Something Wild: A Reckless and Real Prequel Novella (5 page)

K
nocking
. Someone’s knocking at my front door.
Thank you, sweet baby Jesus.

I texted Sam as soon as I got home. One sentence. Seven words. An invitation.

I’ve sat here for nearly half an hour, waiting, staring at my too-silent phone and wondering if I’d be better off drawing myself a bath and sinking into it with a dirty book and a large glass of wine.

Grinning, I peek through the peephole and see Sam on the stoop. The top buttons of his dress shirt are undone and his tie is loose around his neck. In one hand, he’s holding a bottle of wine.

As casually as I can, I open the door to greet him, but deep down inside, I’m like an ill-trained dog that wants to jump on him, lick his face, and hump his leg.

“Hey,” I say softly, leaning against the doorjamb.

His gaze skims over me, and my nerve endings fire to life in the wake of his appraisal. “You left.”

“You stole my underwear.”

His lips quirk into a grin. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

“Listen, there’s no shame in wearing women’s panties. Gender identity is really fluid these days, and if you prefer lace to cotton under your trousers, who am I to judge?”

He cocks a brow, apparently unfazed by my attempts to emasculate him. “Are you going to invite me in, Rowdy?”

Stepping back, I swallow and motion inside the house. “Come on in.” He offers the bottle of wine, and I take it. “Thanks. I’ll go get a couple of glasses.”

“Just”—I’m two steps toward the kitchen when he grabs my wrist and spins me around—“stop for a minute.”

“Wha—”

His mouth crushes against mine. With one hand, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me closer, while the other wraps around the side of my neck. The hand at my neck makes me feel so small—fragile, as if I’m something he wants to protect. The hand at my waist makes me feel powerful—as if I’m something he wants to possess.

And PC or not, I want to be possessed by Samuel Bradshaw. I want to taste his kind of pleasure, to be bound and at his mercy. It’s not just what he’s told me. I’ve heard the rumors, the whispers. I don’t know that I’ve ever craved something like that before, and with any other man, I probably wouldn’t.

When he breaks the kiss, our breathing is unsteady, louder, as if the air in the room grew heavier while our mouths touched and now it’s harder to breathe.

“I’ll go pour the wine,” I say. I turn toward the kitchen before I can lose myself in his eyes. His steps sound behind me, but I focus on finding two wine glasses and the corkscrew, and try to think of a safe subject. It’s not like I’ve never had a booty call before, but this is awkward. Because it’s Sam? Or because I need to prove to myself that I can have the one thing I’ve denied wanting for four years?

“Did you end up dancing with the governor’s daughter?” I ask.

“I did.”

“What do you think?” I pour the wine, watching the deep red liquid fill the glass. “Wife material? Think you’ll let her have your babies?” When I allow myself to turn, I nearly drop the glasses. He’s removed his tie and is wrapping it around his fist. Why didn’t I realize what nice hands he has? They’re big and strong, and . . . capable.

Something flickers in his eyes and is gone again in a breath before his gaze darkens. “I’m not interested in marrying anyone. My father will come to terms with that.” Again, I think,
Heartbroken, Sam is heartbroken
, but as far as I know he wasn’t even seeing anyone, and I’m not sure where I’m getting that idea. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. Maybe I just want him to be the kind of guy who gives his heart to be broken. Maybe I want to be the one to put it back together again.

“Think you’ll let her have your babies?”
Tonight, her innocent question is salt in a fresh wound. I’m not the kind of man women see as the father of their children.

Shit. A few days ago, my biggest problem was trying to figure out how I was going to tell my parents—my conservative, model-citizen, bank-owning parents, with political aspirations—that I fucked up, and that my life was now inextricably tied to a woman I wasn’t even sure I liked.

I was scared out of my mind, but I pulled her into my arms—this woman I hardly know and might not even like—and stroked her hair and promised it would be okay. I’d take care of her. I’d make this right. I held her and turned my problem over and over in my head like a puzzle that needed solving. As soon as she told me, I acted. I got her out of her shitty apartment and into a nice little condo, and gave her a nest egg to hold her over until she could find a new job. But I still hadn’t figured out how to tell my parents that this soon-to-be-ex-stripper was the one I’d be bringing home for family dinners.

Two days ago, she took that problem right out of my hands when she showed up at my place and told me it was over. She said it was for the best. And when I asked her to reconsider, she called me a selfish bastard. And maybe I am. Because I’d do anything to get her to change her mind.

“Hey.” Liz snaps me back to the present. She’s still holding a glass of wine in her hand as she lifts it, brushing her knuckles across my cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

I wrap my fingers around her wine glass and, without taking it from her hand, bring it to my lips. My breathing slows. Something releases inside me at the feel of her fingers under mine, and the softness in her eyes. The taste of the wine slows my racing heart.

After three long swallows, I take the glass from her hand and put it on the counter. “I need you naked and wet.”

Naked and wet.
Yes, please.

God, I love the way his eyes continually rake over me, as if he’s trying to make sure I haven’t gone anywhere and at the same time he wants to take me all in, memorize me.

“Shower with me?” he asks.

I blink and nod to the hallway.

After a few steps in that direction, he turns back to me. “You coming?”

To the shower.
My stomach somersaults with nerves and anticipation. This is really going to happen.

I follow him, conscious of the ache between my legs with every step. Maybe I should stop this before it goes any further. He’s made it clear how he feels about romance, about forever, and I can tell he’s only here to distract himself from something else—probably from some
one
else.

But I can’t focus on that when there’s something more captivating keeping my attention. Namely, the sight of a Sam Bradshaw stripping in the middle of my bathroom. He’s turned on the shower, and the sound of the water hitting the tiles fills my ears as he sheds his dress shirt and tugs his undershirt off over his head.

Lord have mercy, this man’s body is just insane.

His chest and shoulders are broad and sculpted, his waist narrow. A trail of light brown hair draws a path over his belly before disappearing under the waistband of his pants. I want to follow it with my fingers, then my mouth. I want to see if that muscled torso is as hot as it makes me feel.

When he turns and catches me watching him, he smirks. “Like what you see?”

“You should be shirtless more often. As in, as often as possible.” I shake away my awe. Before tonight, I had only a vague idea of what might be under his clothes. Now that I’m up close and personal with his hard body . . . I want more.

I reach for the button on his pants, and he stops me.

“Not yet,” he says. Then with a single sweep of his hand down my back, he’s unzipped my dress and it’s falling to the floor, pooling around my feet. My breasts are swollen, their peaks tight with need under the dark lace of my bra. “Jesus, Liz. You take my breath. You always have.”

That makes something flutter in my belly. Something stronger than lust and more dangerous. Something that pushes me closer to this edge I’m clinging to so precariously. I can’t fall. Not for Sam.

I reach back to release my bra, and he grabs my hands and stops me. His eyes flash to mine. “I want to do it. Don’t get used to your hands being free. They won’t be for long.”

As he steps forward, my hands instinctively go to his chest, desperate to feel him while I can. He releases the clasp then slides his hands under the straps and over each shoulder, letting it fall to the floor. Then he shifts his hands so they’re cupping my ass. He bows his head, his lips hovering just above mine. “How do you want it? Soft? Hard? Slow or fast?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “All of it.”

I feel like a starved woman being served for the first time in months, like I need all I can get from Sam. I’m not inexperienced, but the men I’ve given myself to didn’t make me feel the way he does—the way he’s made me feel since I was a young, awkward teenager trying to impress my friend’s older brother. My fantasies of Sam set the standard, and no man has ever measured up.

Until now.

One of the hands cupping me finds the seam of my ass, following the path down over my most sensitive, private parts until he reaches the wet, hot, aching center of me. I arch my back, urging his circling fingers inside.

“I want to taste you here.”

“Just fuck me,” I beg. “I want you.”

He groans. “Not yet. First, I want you bound and writhing while I fuck you with my fingers and tongue.”

I drop my hand between our bodies and push his pants and briefs from his hips in one desperate movement. I wrap my fingers around his cock and stroke him. He’s long and hard, thick in a way that might scare me if I weren’t desperate to take everything he has to offer.

I moan, willing him to make good on his promise, willing him to slide his fingers into me. I’ve never felt so empty. So needing to be filled.

But before I get what I’m looking for, he steps away. “Not so fast, Rowdy.” He grasps my hands at the wrists and wraps them with his tie, binding them securely with expert efficiency. My lips part in surprise and he ducks his head, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Remember the rules. You tell me if it’s too much.”

“I trust you.” But I can’t speak the lie without squeezing my eyes shut. I trust him with my body, but I’m scared for my heart.

Slowly, he turns me toward the mirror and stands behind me, his front to my back. He kisses the side of my neck. Sucks. Works his way down with the same delicious torture that fills my body with heat and need and a want so intense it’s an ache. “Open your eyes, beautiful. I’m going to touch every inch of you, and then I’m going to taste you.” His big hand presses between my shoulder blades, and I follow the unspoken command and lean over from my hips, arching my back. It would be so easy for him to slide into me right now. His cock is practically nestled between my legs. One shift of his hips, and he’ll be where I want him.

I watch our reflection fog up in the mirror as he runs his fingers down my spine.

“Would you watch?” he asks. “If I fucked you here, in front of the mirror? Would you watch me take you?”

Balancing myself with my bound wrists against the vanity, I arch my back harder and grind into him. “Yes.”

He leans forward and presses an open mouth to the small of my back then sucks hard enough to draw the skin between his teeth. “Soon.”

“
Y
ou look so fucking
sexy right now.”

“How so?” Liz is breathless, bent at the waist, ass against my dick, wriggling in a way that’s more instinctive than calculated, but still likely to make me lose my mind.

“I can’t decide what would be sexier—you like this or on your knees with my dick in your mouth. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve imagined you with your hands bound?”

Slowly, I run my hands over her skin, down her back, over her hips, over her stomach, and up to her breasts. She understands my unspoken command and stays still as I touch her. Leaning forward, I mold my body against hers and trail kisses across her shoulders as I cup her breasts.

I want to watch her eyes grow hot in the mirror, but the shower has gone hot and the room is filling with steam. I draw her up and press my mouth to hers. She loops her bound hands over my head and presses her body closer to mine, and I need to take a minute and register that this isn’t just a fantasy.

Liz is real. So real. And tonight she’s mine.

I lead her into the shower and take a minute to watch the hot water wash over her skin. Unable to resist, I duck out from under her arms and catch a rivulet with my mouth as it rolls off the tight bud of her nipple. Her breasts are the perfect size. Not very large, but enough to fill my mouth and hands. I draw her nipple between my teeth, and she gasps.

Her hands go to my hair, and I’m tempted to change my plans, to let her keep her hands free, pulling on my hair as she fucks my face. As appealing as that sounds, I remember the look in her eyes when I told her I wanted her bound as I tasted her. Carefully lifting her hands over her head, I hook the tie onto the showerhead.

The position keeps her face just behind the spray, and when she lifts her eyes to mine, there’s so much heat and lust there it nearly stops my heart.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time. But you were off-limits.” The confession makes me feel oddly vulnerable, but I love the way she reacts. Her lips part and she draws in a surprised little gasp of air.

“I’ve been legal for a long time.”

“But Max claimed you first.”

“Claimed me? I was never his. He didn’t own me.”

I merely arch a brow. “But he wanted you, and the feeling wasn’t one-sided.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about Max right now.”

“Good.” I cup her face in my hands and press my mouth to hers. I know she’s here for the wicked and dirty things I whispered in her ear at the wedding, but I want more than that. I kiss her hard, rubbing my tongue against hers as my hands find her hips and squeeze her ass. When we’re both breathless and our hips are rolling of their own volition, I start down her body, kissing and sucking my way from her neck to her breasts. She rocks into my mouth, and I scrape my teeth over her nipple. Her cry echoes in the shower stall, and I move to the plump curve of her breast, sucking her hard into my mouth—marking her.

By the time I get to her navel, I’m on my knees, right where I planned to be. I run soft kisses across her stomach. Lower. Inching closer to her bare, swollen sex.

I trace my finger down the center of her sex, and the whimper that slips from her lips sends blood rushing to my cock.

As I graze my teeth over each hipbone, I lift her legs one at a time and position them on my shoulders. She gasps, but I squeeze her ass and hold her close, her pussy nestled against my face. Then, slowly, I taste her. I start with her clit, licking it before sucking the swollen flesh between my lips. She cries out and her ass flexes, her thighs tightening around my head. I suck a little harder, and she rocks toward my face, but then catches herself and stills.

I pull away and look up at her through the water. She’s so fucking beautiful from this position. Arms tied above her head, breasts thrust out, and—sexiest of all—her gaze locked on every move I’m making between her thighs.

“Don’t hold back,” I command. “I want you to ride the pleasure. Fuck my face until it feels so good, I get to taste you as you come.” I punctuate my command with my tongue at her entrance, sliding into her, tasting her, filling her. And she obeys. As I kiss and explore every inch of her, her hips rock. I find the sensitive spot at the top of her inner thigh, and gently nip her flesh. And through every second of it, I hold her tight, squeezing her ass and pressing her closer to my mouth, like her pleasure is salvation and I’m a lost and broken soul.

When she comes, it’s spectacular. She comes with her whole body, all of her muscles clenching and squeezing until everything releases and she’s whimpering in the aftermath, and I feel like a fucking god.

Slowly, I lower her feet to the floor, one at a time, and stand to release her arms. I’m surprised to find my own legs shaking—not from exertion but weak with need. When I untie her wrists, she takes my face in her hands and kisses me as hard as I kissed her earlier.

“I love that you’re not afraid to taste yourself on me,” I whisper against her lips, the water pouring down my back.

She smiles. “Anyone ever tell you how good you are at that?”

“At what?”

The pink in her cheeks deepens a little. “
That.
”

I grunt. “I never would have guessed you’d be shy about saying the words.”

She drops her gaze to her body. “I’m feeling a little naked and exposed here, that’s all.”

“Hmm. Well, I hope you’re not counting on changing that anytime soon.”

Something flashes in her eyes, and the only promise I make is in my grin. I turn off the shower and grab the towels to dry us off.

He dries me slowly, and almost everywhere the towel touches, he follows with his mouth. When he reaches my wrists, I’m surprised to have him release them. As hungry as I’ve been to touch him, I’m almost disappointed to be freed. I didn’t want that part of the fantasy to end.

The second I relax my arms, my shoulders scream in protest. I didn’t realize how sore they were from being pinned back until he released them.

“You okay?” He wraps the towel around me and rubs my shoulders with strong, sure fingers, and the tension releases. His mouth follows his fingers as he trails soft kisses across my shoulders.

“I’m fine.” I force a smile, but it’s hard to act carefree when something inside you is melting. I wasn’t prepared for melting. For falling. I invited him here for hot, dirty sex. He made his terms clear, didn’t he? I won’t be that girl who up and changes the rules. “Come on, let me show you to my bedroom.”

His eyes flash in approval as I take his hand, leading him down the short hallway to my room.

Sam looks around slowly, then cocks a brow at me. “It’s . . . pink.”

I grin, kick the door closed, and drop my towel. “I like pink.”

He skims his gaze over me, his mouth hitching up into a lopsided smile. “It suits you.” He nods to the bed. “Lie down.”

“Bossy.”

“You have no idea.”

Grinning, I climb on top of my comforter—also pink—and prop myself on my elbows. “Why are you still wearing that towel? The only thing you should have on is a condom.”

He rakes his gaze over me—assessing, approving. Even the way he looks at me turns me on. He climbs into bed beside me and props himself up on one elbow. “Don’t rush me, woman.” The command and the roughness in his tone steal my breath. “You’re going to need to roll to your stomach if you want me to make those shoulders feel better.”

“It’s fine,” I protest, but he just shakes his head and nudges me onto my stomach.

The second his fingers start working magic on my shoulders, I’m glad he insisted. The muscles are sore from being held so long in such an awkward position, and the tension melts away at his touch.

I’m practically falling asleep by the time his touches turn to kisses and he rolls me over.

When Liz looks at me, her gaze is heavy but happy. “Are you going to make me beg you, Sam Bradshaw?”

“Beg?”

“Not that our shower didn’t leave me . . . satisfied, but . . .” She takes her lower lip between her teeth in a way that’s both cute and really fucking hot.

She shifts under me, then wraps her legs around my waist, bringing my dick to rest against her slick folds.

I groan.
Condom. Get a fucking condom.
Everything about this moment is an invitation—the way she’s looking at me, the heat in her eyes. I’ve never been so tempted to slide into a woman without protection. It’s not an option—now more than ever—but fuck, if it’s not tempting at this moment.

“Liz,” someone bellows.

We both stiffen.

“Lizzy?” It’s a guy, and he’s right outside her door. A drunk, belligerent man, in her house, at her bedroom door. My body tenses, shifting gears, ready to fight.

Liz seems to sense the change in me, and she wraps her hand around my wrist. “Relax. It’s just Connor.”

“Connor? As in, my sister’s boyfriend? That Connor?”

“As in your
friend
Connor. I think he’s drunk.” She’s already climbing out of bed, not worried about explaining to me why the hell Connor is showing up drunk at her bedroom door in the middle of the night. “I’m going to check on him.”

She starts opening drawers and pulling out clothes. So she can go see
Connor.

I don’t want Connor to see her like this—freshly showered, her cheeks still flushed from coming. Or maybe I do. Maybe I want to make sure he knows. She’s here with me.
Mine.

My jealousy is so irrational it catches me off guard.

I take her hand, stopping her from pulling on her pants, then I latch my mouth onto her neck. She moans as I kiss and suck, then cries out as I bite down.

I pull back, satisfied when I see I’ve marked her. Good.

“Liz? I need you.” He’s practically whimpering.

“I’m coming,” she calls. “Just a minute.”

Fucking Connor. I’m not letting her go out there without me.

Suddenly, I remember that none of my clothes made it to the bedroom with us.

Liz bites back a grin, apparently realizing my conundrum. “You’re not going out there anyway, so don’t worry about it.” Giggles lace her words.

“The hell I’m not. He’s drunk.”

“Sam?” Connor says on the other side of the door. “Is that you, man? Oh, shit. Did your sister send you here? I told her to stay out of it.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I shoot Liz a pointed look. “I’m going with you.”

“Want to borrow some panties? How do you feel about pink?” This time, she lets the giggle free.

I snatch the towel off the floor where it landed earlier. “I’ll go get my clothes.”

I sneak out the door before she can protest, and pull it shut tight behind me. Connor’s sitting in the hall, eyes half closed, and I don’t bother explaining myself before I cross to the bathroom to pull on my pants and undershirt.

When I get back to Lizzy’s room, she’s dressed. If you can call it that. She’s in a worn-out Sinclair tee and nothing else, as far as I can tell.

I skim my gaze over her down to where the shirt ends at mid-thigh. I love the way it looks on her—stretched across her breasts, her nipples poking at the fabric, and the way it shows off her long, flawless legs. I
don’t
love the idea of her greeting another man in nothing but that. Especially Connor.

I open the nearest dresser drawer, grab a pair of thick flannel pants, and shove them in her hands. “If you’re going out there, would you please wear these too?”

She smirks. “Are you jealous?”

Raking my gaze over her again, I shake my head. “Don’t mistake my selfishness for jealousy. I don’t want to share.”

I wait for her to put on the pants—not that it helps much. How does she make a T-shirt and flannel pants look so goddamn indecent? For a minute, I contemplate ordering her to stay in the bedroom, but I know that wouldn’t go over well, so I head to the hall to find Connor.

This guy was one of my best friends through college. We got thrown together as roommates freshman year, and our friendship formed from there. I’ve never been as close to him as I am to Max and Will, but we were cool.

Until he started dating my little sister.

Connor’s passed out in the hall, his head slumped to the side as if he’s trying to use his own shoulder as a pillow.