“I see.” He grabbed the loose towel by its ends, and studied her. “So, you’re not debating my offer.”
“What? No.” She laughed, nervously.
“You’re not up here because you can’t sleep because you’re thinking about sex with me.” His mouth curled into a slow smile. How could he read her mind like that? Was she that obvious? Was she that easy to read? She took the pros-and-cons list in the pad from under her arm and pressed it against her chest.
“No,” she lied.
“Really? Must just be me then. I can’t sleep because I was thinking of you. Thought a cold swim would settle me down.” He nodded at the lap pool behind her, the single-lap rectangular pool at the edge of his rooftop deck. Wilder took stock of the notepad. “What do you have there?”
“Nothing,” she lied once more, her face growing hotter. The idea of the pros-and-cons list seemed immature, silly, especially faced with the man himself. In his presence, she forgot every single con she ever wrote. Hell, what was she even debating about? Wouldn’t he be the perfect man to fuck? To experiment with? They were both adults and...
Suddenly, he took the notepad. Swiped it right out of her hands.
“Hey, wait...” She lunged for it, but he was too fast. Too tall, too strong. The towel around his neck dropped to the deck as he dodged to keep the pad away from her. He scanned her list. Then he quirked an eyebrow and began to read out loud. “Pro. More sexual experience.” He glanced at her. “Con. Might regret doing it.” He glanced at her, realizing exactly what he’d found. “Trust me when I tell you, darling, there’s absolutely nothing you could possibly regret. Except not doing it sooner.”
“I...” Oh, God. She wanted to drop through the floor. She’d never been so embarrassed in her whole life. Why had she brought the list with her? Hell, why had she even made it in the first place? “Give that back to me.”
“Pro. He’s sexy AF.” He glanced at her, raising one eyebrow. “The truth comes out, then.”
“Give that to me!” She jumped for the notepad, but he held it up higher than she could reach.
“Con. He’s an egotistical asshole and sleeping with him will just make him worse.”
“Ouch.” He put a hand over his chest but didn’t seem actually all that hurt. She lunged for the notepad, but he deflected her. “Pro. Curious to know if Wilder’s reputation from that one song ‘Sex God’ is accurate.”
He glanced at her. “Oh, I am definitely a sex god. Have no doubt about that.” He studied the list as she desperately tried to get it. “Pro. Been thinking about sex with him since we first met.” His eyes grew wide. “You have?” He let out an exaggerated gasp. “Harley. I’m shocked.” He held the list high above his head. “Con. What if I’m not as good as his other lovers?”
“Wilder!” she cried. She swiped the list out of his hands. He let her take it. “Give me that. You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“It’s all right. I’m glad I did.” He laughed a little, a sound that she felt in her toes. “And for the record, I know already you’ll blow all the other women I’ve ever slept with out of the water.”
This was unexpected. “Why?”
“Because I’ve never wanted any of them like I want you.” He reached out and took her hand then, her free hand, and she felt the electric current of his touch. Her throbbing embarrassment of having her damn list read out loud faded. The touch made every other thought in her brain flee. She felt rooted there, immobile, frozen by his dark eyes and impossibly thick lashes, that straight strong nose and those sensual lips. How she wanted to taste them. She’d been a fool to try to convince herself otherwise. He was still holding her hand and the air between them had changed, become hot with the lack of oxygen, with the lack of space for words, and now was all about the silent message between them, the message their bodies sent to one another, older than words. Older than anything.
“Wilder.” She said his name, that was all, but it was also everything. It was consent, it was desire, it was her surrender. In that one word, she finally admitted to him and to herself the impossible attraction between them, the wave of desire that bound them together, like a tide taking her out to sea. He’d read her list. Knew she’d been wanting him since she first laid eyes on him. There was no need to lie. Not to him or herself.
She’d told Wilder she wouldn’t have sex with people she treated, but the fact was, her desire had nothing to do with healing Wilder, and had everything to do with what she wanted. She wanted him. More than she’d wanted anyone.
She couldn’t fight the attraction anymore. Didn’t want to. Didn’t want to put up barriers to something that felt this inevitable. She’d known from the very second she’d met him that this was coming. She’d known it in her bones, even if her mind had fought it all this time.
She took another step closer to him, but he remained still, hope in his eyes, hope and something else, want. He wanted her, and the power that gave her made her feel light-headed. Made her feel almost invincible. Her body knew what she would do next before her mind caught up. Her body had known this was her fate long before. He stood, watching her, cautious, his eyes never leaving hers as she reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HARLEY’S MIND HAD shut off. Her body was in control now, her body who knew this was what it wanted, to hell with the consequences. She was kissing Wilder Lange. She hadn’t planned it. She’d just done it. Maybe it was a hate kiss. Because she hated that he’d read those pros and cons, hated that he now truly knew how much of a spin he’d put her in. She could tell herself that, and maybe part of her would believe it, but even she knew that she was kissing him because she wanted to. She’d been fantasizing about what his lips would feel like since she’d first laid eyes on the man. She’d been fighting the urge to touch him every single moment they’d spent together. Hadn’t she glanced at the clock during their sessions the last two weeks, counting down the minutes, because she was having trouble concentrating on what he was saying because the man looked so damn fine?
And now she felt just how much she’d underestimated him. The way he was kissing her right now told her he knew absolutely everything he needed to know about sex. She’d only kissed three men her whole life, and so she wasn’t one to know based on experience, which she knew was ridiculous. Knew it was something that even her most avid readers didn’t know. But she never thought she’d needed a dozen partners in order to know what good sex was. Or a healthy relationship.
Yet, Wilder Lange made her think that maybe, she’d been wrong. The way he was kissing her now, the way his tongue moved in her mouth, the way his hands dipped to her lower back and pulled her entire body into his, told her that she’d never been properly kissed before this moment.
Before now, she’d never realized that a kiss was...well, so damn hot. Sure, she’d kissed her boyfriends, but that had never revved her up, taken her to these kinds of heights before. She’d never understood that even a single kiss could be so mind-blowing, that a person could lose all reason. Her body felt like it was melting in the best possible way. And there she was, devouring the man’s mouth, unable to get enough of his tongue, thinking, I have not lived. Not until this single moment.
Which didn’t make any sense at all. None of the research on human sexuality prepared her for this moment. She was supposed to hate this man. She wanted to hate him, except that now she had her tongue in his mouth and she liked it. She liked it too damn much. Her body pressed hotly to his, his bare chest against her tank top, yet, still she cursed the clothing that kept them apart, the friction that rubbed between them. She wanted skin on skin. More than wanted—needed it. Her leg went up his side, and he caught it expertly with his hand, the only barrier now between their hot centers was his swimsuit and her flimsy pajama bottoms. Oh, how she could feel him. Feel the flesh there, the flesh growing harder. For her.
He didn’t seem like a man wh
o had trouble having sex. On the contrary, he seemed like a man who knew exactly what he wanted and planned to get it. Harley broke free and realized she’d been practically grinding against the man, her body having taken over completely, her baser instincts in control. This had never happened to her before in her life and it scared the hell out of her. She’d been attracted to men in the past but this was...this was something else. Pure, unadulterated lust. And it was far more powerful than she’d ever imagined it could be.
“What am I doing?” she asked Wilder, as if he’d know why she decided to kiss the man she’d vowed never to like much less lust after.
“You’re kissing the hell out of me,” he growled, and then he pulled her closer and she lost her breath. Full, flush against him, she felt his taut, muscled chest, his flat stomach and his cock against her belly, growing ever bigger, ever harder through the thin fabric of his swim trunks.
The realization shocked her. He wanted her. Hadn’t she just heard that he couldn’t do this? Yet, it was clear, his anatomy worked just fine.
“You do things to me that other women don’t,” he growled. “God, I want you.” Then he kissed her, hard on the mouth, and she was once again thrown into the ocean of desire, the waves crashing against her one after another as his tongue found her again and again. She felt dizzy with it, the want, the lust bubbling inside her, and yet, she couldn’t understand what was happening, why it was happening. It had never been this way for her before. Did that mean casual sex wasn’t all bad? Did it mean that relationship sex wasn’t torrid, wasn’t passionate? Did it mean she’d been wrong with all the advice she ever gave her readers?
She pulled away from him, gasping, the cool moonlight bathing his face. The intensive look in his eyes at that moment made her feel a rush of blood flow to her core. She was still holding onto him, and yet, his gaze was like a vice grip she couldn’t shake. He bound her to him with a single look. He brought her hand to his lips then, and laid a soft kiss on the back of it. The touch of his lips against her skin felt like a bolt of lightning rushing through her nerves, up her arm and all the way to her brain. Her breath suddenly caught in her throat. This wasn’t just lust, she realized, as a grinding want for this man’s touch took hold of her, it was a need, burning in her, a need to touch him, to be touched by him.
These thoughts were wrong. She knew they were wrong, but she’d never felt such a strong cocktail of need and want, and the way he was looking at her, the knowing look on his face, made her want to wrap him up in her arms and tell him to show her what she’d been missing her whole life. She knew, looking at him, that he guessed exactly what it would be like. A match to gasoline, a fire that would burn out of their control. He reached out with his free hand and traced the curve of her cheek, and all coherent, logical thought scattered in her mind like raindrops on a car’s windshield. The feel of his finger tracing her face was all she could concentrate on as her breath caught.
“You’re beautiful, so very beautiful,” he said, voice low and hoarse. “My body reacts to you as if we’ve met before. As if I’ve known you my whole life. Do you feel my body calling to yours? Do you feel it?”
The question was bold, and she should tell him that she felt no such thing. That theirs was strictly instinct, just bodies acting on chemistry and pheromones. Hadn’t she studied all of that? Hadn’t she read about human attraction being a cocktail of evolution and hormones? But all that would be a lie. Standing beneath the stars with this man, she realized that whatever it was between them wasn’t just chemical. Her body opened for him like a flower, and she could feel even now the draw to him, as if his body were a primal call she couldn’t ignore. Not with all her years of training, not with all the professional, clinical barriers she’d put up in her brain. He cut through them all. She barely knew him, but that didn’t matter. Their bodies knew each other, it seemed, their bodies knew what their minds didn’t: that they needed to be together.
“Yes,” she croaked. “Yes, I feel it.” At a later time, she knew she’d chastise herself for encouraging Wilder. Because she felt right then that she’d stepped over a line. Crossed a barrier she’d vowed never to cross. Wilder moved closer, and her body already knew what he intended, even if her mind was slow to catch up.
He put his free hand on her lower back and tugged her to him. She went, as if locked in a tractor beam she couldn’t escape, and then her body was pressed fully against his, and she could see exactly what he meant by the effect she had on his body. She could feel him pressing into her belly, his full hardness, his undeniable want for her. The knowledge singed her brain, lit up all her nerve endings, made her own body pool its heady want between her legs. She felt herself grow wet as she stood, pressed against him, his dark eyes full of desire for her. He studied her lips, and she his, and all her professional reasons for keeping her distance seemed to melt between them, burned in the heat between their bodies.
He dipped his head lower, ever closer, his lips mere inches from hers.
“You can fix me, Harley.” His voice was gruff and low, and his body told her he spoke the truth. Could she fix him with her body? Could she cure him of all his past ghosts by letting him touch her, letting him explore her deepest places? The very idea was foolish. She knew it, and yet, her body thrummed with a different kind of truth. A different answer altogether.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he dipped downward, his warm breath on her neck and he kissed her there, softly at first, gently, running his soft lips up her neck and to her earlobe. The gasp came out of her mouth before she could stop it, the delicate touch on her sensitive skin like a lightning bolt straight to the center of her, awakening her deepest parts, the parts of herself she’d tried so long to keep dormant. The want in her hummed with its own life, as he nuzzled the delicate skin of her neck. She clutched at him so she wouldn’t fall, as she felt the back of her knees go weak. His tongue flicked out, and she gasped, sucking in air as if she were suffocating.
She moaned. The sound husky, full of want. Not the least bit professional. She had to grab the reins, pull herself back on course, and yet she was spiraling out of control, her brain only able to process his lips on her neck. He was moving downward, ever downward, to the V of her neckline, the line where her breasts came together. She could feel his breath there, too, as he kissed her gently, inhaling her scent, and her fingers dug deeper into his arms.
“I want you,” he murmured into her chest. He rubbed a hand over one of her nipples, bringing it to attention through the thin fabric of her tank top. She moved one hand downward, curious at first, to feel him there, feel his growing want for her, her need to see if it truly was real. If he was hard for her. God, she felt the rush of power, it was reckless and dangerous and seductive. She did this to him. She made him want. The feeling made her delirious. He looked up then, dark eyes on hers. She could have this man, here, right on the rooftop in the middle of Manhattan. She could take him inside her, she could learn from him, she could let him take her to places she never knew she even wanted to go. She knew it. And so did he.
“So? What do you think of my proposition now?”
She wanted it. It felt like fate since she’d walked through the door of his glamorous penthouse. She’d be kidding herself if she thought otherwise. It had been written in the stars. A white-hot desire as powerful as the one they shared wouldn’t be ignored. He knew it. She could tell by the way he was looking at her now that he already knew she was his. His hands moved downward and cupped her ass, powerful, knowing, and his hands spoke to her body with a kind of directness words could never achieve. They promised that he’d please her. And she knew in that moment the sex would be off the charts amazing, because forbidden sex always was.
And yet...she shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t be. It wasn’t right. It violated every promise she’d made herself, every bit of advice she’d given to readers hoping to avoid toxic men. Because Wilder Lange was the poster boy for tox
ic. He was commitment phobic, cocky and made no apologies for using sex to avoid bigger problems. Jumping into his bed could be amazing. Or it could be devastating. What happened after the white-hot casual sex? What happened when she cured him so he could hop into the bed of another model? Then what?
Hadn’t she told her clients a million times before that they controlled their own destinies? That no desire was too strong to overcome or to properly steer to a healthier target? Here she was, drowning in her own desire, making her words moot. She pulled back, though, to suck in a breath, to try to get her bearings, even as her knees felt like they might give at any second. Wilder glanced at her, the surprise on his face mirroring her own. Neither one of them had expected such an explosive kiss, it seemed, neither one was prepared for the unstoppable avalanche of desire that welled up between them, the hum of the electricity.
The power of it took her completely off guard. It unnerved her.
“I can’t...” What was she even going to say? I can’t do this? More like, I can’t stop myself from doing it.
“I’m not going to push you where you don’t want to go.” Wilder took another step back, and his arms fell away. “I don’t want this unless you do. Period.”
She felt surprised by his intent to get consent. She shouldn’t have been. Hadn’t she been ranting about consent—mutual consent—in her column for years? Hadn’t she denounced the alpha, rip-your-clothes-off, courtesy-be-damned arch type? Now that she was faced with Wilder, though, with his white-hot sexuality, with him challenging her to take what she wanted, she realized he wasn’t going to give her an out. He was going to make her claim what she wanted.
The Sex Cure Page 7
