Wilder (The Wild Ones Book 3)

by C. M. Owens

  I don’t usually yell, but for Pete’s sake. Why do I have to bluntly lay it all out on the line after his mother just saw me trying to seduce her son and clearly knew what I was up to?

  “You’re the most infuriating man in the world right now. You can’t possibly be that obtuse!” I carry on, simply ranting by this point.

  He works damn hard to mask all his amusement, though there is still a definitive glint of humor in his eyes.

  “I’ve never had a girl try to seduce me before. Sorry,” he tells me, openly smiling now.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, feeling absurd and ridiculous as that draft continues to remind me I’m barely covered, I glare at him.

  “You’ve had a girl try to seduce you countless times,” I argue.

  The genuine confusion that creases his gobsmacked expression would be hysterical, under the circumstances…if it was happening to anyone but me.

  “When?” he asks.

  I glare at him twice as hard, thankful I can’t explode his head with my mind. There’s a breaking point for a woman who has shamelessly thrown herself at a man and shattered every ounce of ego and pride she has in order to do so.

  I have a whole new level of respect for Krysta Nickel at this point.

  His eyes widen. “Oh! You weren’t pissed because I saw you changing when you were in your underwear. You were pissed because I didn’t catch on that you were seducing me! You were in your underwear on purpose!” he says like it’s an epiphany of some sort.

  I palm my face. “Really? Figure that all on your own, did you?”

  “You kept saying you were fine, but I could tell you weren’t fine,” he goes on, rolling out the “jaw-dropping” revelations that should have been annoyingly obvious at the time they were transpiring.

  “Of course I said I was fine. Girls have to say they’re fine, or they get called clingy or needy or bitchy or some other unflattering adjective to describe them when they don’t do exactly like the critical world expects them to do,” I snap, truly exhausted by this point.

  “You could have just told me what was really going on. I wouldn’t have called you those things,” he deadpans, as though I’m supposed to cut the vein, bleed it in front of him, and never have any dignity at all.

  “Are you really this oblivious?” I ask him very seriously.

  He runs a hand over his beard, eyeing my apron a little differently. I flush from head to toe for a different reason when his gaze lingers.

  “I’m starting to think it’s a blessing that I am,” he answers…confusing me.

  His eyes come up, landing on mine, and the humor leaves his gaze.

  “You’re leaving in nine days,” he says as his hand falls away from his beard and the atmosphere grows a little heavier. “It’s probably better if we don’t muddy the water more than it’s been muddied. If you know what I mean.”

  I bristle, now feeling even more ridiculous and stupid. I didn’t want to have regrets, but I never stopped to consider he was deliberately building a giant wall between us.

  I guess it was naive to think I was the only one worried about getting attached. I guess we’re both oblivious in our own ways.

  “I think the water is a little muddier when you do all the cutesy couple stuff without the physical intimacy,” I say before I can stop myself, wondering why my heart is pounding like a jackhammer in my chest.

  My head is so confused that it’s started affecting my damn heart.

  Emotional intimacy is way more dangerous. What was I thinking spending so much time with him? Reese was smarter. She made it all about sex and very little else. Especially these past three or so weeks when she wisely assessed she was getting too attached.

  She’s better at casual than I am.

  “You’re leaving in nine days,” he says again, the words sounding hollower this time.

  It’s as though that draft gets a little chillier, and I swallow the knot in my throat.

  I wish I’d assessed my own situation a little sooner. But until this moment, I only thought I knew how attached I was.

  “It’s been five weeks since we first came to Tomahawk. I can’t put it off longer than that,” I tell him quietly, glancing down. “Especially with the mess I have to help clean up that’s waiting for me at home.”

  Shifting awkwardly, and desperately wishing I had something else on right now, I continue staring at my feet instead of him. It’s really hard to look at him for some reason. Something tells me it has nothing to do with the frilly apron.

  “I can’t run off and leave my family. You can’t run off and leave yours. We have an entire country between us. I think it’d be better if we didn’t—”

  “Say no more,” I tell him, throwing my hands up and waving him off.

  This is definitely the most excruciatingly mortifying rejection of my life. I’ve been throwing myself at a man who was pushing me away on purpose, and it makes sense.

  I’m just being a selfish idiot, never considering his feelings. It’s not fair, since I don’t even really know what I was actually asking for. We’ve built a friendship since the last time we had sex. That friendship just seemed a lot more like a relationship, considering he never looked like a friend at all in my eyes.

  Now my heart is tearing into little tiny shreds because of the finality in the reality check he’s delivering with the most serious tone I’ve ever heard him use. Tears prick my eyes, but I fight hard to keep them at bay.

  I don’t cry this easily, damn it. Now is the worst time for my tear ducts to grow so powerfully sensitive.

  It’s also the worst time for that knot in my throat to double in size.

  Not to mention the sick feeling that seems to steadily grow in the pit of my stomach.

  I don’t even want to think about the weight that’s starting to settle on my chest.

  All of these are very intense and nonsensical issues to suffer after having a confusing non-relationship with a reluctant winter-vacation fling.

  “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done this,” I tell him quietly.

  “Nah. It actually would have made me damn happy…if you weren’t leaving in nine days,” he says as though he’s suddenly nervous.

  I glance over to find him staring at nothing, eyes distant as he seems to shut down.

  “I guess we probably shouldn’t keep seeing each other if it’s fucking with your emotions or whatever,” he says, clearing his throat and glancing over at the door.

  My knees actually wobble as my eyes widen, because I realize this is him saying goodbye.

  “I mean, I don’t want to,” he goes on, refusing to look at me, “but I don’t see nine more days playing out that well. It’s better to part friends…since it’s all sort of out there and can’t be ignored now.”

  My hands move to the back of the couch as my mouth grows dry. I feel something hot slide down my cheek, but I keep staring like this train wreck is somehow going to sort itself out, so long as I don’t say the wrong thing right now.

  This can’t be goodbye. We still have nine more days.

  This is way too sudden. I simply failed at seducing him—that’s all.

  I really am terrible at seduction, but it doesn’t warrant an abrupt goodbye.

  If I open my mouth to argue, I’m going to get emotional. If I try to change his mind, I’m going to feel manipulative. If I try to salvage the situation, I’m going end up in tears, and it’ll just make him feel bad.

  “O-okay,” I stammer softly, eyes dropping back to the floor. “Yeah. Sure. I get it,” I add, feeling the burning at the backs of my eyes.

  It’s selfish to draw it out when I know I can’t possibly stay. It’d be stupid to even consider moving across the country for a guy I had a fling with.

  As a matter of fact, I’m not even sure why that absurd thought crosses my mind.

  We can part as friends who will never speak again, since he doesn’t have the internet, a phone, or any desire to contact me in the future, as made evident by the fac
t he hasn’t arranged anything like that to stay in touch.

  He doesn’t even know my social media handles.

  He doesn’t know my number.

  He doesn’t have my email.

  He doesn’t know my address.

  We can’t even be penpals.

  This is truly goodbye.

  A clean cut.

  Take the hint, Piper.

  When I can’t seem to form another word, I simply stare down at my feet some more, waiting for him to go.

  I’m startled when a hand circles my wrist, and I’m yanked against his firm, hard body. I never even heard him walk over here, and I can’t look him in the eye. Instead, I press my face to his chest, breathing in his clean scent, as two more tears leak out. His arms close around me and hug me to him, and we simply stand like that without words.

  His heart is pounding against my ear, his arms are tightly bound around me, and his breaths are shallow and warm against my hair.

  Abruptly, he clears his throat, his hold loosening. Wordlessly, he releases me from the soul-searing hug and walks out, slamming the door behind him.

  He never even got out of his coat.

  Hell, he never even got to take his boots off.

  Wiping away some of the tears, I sink to the floor, barely able to see him through the window as he walks down the narrow road. He doesn’t turn around, and he doesn’t use the impossibly fast pace he normally sets.

  The tears don’t seem to want to stop falling. I thought I was more mentally prepared for this.

  In my head, our inevitable parting of ways was going to be happy, fun, exciting…

  He was going to make me laugh instead of cry.

  He was going to get a phone so we could stay in touch from time to time.

  He was going to get social media so I could keep up with the town…

  Not that I ever asked him to do any of it. Obviously I wanted him to want to do that on his own.

  This is why I can’t do casual. I have a problem letting go of things I enjoy, because they seem to get fewer and farther between the older I get.

  Kai finally disappears from my vision, and my hand flies to my mouth, muffling the unexpected sob that tries to escape.

  Why are so many tears falling right now?

  Flings aren’t supposed to hurt—

  The sound of someone pulling up has me shoving up to my shaky legs, and peering out the front. Reese is getting out of Hale’s Jeep, slamming the door behind her, and waving over her shoulder as she heads toward the door.

  Of all the fucking times for her to finally come back to our cabin.

  Wiping my eyes the best I can, I drop to the couch and pull a blanket over me to hide the fact I’m still mostly naked. I don’t have the energy to put on clothes. I don’t even have the energy to pretend I care about what I’m wearing right now.

  The door swings open, and Reese steps inside. Her jaw tics as she shuts the door and drops back against it. A single tear slips down her cheek as her jaw wobbles, and her face crumples like she’s about to burst out into tears…just as she spots me.

  Her eyes widen, and as though she’s a magician, she schools her features so well you can’t tell it looked like she was about to cry.

  “Hey,” she says as she clears her throat. “What are you doing here?”

  The tears she’s restraining aren’t as easy to hide as her expressions. My tears start leaking out without my consent because I’m not strong enough to keep on a poker face.

  “Oh,” she says somberly, clearing her throat.

  I don’t have to say anything. It’s obvious by the tears in her eyes and the defeated way she entered that she’s just gone through the same thing.

  Her head thumps against the door, and she stares vacantly up at the ceiling.

  “We met two sexy mountain men on the same day. We went on a date with said mountain men on the same day. I guess it only makes sense we’d get dumped on the same day too,” she says quietly as her eyes flutter shut.

  I say nothing.

  I can’t speak yet.

  I don’t trust my voice.

  I don’t trust what words are going to come out.

  I’m angry and hurt, but I have no right to be. I don’t want to do or say anything I’ll regret when my emotions calm down.

  “Not that it matters, of course. It was always going to end,” she adds, her eyelids lifting as she gives me a tight smile.

  I nod slowly, feeling like a vacant shell.

  “I’ll go start packing our things,” she tells me as she saunters out of the living room as though it’s all fine.

  I wish I could play pretend as well as she does.

  Instead, all I’m doing is questioning every single thing and wondering why it has to end. He walked away as though it was a little hard, but I was still clinging to these last nine days like they were the most precious thing in the world.

  I regretted not throwing myself all-in like Reese did in the beginning. I regretted toeing the water instead of making a splash.

  Getting up, I go to grab some clothes. Reese is so distracted she doesn’t even see the ridiculous apron I hurriedly change out of.

  “The earliest flight I can book us is for tomorrow morning,” she tells me as I turn and head out of the cabin, never speaking.

  The keys are in our rental, and without thinking, I drive directly to Kai’s cabin.

  Cougar pounces in front of me, but not even she seems to knock me out of my numb stupor. I bypass her as I head up the steps, and without even knocking, I walk into Kai’s house.

  He comes out of his bedroom, eyes dry and expression blank. Swallowing thickly, I try to think of one reason I came here.

  “I-I think I’m going to need more closure than that,” I say through a rasp, broken tone. “Apparently, we’re leaving on the first flight my sister can book, and I don’t even know what I want to say—”

  He moves so fast that I don’t register the motion at first, but his hand is suddenly in my hair, and his lips come down on mine in the very next instant.

  My hands fly to his shoulders, and my arms go around his neck. This isn’t closure. This is the exact opposite of closure. I don’t know what I expected to happen, but this isn’t it.

  At the same time, there’s possibly nothing left to say. Maybe this is what I came for.

  The kiss is devouring and consuming, even as more tears leak down my cheeks.

  He lifts me from the ground, and my back gets shoved against the wall as he starts kissing his way down my neck. I’m only in the air a few seconds, because he drops me back to my feet, as though he wants me as badly as I want him and can’t figure out where to start.

  I gasp in air, my fingers tangling in his hair, as he tears down my leggings.

  I kick out of them when he lifts me again, leaving my legs dangling as his lips find mine again and he carries me to the bedroom. Our lips break apart as I fall, and my back hits the bed.

  I pull my shirt off in a frenzy, and then I watch him undress just as hurriedly, while I shed my underwear as well.

  The second he’s naked, I take a moment to commit every line of his devastatingly perfect body to memory. He comes down on top of me, jerking my legs open, everything as rough and desperate as that first time.

  When his head dips between my thighs, everything on me clenches in anticipation. The warmth of his breath licks up my center, and my toes curl the second I feel his mouth right where I want it.

  My body bows off the bed, but he shoves me down with a hand to my stomach, holding me in place by clamping his other arm around my thighs.

  It’s sweet agony and borderline torture, if I’m honest. All I want is to feel him inside me as close as two people can possibly get until Reese comes to force me in the car.

  It’s like feeling the dam break after a long, steady build-up when my orgasm crashes through me, spreading through me like flames atop icy surface.

  I’m not sure what sounds I make, but he’s fortunate I don�
�t tear his hair out, since I don’t even realize how hard I’m pulling until he shoves my hand away and crawls over me.

  His eyes search mine as he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, just staring down at me. I feel another tear leak out of my eye, and his hand comes up, wiping it away before I can.

  When he kisses me this time, it’s softer, gentler, less hurried, as though he’s slowing time down for the two of us.

  I’m not sure how long we kiss, but I know it’s the deepest, most soul-crushing kiss there’s ever been.

  I’ve never kissed anyone goodbye before.

  By the time we end the kiss, his touch is so gentle that it’s almost feather-soft and worshipful. His lips ghost down my neck instead of devouring it, and I hear the distinct sound of a condom wrapper being torn open.

  My eyes refuse to open, because keeping them shut is the only thing holding back the heavy, hot tears I’ve managed to trap. I don’t know why I can’t stop almost crying.

  This is too intense.

  It’s not supposed to be this way.

  He was just supposed to be a fun memory.

  His lips seal over mine again, and he slowly pushes inside me at the same time, spreading me inch by deliberate inch.

  We move like we’ve done this countless times, as though our bodies are so in tune with each other that we know exactly what the other needs without words.

  My nails dig into his back as the slow rhythm combined with his calculated movements continuously builds that crest. I whimper against his lips when I start to get desperate, digging my heels into his ass to spur him on.

  He refuses.

  Instead, he continues to take me slow, kissing me sometimes, kissing my neck at others.

  One of his hands roams from my side to my thigh, lifting it higher to change his angle. After just a few minutes of that, I break the kiss because it’s too intense.

  It’s the most intense orgasm I’ve ever felt before in my life.

  It hits every nerve.

  It feels like untainted bliss.

  And for a brief second, I forget what this even is, opening my eyes in time to see him staring down at me, lips parted as he just watches, still driving in and out of me, drawing out my own orgasm.

  Then a look of anguished pleasure creases his own features in an empowering way that will forever be seared into my mind.