with me?
I left the office and turned the light off, my bare feet silently moving over the wood floor. Everything was so silent with the house empty, and as I passed the room I still shared with Wilder, I heard the shower running. Of course, I pictured him naked under the spray, all that hard, tattooed muscle wet. God, I bet he looked good totally naked. My body heated, and from zero to sixty, I got uncomfortably wet between my thighs.
I pictured me straddling him, the kissing, the grinding. That had been the last time we touched. Nearly a week had gone by, with the only intimate thing passing between us these heated, hooded looks.
Nearly a week of me lying in bed just feet from him, wanting nothing more than to slip between the sheets and press my body to his.
Did he picture that too? Did he ache for me in the same hardcore way I did for him? I assumed he did by how he looked at me, how he had this predatory expression on his face every time I was near. It was like he wanted to tear me up in the best of ways.
But I still stayed away, mainly because he stayed away. I wouldn’t be the one who made the first move. I figured if he wanted this to go further, he’d start it. I was also scared as hell of rejection. Even though I knew he desired me, he stopped us from going all the way once. I didn’t want a repeat performance.
I moved past the bedroom until I was standing in front of the large windows in the living room. I explored the house since being here, looking into rooms that had the doors open, catching pictures here and there of Wilder and his brothers at different stages in their lives. But I always felt eyes on me, someone watching me, maybe not worried I’d leave, because they could see how weak I was, but more so watching me out of curiosity.
Or maybe they thought I was an idiot, because I had just rolled over and submitted to them, didn’t try to fight back, didn’t even try to fight.
I pushed those thoughts away, because I was tired of feeling guilty for thinking them, tired of the shame for wanting Wilder over just the simple fact we lived two very different lives. I was tired of feeling like an idiot for not trying harder, for not being smarter in this situation, and for giving in to my basic instincts. And I was tired of feeling like I had no right to feel these things for him. I had every right. I deserved to experience them, to want him.
I exhaled and ran a hand over my hair, the ends slightly damp from my earlier shower.
I turned away from the window and started heading back toward the room. I’d just go to bed, sleep this off, and maybe in the morning I’d have a clear head and picture of what was going to happen and what I should do.
You fucking liar.
I made my back into the bedroom, Wilder still in the bathroom getting ready for bed, the small lamp on the little table by the couch on and giving the room a muted glow. My bed was already pulled out, because I hadn’t bothered righting anything after I woke up in the morning. What was the point?
I glanced at where Wilder slept, and like every time I looked at that bed, images of me on top of him as I worked myself back and forth along his massive length until I came played through my head. Then the memory of him holding me after I found that completion, after he denied himself, gave me this warm, calming, and fuzzy feeling.
I swallowed, my mind and body constantly at war these last two weeks. And if I were being honest, these fourteen days seemed to last forever yet moved by at lightning pace. It felt as if I lived a lifetime here, yet everything had gone by in the blink of an eye. It was enough to confuse a girl even more than adding these combustible feelings and arousal, made me feel like I was losing my damn mind.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my back to the bathroom door, knowing he’d be out any moment. I should have just gotten under the comforter and pretended to be asleep. It would have probably been easier than pretending