Chapter 35
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
MAISIE
Thankfully, I did not catch whatever Black Death type of sickness was plaguing Wilder early last week, which is extremely fortunate for me.
But what is unfortunate for me is that we’ve only seen each other once since then, and it was for about twenty seconds as we passed each other at the arena.
He nodded a typical Wilder-esque hello, and I gave him the same smile I give everyone.
And that was it.
I guess I didn’t realize how much I hated it until that moment.
Not being able to be who we are together when it’s just the two of us, when we’re alone and no one’s watching.
When he’s… not as callous and closed off.
When it’s just us and these moments when he’s laughing, and teasing, and yes, making me come.
But it feels like more than that.
It feels like we’re becoming friends, outside of the orgasms and incredible sex. And snarky bantering that usually leads to both.
He even sent an emoji this morning when we were texting about him coming over tonight.
An emoji.
Wilder sent an emoji.
Granted, yes, it was an eggplant, which is the most cliché of all, but I finally got his geriatric self to send an emoji, so I’ll be celebrating that win for a very long time.
Just as I finish pouring the measuring cup of flour into the mixing bowl, I hear a knock at the front door.
“Coming!” I call out as I set down the cup and drag my palms down the front of my apron. My hands are sticky with sugar and butter, and truthfully, I’m afraid to look in the mirror to see if I’m as much of a wreck as I’m sure I am.
I’ve always been the world’s messiest baker.
I probably shouldn’t have decided at the very last minute to make my Mawmaw’s famous chocolate chip cookies when I knew Wilder would be here soon, but…
He may have mentioned they’re his favorite.
But I’m not making them for him.
I’m making them all for myself, but maybe he heavily influenced my decision to.
Sebastian trots alongside me, his tail flicking happily as I walk down the hallway to the front door. Clearly, he’s not put off in the slightest by Wilder’s distaste for him.
I think that maybe, like me, he gets that Wilder is just… prickly. He needs the chance to thaw a little, is all.
“Way to be tenacious, handsome king,” I say to Sebastian, giggling when he meows on cue as if he’s responding.
When I pull the front door open, Wilder’s standing there with his hands shoved in the pockets of black gym shorts. He must’ve just showered because his dark hair is damp and curling at his temples and nape, and he smells like the most delicious mixture of rich amber and smoky bourbon.
I can’t imagine there’s ever going to be a time when I’m over how stupidly hot he is.
Even after all of these weeks, every time I see him, there’s this flip of my stomach, my pulse racing until my head swims.
Like… I get to fuck this man.
I get mind-blowing orgasms from him.
“Hi,” I breathe, sounding far more calm, cool, and collected than the thoughts in my head currently are. “Do you want to come in?”
Wilder’s lips twitch as he shrugs. “Nah. Probably just gonna stand out here all night.”
I’m thinking of a very good snarky response when he leans forward, the dark gray fabric of his T-shirt straining on his ink-stained biceps as he lifts his thumb and sweeps it along my cheek, then pulls it back for me to see. “Think you’ve got flour all over you, Sunshine.”
Shit. I didn’t realize it was on my freaking face.
I leave the door open for him and walk straight to the mirror hanging in the living room to inspect my reflection.
And of course, there’s flour on my cheeks, and some on my nose and on my eyebrow.
“Sunshine? That’s new,” I say when I turn to look at him. “Are we doing pet names now, Coach?”
His laugh washes over me, and I realize I probably shouldn’t like the sound as much as I do. “Would you prefer brat?” When I shoot him a mock glare, he smirks. “What are you making? It smells fucking delicious.”
He’s leaning against the island in my kitchen, doing his best to ignore Sebastian, who’s relentless in his pursuit of head scratches by rubbing against his legs.
I walk over to the tray of cookies that are nearly done cooling on the racks and pick one up to show him. “Chocolate chip cookies.”
His brow shoots up. “You made me cookies?”
Yes.
No?
Ugh, yes.
“Who said they were for you?” I take a big bite and grin around it when his gaze darkens, something heated pooling in the dark brown irises.
For me… or the cookie? I nearly giggle at the thought.
I swallow down the bite and drag my finger along the corner of my lip, catching crumbles before bringing it back to my mouth and wrapping my lips around it, sucking.
“Very presumptuous of you to assume that I made them for you, Coach.” The nickname rolls off my tongue, and he simply hums with a barely perceptible nod.
Unaffected, per usual.
Or at least that’s what he wants me to think.
But… I’m starting to see Wilder in ways I never thought I would.
Learning his tells, discovering the things he uses to keep me at arm’s length. Too bad they’re not working as well as he’d like to think.
Suddenly, Wilder’s in front of me, his large hand curving roughly along my hip before I’m flipped around, every inch of his hard, powerful front pressing flush to my back as my hips are pinned against the counter in front of me.
The cookie in my hand disappears, along with my breath, stolen by the man I like teasing far more than I should.
Which is probably for the best because I have to grip the counter to keep myself upright, my legs trembling when he dips his head and his warm breath skates along the shell of my ear.
“Missed that mouth, Sunshine.” The hand still curved around my hip slides around to my front, splaying across my stomach.
“Not sure what I want to taste first… this cookie or you.”
My God.
How did he manage to make food sound so erotic, and why does it have my thighs clenching together tightly?
There are a lot of adjectives I would use to describe Wilder.
Intense. Callous. Guarded. Abrasive. Broody. Temperamental.
Hot. Definitely hot.
And dare I say now… playful?
Not a word I would’ve ever thought I’d utter in the same breath as Wilder Hawthorne.
But I’ve recently discovered a new, very surprising side of him that honestly I’m slightly obsessed with.
Take right now, for instance.
It’s moments like these where it feels like he’s… soft.
But only for me, and that makes my heart flutter for a completely different reason.
It makes me feel like this side of him, this version, is something that only I get. A side I don’t have to share with anyone else.
A part of Wilder that’s mine.
Which absolutely does not help the crush that I’m so desperately trying to pretend doesn’t exist. That nagging feeling that sits in the back of my mind, tugging at the darkest corners of my heart whenever I’m with him. Whenever he even crosses my mind.
It’s dangerous.
“Well,” I say when I can finally get enough air in my lungs to respond to his comment. “You could have the cookies…” I flip around to face him, raking my teeth over my bottom lip as I tip my chin. “If they were for you.”
His lip curls in my favorite half smirk. “Brat.”
“Sorry. But they’re for the…” I trail off, scrambling. “The team.” I nod. “Yep. They’re for the… team. They’ve worked so hard for them.”
Wilder chuckles.
It’s a rough, sensual sound that I feel in my lower belly.
I have no idea why I’m taunting him right now, but I think I like it too much to stop.
“Mmm,” he murmurs, and I feel him lightly tracing his fingers along the ruffle of the apron, right where my nipples are, where they’re hard and so sensitive, pressing against fabric that suddenly feels too tight. Too constrictive.
My brain is so fuzzy I can’t even make it through a complete thought with the way he’s touching me, with how intently he’s watching me, his scent surrounding me until there’s nothing but me and him.
I’m in so much trouble when it comes to this man.
“So they earned them?” His index finger circles my nipple languidly, his eyes remaining on mine as he says it. “I guess I need to earn them too, then, don’t I, baby?”
I don’t think we’re talking about cookies anymore.
Maybe we never were.
God, I really hope we’re not talking about cookies.
My clit throbs when he dips his head and sucks my nipple into his mouth through the apron fabric and bites down on the tip.
The rough sensation has my back arching from the counter, my body acting of its own accord to press closer to his mouth, silently begging for more.
One touch, and I already feel like I’m unraveling.
“Should I start here?” he rasps against my nipple before biting down on the peak once more, causing my breath to hitch.
And then he slowly lowers to his knees on the floor in front of me, pinning me with a hungry, heated gaze as he stares up at me.
His calloused palms curve around the top of my thighs, inching higher until he flips both the apron and my dress up in one swift flick of his wrist.
Cool air hits the front of my damp, lace-covered pussy, and my fingers curl around the edge of the counter as he leans forward and drags his nose along me, inhaling deeply.
It’s intimate… and something I’ve never experienced, having him this close to the most personal part of me. But still, I’m not nervous.
I feel comfortable with Wilder, safe to explore my desires and wants without feeling ashamed or judged by them.
He groans roughly, and the vibrations against my already sensitive pussy have me clenching around nothing, throbbing so hard that I feel it everywhere.
“Or should I start here?”
I can’t decide what’s sexier… this big, powerful man on his knees for me…
Or the eye contact that feels as overwhelming as his touch.
Together, it feels like a deadly combination.
Before I can answer, there’s a loud meow right beside us, and we jump, the spell that captured us suddenly broken.
We both look down to Sebastian sitting there, lazily flicking his tail, purring obscenely loudly, staring up at us with his indignant bright yellow gaze like he didn’t just interrupt what was undoubtedly going to be the hottest moment of my life.
Just perfect.
No… purr-fect?