Chapter Five #2
The tension in the room becomes electric.
In one smooth movement, he lifts me. I gasp, my heart skipping deliciously. He lowers me to the bed, the mattress dipping beneath my weight. He doesn’t climb over me immediately. Instead, he stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at me.
Really looking.
The intensity of it makes my skin prickle.
My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it. The room feels smaller, warmer, filled with the sound of our breathing.
“Wilder…” My voice comes out soft, uncertain.
His jaw tightens. “You have no idea what you do to me, baby girl.”
The words send heat curling low in my belly.
He reaches for me again, slower this time.
His fingers slide beneath the hem of my shirt, skimming over my skin as he pushes the fabric up.
The movement is unhurried, deliberate, as if he wants me to feel every second of it.
My back arches in response when his knuckles brush the underside of my breasts.
He stills. His gaze drops, his eyes darkening with a hunger that makes my breath catch.
“Arms up,” he murmurs.
I obey automatically. He pulls the shirt over my head and tosses it aside, but his eyes never leave me. The look on his face makes me suddenly aware of every inch of my body. I want to cover myself and lean into him at the same time.
His hands move to my bra. For a moment, he just traces the edge of it, his fingers rough and warm against my skin.
“You’re shaking,” he says.
“I’m not scared,” I whisper.
A low sound escapes him. He reaches behind me and unhooks my bra. The straps slide down my arms, and when the last barrier falls away, the air feels colder. His gaze darkens further, sweeping over me in a way that makes my toes curl.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, like the words are pulled out of him.
The vulnerability in his voice makes something inside my chest squeeze.
He leans down and presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below my collarbone. His lips move lower, then lower again, but he doesn’t linger. Not yet. It’s as if he’s cataloging, learning, memorizing.
When he straightens, his hands move to my jeans. He pauses, looking at my face. “Still sure?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
He nods once and opens the button. The sound is loud in the quiet room. The zipper follows, my body trembling involuntarily. His fingers slide along my hips, pushing the fabric down.
He kneels, slowly guiding my jeans and panties down my legs, his touch lingering at my calves, my ankles. When he finally pushes them off and stands again, I’m completely bare.
For a moment, neither of us moves, the air thick with anticipation. I feel exposed. Vulnerable. But the way he looks at me doesn’t make me want to hide. It makes me feel wanted in a way I’ve never known before.
His chest rises and falls, his control visibly fraying.
“Your turn,” I whisper.
Something flashes in his eyes. Something dark and dangerous.
He reaches for the buttons of his shirt, but his gaze never leaves mine as he opens them one by one, the slow reveal making my pulse race.
When the shirt falls away, my hands move before I can stop them, sliding over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the strength beneath it, the faint ridges of old scars.
I trace one with my fingertips. His breath hitches.
“Does that hurt?” I ask softly.
“Not anymore.”
My chest tightens.
He steps out of the rest of his clothes, the final barrier gone. Seeing him like this…fully, completely, steals the air from my lungs. He’s powerful, imposing, every inch of him radiating control and restraint barely held in check.
For a moment, I can’t breathe.
I’ve touched him before, but not like this... Seeing him now—all of him—feels different. It feels real in a way that makes my pulse thunder in my ears. My gaze drifts downward before I can stop it and heat floods my face.
He’s…big. Bigger than I let myself imagine. My fingers curl in the sheets as a shiver runs through me. Excitement and nerves twist together low in my stomach, sharp and electric.
Wilder notices. Of course he does.
His mouth curves slightly, but his eyes soften. “You okay, baby girl?”
I swallow. “You’re…big.”
A quiet huff of laughter escapes him, but there’s tension under it. “Don’t worry. It’ll fit…and feel good.”
“I know,” I insist, though my voice comes out breathless. “I just…didn’t think about the logistics.”
That earns a low, warm chuckle. The sound wraps around me, easing the tight knot of worry in my chest.
“Logistics,” he repeats. “We’ll figure those out together.”
The reassurance settles something inside me.
He joins me on the bed, moving slowly so I can savor every second of it. The mattress dips as his weight settles beside me. The heat of his body reaches mine before he even touches me, and my nerves shift, melting into something softer. Anticipation. Want.
His hand finds my hip, thumb brushing small, soothing circles into my skin. “Still nervous?”
“Yes,” I admit.
“Good.” His voice drops. “Means this matters.”
His gaze drifts over me again, but now there’s something more in it. Care. The same steadiness he always has when he’s guiding me, teaching me, making sure I never feel overwhelmed.
He leans down and presses a slow kiss to my mouth. Not demanding. Just grounding. His lips move against mine until the tightness in my chest eases and the fear fades beneath the warmth of him.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “We’ve got all night,” he murmurs.
My hands slide over his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the tension he’s holding back for me. “I trust you,” I whisper.
The words change something in his expression. The last of the distance disappears. His mouth finds mine again—and where every kiss before tonight held something back, this one doesn’t. It’s slow, devouring, certain. I whimper into it, my hands fisting in his hair.
His hand slides down between us, fingers parting my folds, and he groans against my mouth at what he finds there.
“So wet for me,” he murmurs. “So ready.” He circles my clit, slow and patient, until my hips are chasing his hand on their own.
Then one finger eases inside me, then a second, stretching, working me open while his thumb keeps up that maddening rhythm.
I’m trembling, slick, aching for something I don’t fully have words for.
“That’s it, baby girl,” he breathes against my throat. “Let me get you ready.”
By the time he draws his fingers free, I’m panting, wound so tight I feel like I might come apart from wanting.