The Drift (Preacher Brothers 3)

“Wilder,” I whispered, and a second later, this harsh growl left him as he hauled me onto his lap. I broke the kiss and panted, worried about his wound, opening my mouth to say just that, when he shook his head and leaned in to kiss me softly.

“I’m fine. More than fine.”

“I don’t want to hurt you even more.”

He shifted slightly, lifted his hips so I could feel how hard he was, how hard I made him. “Does this feel like I’m still hurt?”

I gasped, sucking in a breath as arousal shot through me like a hot poker. I slowly shook my head. “No,” I whispered.

He grabbed my hips and pressed me down… right on his huge, hard cock.

“Christ,” he said and lifted his hips again, grinding his stiffness against my denim-covered pussy. Another gasp left me, a shot of pleasure filling me. Wilder pulled back, and this flash of disappointment filled me that maybe he came to his senses, that he knew we probably shouldn’t be doing this. I was about to complain, but the deep-rooted sound that left him had all words stilling in my throat.

I had my hands on his shoulders, the muscles under my touch flexing, tight. He clenched his jaw, and I felt his cock jerk again, as if it were trying to tear through the clothing, his arousal a living entity. I bit my lip to hold off on mewling in desire, in wanton need.

“You don’t—” He shook his head, stopping me from finishing. I knew he wanted this—that was obvious—but he was stopping regardless, so maybe that didn’t matter?

“Oh, I fucking want this, Zoey. I’ve never wanted anything as I want you.” He sounded like some kind of crazed animal.

“Good,” I breathed out. “Me too.”

He rested his forehead against mine, closed his eyes, and we shared the same air for a suspended moment. “As much as I should stop this, stop myself from wanting you, Zoey, because I’m so wrong for you,” he whispered, as if to himself, “I can’t. I claimed you as mine as soon as I heard you voice, felt your touch… knew you were meant to be mine. My angel.”

My heart was thundering so hard. The fact that we were alone, everyone having left us, made this wildly more intimate. I thought about being with him so many times since I came here, but I wasn’t ashamed of that. It made me feel alive. Wilder made me feel alive in a way I never experienced before.

He was the first person, the first experience and everything, that made me want to stay put, grow roots, and not leave. I stared into his eyes. He looked at me like I was everything he never thought he wanted. That had an effect on a girl, one so profound it nearly had me tearing up. No one had ever treated me the way Wilder did. No one talked to me, touched me, wanted me with such a finality that there was no doubt in my mind I was it for him.

And I knew what I wanted, what he wanted. I didn’t want to wait to be with him because of the little details, because we’d really only met, because of the circumstances of why we’d been thrust together. Right now, none of that mattered, and if I was being honest, I didn’t think it really mattered at all.

“Wilder.” I hadn’t meant to say his name out loud, hadn’t meant for it to be so whimsical or breathy—hell, so needy. “I need you. Be with me.” I swallowed roughly and forced myself to stare in his eyes. “I’m tired of running, of fighting that I want something more.” I didn’t know why I was saying these words, admitting that I had, in fact, been running and it had nothing to do with “liking” the nomad life. Yeah, I liked it, but the truth was, staying put just showed me how lonely I really was, how I really had no one in my life.

“You have me. You’ll always have me,” Wilder said as if reading my thoughts, or maybe I said them out loud. Either way, there was no denying he meant it.

He groaned then, curled his hand around the back of my head, and I knew I wouldn’t deny either of us. He cupped my cheek with his other hand, his touch so soft and gentle despite the callouses on his fingers and the fact that I knew he saw himself as a bad man, a person who stole to stay alive.

Maybe this was a bad idea, but in the end… it felt so right.

Chapter Eighteen

Wilder

God, I’d never felt like I was losing my mind, never felt so much excitement or need, so much anticipation in my whole fucking life.

This was better than any heist, any job we’d ever done. The adrenaline I felt, the power and lust, the… everything, was so addicting, so intoxicating, I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was going crazy.