Running Wild(Wild #3)(95)

Slipping a hand from his pocket, he holds it out, palm up.

Beckoning me.

I slide mine into it without hesitation, allowing him to pull me closer.

His expression softens as his eyes roam my face, lingering on my mouth. “You know, I never expected this to happen.”

“Neither did I.” I’d all but given up on it.

I’m waiting for him to lean in to kiss me, but he reaches for the screen door instead, leading me inside.

The surge of expectation in the air is palpable as I step out of my muddy boots and into my little home. I pull the chain on a nearby lamp for some light. “It’s a bit of a mess.” I wasn’t expecting company. There are dishes in the sink and a hamper of laundry that I hauled to and from my parents’ earlier.

He surveys the cozy space, his attention slowing on my bed. At least I washed the sheets and remade it. “It’s just like you.”

“Are you calling me an old, messy shack in the woods, Tyler?”

He’s about four inches taller than I am, but it seems like more as he closes the distance, herding me until my back settles against the wall. An oddly somber expression comes over his face.

My heart pounds as he reaches up to stroke a strand of hair off my cheek, tucking it behind my ear, the touch sending a shiver skittering over my skin.

“It’s honest, unpretentious, practical …” His words drift into a kiss that feels much like the one yesterday in the barn—gentle, and yet needy.

I part my lips for him, allowing him inside, our tongues toying with each other as if testing boundaries for the night. In my head, there are none. We’ve already crossed lines I never expected us to even approach. The fact that he changed his mind about coming in tells me he knew where this would lead, and he made the conscious choice to let it happen.

That night in the parking lot was frantic and rushed and desperate, our bodies mostly covered as we satisfied each other. Tonight, I want to see all of him, I want to feel all of him, every inch of bare skin against me.

I press my palms against his stomach, sliding them upward, over his shapely chest, over his collarbones, up to scrape my fingertips across his bristly jaw, admiring every masculine inch of him.

His lips leave mine to skate across my jaw and along my neck. Shivers dance along my spine as his hands slip beneath the hem of my shirt, splayed around my rib cage as they climb upward, until they reach my cotton sports bra. It was a choice for comfort rather than style that I vaguely regretted before, but now I see the benefit, as Tyler’s thumbs easily edge beneath, pushing up the material. I moan softly as he fills his palms with my breasts.

I’ve never enjoyed anyone’s hands on me like his.

I’ve never wanted anyone’s hands on me more.

Tugging my top over my head, I toss it to the floor. My sweatpants follow immediately after until I’m standing in front of him in nothing but plain white panties that aren’t in the least bit sexy.

But the way Tyler’s eyes heat as they rake shamelessly over my body sets my blood on fire, and nothing else matters. With a hard look of determination, he yanks off his shirt, uncovering a torso that, while lean and athletic, is sculpted with seasoned muscle.

With eager anticipation, I loop my finger through his buckle and unfasten his belt. In seconds, I have his jeans undone and pulled open, exposing the ridge that I ache to feel inside me again.

Strong, calloused hands grasp my thighs as he hoists me into the air and pins me against the wall, his mouth landing on mine, this time with that uncontrollable hunger that sent us spiraling last time. Maybe fast and furious is our only speed.

My fingers curl around his biceps, memorizing their curves and firmness, acutely aware of the hard length pressing against me where our bodies meet and the way my body responds.

His eager mouth leaves mine to drift over my jawline, along my neck, and down to seize a nipple.

My head falls back against the wall, reveling in the delicious sensation and expertise in which he uses his tongue to tease until my breathing is labored and my fists are grasping at his hair and the building ache where his hips are nestled against me is almost unbearable.

A wave of adrenaline rushes through as he lifts me off the wall and carries me toward my bed. But he stalls at the small wooden dining table, setting me on it. “Shit. Sorry.” He quickly sheds his shoes.

I couldn’t care less if my entire place was covered in Tyler’s muddy footprints.

My mouth goes dry as I trace the cut of his body, his jeans sitting low, exposing the sharp V at his hips.

His palms slide over my bare thighs. “Marie, when you look at me like that …” His words trail, his eyes wild as they search every inch of me.

I reach up to drag the soft pad of my thumb over his bottom lip. His mouth closes over it, his dark, heated stare locked on mine. The moment feels like the calm before an unyielding storm.

I welcome the storm, arching my back instinctively.

With a soft curse, his frantic lips land on mine again, his hands hooked around my thighs. I’m expecting him to carry me the rest of the way to my bed, but he tips me backward instead, until I’m splayed across my table and he’s guiding my panties off my hips and down my legs. His lips are a whisper against my ankle as he tosses the last of my clothing away.

“Tyler …” I whisper, my voice thick with need. I peer up at him and am treated to a crooked smirk, as if he knows how utterly consumed I am by him.