Going Wild (The Wild Ones 2)

We didn’t even bother putting clothes back on after I finished showering and giving him a wonderful little sponge bath.

I’d really freaking love it if we could have sex, though. Because…well, I don’t think I have to explain that one.

“I can put some of your work in my other galleries. I’d like it to be there, actually,” he states randomly.

“That’s sweet, but not necessary. I actually have a few gigs lined up after this tour.”

It’s a lie, but I’d never let him put my work in his galleries as a show of gratitude or as a sex-buddy favor. Well, an oral-sex-buddy favor, rather. I want to earn my spot on someone’s floor.

Besides, my pieces are getting attention online now. I used his computer today to get a look at it, and I emailed Lilah Vincent to help run that website, since I don’t know how, and she knows all things web-related.

“You’re maybe 5’2—”

“5’3,” I quickly point out. “5’6 with the right boots on.”

He chuckles lightly as I settle my head onto his chest.

“Weigh possibly a hundred and—”

“Do you want a boot in your ass?” I ask him seriously. “Never guess a woman’s weight. It’s like number one on the list of things to never do.”

He laughs harder this time, his lips brushing my forehead as he shifts, pulling me even closer until my entire body is pressed up along his side.

“My point is that you’re tiny. Yet you dragged me out of that lake with no problem. So I’m guessing…army brat?”

I snort, then outright laugh. He studies me, waiting expectantly.

“No. I think my dad was worried he wouldn’t pass the psychological evaluation required for enlisting,” I say by way of explanation.

It’s adorable that he doesn’t take me seriously.

“Then law enforcement brat?”

I laugh again. “No. And I’m not sure that’s a thing.”

He taps his chin thoughtfully with one hand, while his other snakes down to my waist, resting there. It’s like a full beacon presence. I can feel that one touch all over my body.

“Mob boss’s daughter?”

I arch an eyebrow, and he snaps his head toward me.

“You laugh at army brat and law enforcement brat, but you merely quirk an eyebrow at mob boss’s daughter?” he asks, his look incredulous.

My smile grows. “No. Not a mob boss’s daughter. But kudos for thinking outside the box.”

I reach up and touch his face before I can stop myself, and he smiles as I trace my finger down the side of his jaw. I touch his face all the time. Normally, guys as hot as him are not guys I get to touch.

Guys like him have girls lined around the corner. Guys like him break the hearts of crazy girls like me.

But Liam? I can’t stop touching him. Maybe it’s because we’ve been in our own little bubble for two solid weeks.

Maybe it’s because I’m the only one around, and he has no choice but to settle for me. I mean, I’m feeding him, bathing him, taking care of his house—when I’m not equally destroying it—doing his laundry, making sure he takes his medication at appropriate times…

The point is, I’m convenient, and I don’t really mind that. I keep reminding myself of this when he’s looking at me the way he’s looking at me right now. Like I’m not just a convenience, but the exact thing he wants.

His eyes meet mine, and our gazes hold for a long, palpable moment. He always looks at me like he wants sex. That’s not new. But this look? This is something different, something reverent. Like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory.

“Even downed to a bed, you still keep it so smooth,” I say quietly, still running my knuckle along his cheek as he leans into the touch.

He gives me a shaky smile, his hand tightening on my waist.

“I can’t grow a beard. It looks like shit when I try, so I have to keep it smooth.”

It’s possibly the only thing he could have said to break the spell of this unexpectedly intense moment. I lose it, laughing so hard it hurts, and I bury my face in his chest as he warily wraps his other arm around me.

“It wasn’t that funny,” he grumbles, sounding a little defensive.

“Sorry,” I say through the laughter. “It’s just…beard. You’d have to know where I come from. And you’d never fit in with Tomahawk.”

I raise my head back up to see the curious look on his face.

“Because I can’t grow a beard?”

“Because you can’t grow a beard,” I agree.

He shakes his head. “See? More mystery. I think you do this on purpose.”

I yawn as I settle down a little better. If his leg wouldn’t hurt like a hot fire-poker was being jabbed in it, I’d totally slide down on that erection and ride him all night, push him past all his limits.