explain away. I can’t chalk it up to coincidence. My stomach drops as I briefly consider that Xander could be the one behind this, before quickly kicking that thought away. It’s absurd. How could he be? We were just together the last two hours. I dial the non-emergency police number and explain my situation to the operator, trying as hard as I can to keep my voice steady, and they assure me they will send someone out to check on me.
Twenty minutes later, an officer arrives and takes my story down, searching my apartment to make sure no one got inside, not seeing a single item out of place. The officer takes the note and photo in for evidence to see if they can get any prints. He isn’t confident that anything will come back, but it’s better than nothing, I guess.
When the officer leaves, my hearing tunnels and a panic attack strikes. I haven’t had one in so long, and though I battle anxiety constantly, I’m able to manage it. Panic attacks hit me suddenly and without warning, filling me with an overwhelming sense of dread and the promise of death, no matter how irrational that is.
I try to remember the coping skills my old therapist taught me. Five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, one you can taste. I go through all of the steps and try to breathe through the feeling of my heart slamming out of my chest and my brain screaming at me that I’m going to die.
