Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
HUDSON
I will never admit it out loud, but I think that was the best sex I’ve ever had.
Considering it was in a bathroom that looked infested with bacteria, that’s really saying something.
It’s been hours since I got home, the sun is well and truly up, and I can still feel that deep ache from Wilde’s cock filling me to the point I can’t feel my legs.
Considering how much pain I’ve been in lately, it’s an improvement.
I stretch out across my bed, feeling like the stress of the past few weeks has been sucked from my body, and when I think about it, it sort of has. Wilde did something with that blow job. Something that dried up every word I’d ever spoken and left my mind blissfully blank.
My fingers are still stiff from my deathlike grip on the door, and even as I climb to my feet and hunt down some clean clothes, flashes of the sex we had keep filling my memories .
The way he took control, the way he manhandled me, the way I could barely breathe with how hard and fast he was fucking me.
I go to pull on my shorts when I’m distracted by the bruises on my thigh.
Four circles, perfectly in line to match Wilde’s large hand.
A smile tugs the corners of my lips as I run my finger over them, remembering the way he hoisted my leg from the ground.
I want to believe he held my weight to make sure I didn’t reinjure my ankle, but knowing him, the most likely reason was so that I couldn’t run away.
Like I was going anywhere.
In fact, I’m desperate for it to happen again.
I’m only partially disappointed in myself as I do up my shorts and tug a T-shirt on. I really should be used to making terrible decisions by now, and yet every day, I wake up hoping I’ll have suddenly changed.
If anything, I think I’m getting worse.
Sutton might have been a dick, but he never threatened me, and yet thinking of Wilde makes Sutton fade into disinterest.
Guess it’ll be easier for me to keep my word to Kennedy, even if this is the exact opposite of what he wanted.
I follow the smell of coffee to the kitchen, a twinge hitting my ankle with every other step, and find Hartwell pouring himself a pot as Kennedy’s whistling comes from outside.
Hart turns his glare on me. “Make him stop. No one should be so happy this early.”
“I dunno …” I match Kennedy’s whistling for a second. “Seems like a great day to me.”
He scowls, hugging his mug between his hands as he leans against the counter and watches me pour my own cup. Somehow, he’s wearing a hoodie with his gym shorts, even though it’s already warming up. “I hate you both.”
“And we love you very, very much, pumpkin. ”
“You’re happy.”
“I’m always happy.”
I feel the searching gaze from under his hood as he drags it from my head to my feet. “Nope. This is actually happy. Not that fake shit you think we don’t notice you putting on.”
Even though I know I shouldn’t say anything, I also don’t see the point in keeping secrets from him. We all know the worst parts of each other, and this will only reinforce what a fuckup I am. “I got laid.”
“About time.” He tilts his head. “You weren’t gone long enough to head home though, so I’m guessing it wasn’t Sutt-fuck.”
“Nope. I promised Kennedy I’m done with him.”
Hart snorts his disbelief, which would irritate me if I hadn’t said I was done with Sutton a hundred times already.
“It was Wilde.”
Coffee shoots from Hart’s mouth as he chokes on the sip he just took. I thump him on the back through his coughing, and it’s not until he stops that I realize we’re not alone.
“Wilde?” Kennedy echoes.
Something twists in my gut, but I force the smile to stay in place. “Yeah. Shocking, huh? I knew that asshole wanted me.”
My brother studies my face, and I try to ignore the disappointment I can feel directed my way. “You knew why I wanted you to block Sutton.”
“Yeah, he was a dick.”
“And you deserved better! How is Wilde better ? I’d actually argue that he’s worse .”
The problem is that I agree with him. “It was a one and done. Relax.”
Kennedy and Hart might look almost identical, but I’m not used to the glare coming from my sweet brother. “It’s never one and done with you.”
“Last I checked, that was my business.”
“He has a point,” Hart backs me up, sounding like he’s already over the conversation.
He’s on the receiving end of Kennedy’s glare this time. “So you’re just going to support him through this stupid idea?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” He takes another sip of his coffee. “I think that proves I support you both through stupid ideas.”
Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have told them about fucking Wilde. Next time, I know to keep things to myself, no matter how badly I want to talk about it.
“Forget I said anything.”
Kennedy pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m going for a walk.”
Neither of us answers as he leaves.
“Interesting plan,” Hart muses. “Every time Wilde tries to run us out of town, you’re just going to bend over and distract him?”
“Fuck you.”
“Valid question from where I’m standing.”
The most irritating part of it is that I can’t even be mad at him. Maybe if I at least regretted it, I could argue the point, but I don’t. I loved every second his dick was inside me, and if he showed up for another round, I’d be ready for him.
Hell, I’m hoping for it.
I’ve been fucked until I’m raw and possibly blew out one of my stitches, but I don’t even care. I want to be back in that fucking bar again.
Every month. He’s there every month.
So even if Wilde tries to pretend like it never happened, I’ll be able to find him there and convince him to do it again.
I’m hopeful I won’t have to wait that long. There’s no way Wilde didn’t leave there feeling as satisfied as I did, and if that’s the case, I give him a few days, max, before he comes looking for it again.
I can wait him out.
Like I told Wilde, I’m having fun with his games.
The demolition of the houses went quickly, and now we’re up to the annoying part: moving walls, rewiring the electrical, shifting and updating the plumbing.
This is the part we normally get tradesmen in for, and while the plumbing is something we can do ourselves, none of us are good with electrical, so that, minimum, we’ll need to hire out.
Our problem is that even if we can find someone qualified in Wayward, we’ll be paying them to drive there and back again each day. It’s not like we have somewhere livable that we can offer them for the time it takes to get these houses right.
That’s the worst part about being so fucking remote. Where we can market it in our favor when it comes to selling, getting us to that stage might take longer than I originally planned.
Maybe we can convince one of the electricians we’ve worked with in the past to bunk with us for a few weeks and eat the difference in offering them more money.
I need to trust that we’ll find a solution like we normally do.
We work our asses off for the next few days, and even with my broken fingers, I try not to let it slow me down.
I’m stupidly restricted and still can’t do any heavy lifting, but I’m stubborn enough to push through it.
The harder I work, the less time there is to think about things …
like the reason Wilde hasn’t shown his face once .
We’re still being watched, but it’s never him. I catch sight of someone up on that outlook every morning and afternoon, and because I know they’ll be reporting back to that asshole, I always offer them a friendly wave.
Yes, we see you. No, we don’t give a shit.
Nothing they do or say is going to stop what we’re working on, and every day, I wake up expecting to find some new shit to deal with. It doesn’t come.
I’m not sure why that throws me so much. Has Wilde given up? It would be a good thing if he had, but I doubt he’s the kind of guy who throws the towel in that easily. Which makes me think he’s planning something bigger than stolen hot plates and broken windows.
And how fucked-up is it that I want him to hit us with it already?
Not so I can get whatever it is out of the way, but because I’ll have his attention again. Three days of being ignored have me working my way out of my skin.
It has nothing to do with the sex.
I can get that anywhere.
It’s not important.
But him thinking he can fuck me and then act like I don’t exist after making my life hell for the last few months? Yeah, I’m not letting him get away with that.
“You getting them out today?” Kennedy asks, pointing at his chest. He’s been more reserved since our argument, and I’m trying to ignore the guilt that jabs at me whenever we’re in the same room.
It takes me a second to realize he means the stitches. “Huh. I totally forgot.”
The thought of visiting Booker to have them removed is unsettling, but going back into the forest means getting closer to Wilde, and who knows? Maybe the sound of the dirt bike so close will bring him out of hiding.
“It’s been a week.”
I nod at the reminder. “Yeah, I’ll head down when we’re done here.”
“I can’t believe they have an actual doctor out here.”
I think calling Booker an actual doctor is pushing things, but I can’t deny that he knows what he’s talking about.
Kennedy reaches over and takes the drill from my hand. “I’m breaking for lunch, and there isn’t a whole lot else for us to do today. Go down now, and at least you’ll be back before it’s dark.”
I don’t want to leave him with it, but I take the dismissal for what it is.
Kennedy is one of those people where you genuinely feel like shit for letting them down.
I want to fix things and get his happiness back, but the only way I can think of to do that is by promising him that whatever happened with me and Wilde is done.
But it would be a lie.
Because even with Wilde disappearing on me, I’m almost positive it will happen again.
You don’t have sex like we did and then walk away unaffected.