Chapter 43
MAISIE
I knew something was off the moment Wilder stopped in front of our table.
I know him well enough at this point to spot the tense set of his jaw, the taut pull of his muscles like he was physically restraining himself from… something.
I would’ve assumed it was Bennett that affected him, but it couldn’t have been.
It wasn’t until right before he stormed off that Bennett made that ridiculous comment, and I could see the anger flash in his eyes. Anger that was already there.
Whatever is wrong happened before he spoke to us.
I elbowed Bennett in the ribs so hard that he folded himself over the table as Wilder stormed off, and then I waited.
Chewing the corner of my lip nervously, I tried to wait an appropriate amount of time before I made an excuse to use the restroom.
When that time came, I forced myself to casually make my way down the hallway and into the bathroom.
Lennon probably saw right through me. There’s a part of me that wonders if Saint and Bennett have any idea of what’s going on, if they’re suspicious that I took off to the bathroom only minutes after their coach did, but then there’s another part of me that doesn’t really care.
All that I can seem to care about is whatever upset Wilder, being able to ask him what the hell happened to make him act that way and assuring him that Bennett was just playing around.
I suck in a deep breath before swinging open the bathroom door to the men’s room and slipping inside. I shut it, then press my back against it, reaching behind me to flip the lock, the sound echoing around us.
Wilder’s bent slightly over the sink, his knuckles blanched white from the force of gripping the chipped porcelain. There’s something tumultuous, like heavy, low-hanging clouds before a storm, swirling in his eyes as they flick up to mine.
Our eyes meet through the mirror, and a shaky breath spills out of me.
“What the hell, Wilder?”
My words are barely above a whisper, but I don’t know how to tread. He looks filled with both fury and frustration.
And honestly, I’m not sure what’s worse.
His chin dips as he hangs his head, the broad muscles on his back coiling tight beneath the fabric of his shirt.
He’s quiet for so long that I think maybe he didn’t hear me.
But then a low, humorless laugh erupts out of him, and he slowly turns to face me.
“How was your date? Sorry I interrupted.”
“Oh, come on, Wilder. You know there’s nothing happening with Bennett,” I say, shaking my head.
His eyes darken as he leans back against the sink, jaw flexing as he grits his teeth together.
I have no doubt that Bennett annoys him.
But this?
The broody, intense energy rolling off him in staggering waves isn’t just about Bennett.
It’s something else entirely.
“You can do whatever you want, Maisie. You don’t need to explain shit to me,” Wilder clips coldly.
The words land like they’re a physical blow, and I suck in a breath when my stomach twists.
His sharp expression flickers, a moment of regret shining through, and I swallow hard.
This is what he does.
He pushes me away or shuts down the moment that I get too close. He’s allergic to feelings.
I may be inexperienced when it comes to… relationships. Situationships. Hooking up. All of it.
But by now, I do know Wilder.
More than I think either of us realized was possible. Because I see him. I see the defenses he’s throwing up, his words like bricks holding up an already crumbling wall.
“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t need your permission, nor do I need to explain my life to you,” I start, watching the muscle in his jaw flex.
“Yet, here I am, doing it anyway. Bennett and I are just friends, and that’s it.
” I take a step forward and square my shoulders, not shrinking beneath his gaze.
“You just stormed away in the middle of a conversation, which is rude, by the way, because you’re jealous? ”
Wilder prowls forward, and the provocation dies on my tongue as he crowds me back against the door, his palms flat, bracketing my head.
“Yes, Maisie, I’m fucking jealous.” Every syllable sounds like it’s been dragged against the pavement, full of gravel and heat.
“I’m burning the fuck up with jealousy. It feels like it’s going to pull me under. That what you wanna hear?”
My breath hitches when he pauses, throat bobbing with a rough swallow, nostrils flaring as he breathes heavily.
Like he’s trying to keep himself together.
Like he’s barely hanging on.
I wonder if he knows how beautiful he is when he’s skating the line of no return.
His eyes blaze. “Yeah, I fucking can’t stand that little asshole. That he’s constantly flirting with you, that he feels comfortable enough to touch you. Like you’re his to touch.”
“I’m not. “
“I know you’re not. Because you’re fucking mine, Maisie.” He keeps his voice low, but I feel every single word. Every syllable.
It’s the first time he’s ever said anything like this.
Even alluded to the fact that this might be more than physical between us.
This version of Wilder… it’s dangerous.
Not only for my body, but also for my heart.
“Then show me,” I whisper, lifting until my mouth brushes his as I speak. “If I’m yours, then show me, Coach.”
His threadbare control splinters in a single breath, and he’s slamming his mouth against mine, calloused palms traveling the curve of my jaw until his fingers tangle into the hair at my nape.
There’s nothing gentle about it.
It’s the kind of kiss that’s nothing but breath, and tongue, and heat, and hunger. A frantic mixture of desperation that bruises its way onto my lips and has heat pooling in my lower belly.
Every whimper, every breath, is stolen with each sweep of his tongue against mine.
And I know without question…
This is Wilder Hawthorne claiming me.
When he pulls back, catching my lip between his teeth, an unsteady breath rattles out of me.
His hungry gaze collides with mine, pinning me against the door behind me. I feel the graze of his knuckles along the bare skin of my thigh, just below where my dress ends, all while his eyes remain locked on me.
He’s barely touching me, yet it feels more intense than ever before.
The air between us is humming with energy, crackling like an electric current.
I catch myself holding my breath as his fingers trail higher, inch by inch, beneath my dress until they’re ghosting against the front of embarrassingly damp fabric.
Only when his fingers slip beneath the fabric does the breath expel out of me. He drags two fingers through my pussy, spreading the wetness around my clit as I cling to him.
My palms curved around his biceps, nails cutting into the skin beneath his T-shirt.
Each thrum of his fingers on my throbbing clit has me panting, my hips rocking, chasing, desperation crawling inside of me until I feel the delicious promise of my orgasm just within reach.
He knows I’m close because his fingers suddenly leave my clit, and I have to stop myself from crying out in frustration. Only then, he plunges both thick fingers inside of me deeply, curling and hitting the spot that makes my eyes roll back.
I cry out, the sound escaping me before I can stop it, and there’s a chance that the entire restaurant just heard me, but right now, I’m too lost to care.
He brings his palm to my mouth and curves it over my lips. His thumb roughly circling my clit, his fingers slamming into me, the weight of his hungry stare is too much, so I bite down on his hand to keep from screaming.
Wilder hisses, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t pull away, even if it’s hurting.
No, he presses harder against my lips, eyes burning into me as he ruthlessly fucks me with his fingers.
The lewd, wet sound of my pussy echoes in the room around us, pleasure spreading through my limbs until I’m trembling.
I’m nearly sobbing as finally, finally, I come, blinding ecstasy shooting through me and sending me soaring.
He fucks me through my orgasm until it subsides, taking every ounce from my body until I’m a limp, sweaty, sated mess.
Wilder’s chin lifts, the darkness pooling in his eyes making him appear even more intoxicating.
“This pussy is mine.” He licks away my cum from his fingers, sucking them noisily into his mouth. “It was made for me.”
I’ve hardly peeled my eyes open, completely and utterly blissed-out, when he tugs the front of his gym shorts and briefs down over his straining erection.
It springs free, bobbing between us, the thick head red and angry, precum seeping from the tip.
I never knew a man’s cock could be so much of a turn-on.
But, God, Wilder has the most beautiful cock, impossibly thick and long.
It fits me so completely, reaching every spot inside of me like he was made solely for my body.
The thought is staggering.
I pull my lip between my teeth as he wraps his hand around his erection, the same fingers that were just inside me that are still glistening with my cum, and strokes himself. He drags the pad of his thumb over his weeping slit, and an unintelligible noise wrenches out of me.
The corner of his lip curves into a smirk, eyes glued to mine as he pumps his cock with one hand and, with the other, yanks my panties roughly down my thighs.
His fingers bite into my inner thighs as he spreads me open wide and then drags the head of his cock through my slit, nudging my sensitive clit.
When my breath catches, he taps his cock once, twice, God, three times against me, and if I weren’t pinned to the door, I think my trembling legs may actually give out.
Wilder’s palm skims along the back of my thigh, tracing the curve of my ass as he lifts me completely off my feet, my legs wrapping around his waist.
He levels his gaze on me. “You’re going to come again, baby,” he grits out. “This time on my cock. And then you’re going to walk your pretty little ass back to that booth and sit next to that fucker, knowing you have my cum dripping out of you. Because you are fucking mine, Maisie.”