Wilder (The Renegades Book 1)
Wilder: Chapter 15

Istanbul

“You’re going too fast!” I screamed. Why did I even bother? He never listened to me.

“Loosen up, Leah,” Brian said, shooting me a side-eye as we approached the curve. “I want to see how the new tires hold.”

“Stop! I know how this ends. Please don’t!”

But he didn’t slow.

I closed my eyes against the sound of the tires on the pavement, and my body detached from the motion of the car, but my mind knew it all vividly.

We destroyed the guardrail and plummeted.

The scream I heard was my own but not.

I blessedly missed the fall, even the impact when we hit the first tree. As I opened my eyes, my stomach dropped.

Yes, here—this was where the nightmare always started.

I turned my head and saw Brian, his head slumped forward, blood pouring from his abdomen where part of the tree that braced us skewered him. I knew what I had to do—what I always had to do when I found myself here, what took me eighteen hours to replace the courage to do the first time.

I didn’t need to try my door handle to know that it was jammed, or turn in my seat to know I couldn’t make it up to the rear window without upsetting the balance of the car.

Maybe if I’d realized that it wouldn’t work, that I’d have to crawl over Brian’s body, I would have spared my legs.

Brian turned toward me, his head at a macabre angle, blood dripping from his dead, opaque eyes and ruined mouth, and I screamed, raw and painfully.

“You know what you have to do,” he rasped.

And I did. The nightmare never ended until I actually did it.

“Leah!” he yelled…but it sounded all wrong.

“Leah, baby, it’s okay.” His voice broke through the nightmare. Paxton. “Wake up, Firecracker.”

I sucked in a lungful of air, lurching forward and farther into Paxton’s arms. They wrapped around me, strong and secure, while I buried my face in his neck, breathing in his scent, feeling his heartbeat with my hand against his naked chest.

“It’s okay,” he repeated, stroking one hand down my hair while the other cupped the base of my neck.

“Nightmare,” I mumbled into his neck, trying to calm my breathing to match his.

“I figured,” he answered, his chin resting on the top of my head. He’d wrapped one of his legs over my hips, cocooning me in safety and warmth, like he’d known exactly what I needed.

“Want to talk about it?” he offered.

I shook my head. There was no need to let him witness the freak show of my past. “I have them sometimes,” I admitted, wanting to give him something. “Especially when I’m stressed out.”

“Okay,” he said, still stroking my hair, my back, in wide, soothing motions. “Just know that if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

I nodded, but there was zero chance in hell I was going there. Paxton flung himself off ramps, snowboarded down avalanche-prone mountains, skydived for fun. He was reckless, fearless, and not only knew the limits of his body but pushed it there every single day. There was no way he’d understand the fear that paralyzed me that night—or the next day—the moments that I’d nearly chosen to give in to gravity and simply let go.

My heart pounded like I was still in that ravine, scared to move in case I fell farther. I breathed deep, taking in the scent of Paxton’s warm skin to erase the metallic memory of blood.

Then I pressed a kiss to his neck.

He inhaled sharply. “Leah.”

“Paxton,” I answered, pressing another openmouthed kiss to his neck.

His fingers tightened in my hair, but he didn’t pull me away. I moved up, tasting under his jaw and savoring the low groan that came from his chest but radiated through my thighs.

My fingers slipped down the outside line of his abs until I reached the waistband of his boxers, where I ran them along the inside of the band.

“Leah,” he said again, capturing my hand. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“If you’re asking if I’m awake, the answer is yes. I’m not sleep-molesting you.” I kissed his ear.

He pulled back to lock his lust-glazed eyes with mine. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Yes,” I answered, my voice shakier than I intended. I wanted him, wanted to feel his mouth on my skin, his lips on mine. But how far did I want it to go? Was I prepared to let him see all of me? “No. I don’t know.”

His forehead puckered. “I’m not the guy who takes a maybe as a yes.”

God, why did he want an answer? Why did I have to make a choice? “I don’t want to think.” I didn’t want to remember, or sleep again to fall into that nightmare. I just wanted to feel. My eyes pleaded with his to understand.

His softened. “Okay. Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” I answered honestly. How could I not? We were alone in a foreign country, almost seven thousand miles from home, and I was in his bed.

“Good.” With that word, he flipped me to my back, the movement so quick that I could only blink. His massive frame rose above me. “You’re the one in control. You say stop, I stop. Got it?” he asked, his voice steady and sure despite the slight tremor in his hand as he brushed my hair off my cheek.

I nodded.

“Good. Then as of this moment, the only thought I want in your head is how many different ways I can make you come.”

If I’d had a response it would have been swallowed by his mouth, inhaled by his kiss. He took my mouth completely, his kiss deep, thorough, and delicious. Our tongues rubbed and danced, and I gave myself over to the perfection of finally being in his arms.

I explored his back, the yards of smooth, warm skin that draped over his roped muscles. He felt exactly the way he looked—toned, strong, and sinful.

Jolts of pure want rocketed through me as he set his mouth to my neck, working his way down to my collarbone as his hands shaped the curve of my waist. “You taste so damn good,” he said against my skin. “Like strawberries and summer rain.”

He pulled down a strap of my tank top enough to free one of my breasts, and I arched, the tip already hard, wanting his mouth, his fingers—anything. “Perfect,” he said reverently, then swirled his tongue around my nipple.

I cried out, my hands flying to his head to hold him to me.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked, lightly blowing over the skin.

Chills raced up my arms. “Yes,” I answered shamelessly. If all I ever had was this one night with Paxton, then I wasn’t going to waste it being coy.

“Good,” he replied, then took my nipple into his mouth completely. He licked and sucked, drawing every ounce of response from one breast before freeing the other to do the same.

His mouth was magical, sending sensations through me I’d long since forgotten—the rush of desire, the restlessness I knew instinctively that he could quell. But this need building within me, this primal demand to feel him deep within me—that was on a level I’d never experienced.

He tugged at the bottom of my tank top, and I lifted my arms as he pulled it off, leaving me bare to him. He studied me for a moment, his eyes dark with desire, and for the first time in the last couple of years, I felt beautiful, desirable, wanted—all because I felt like his.

He brought his mouth back to mine, kissing me with a hunger that had me whimpering with each deep, skilled thrust of his tongue against mine. He never stilled against my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers, caressing me in ways that fueled the deep ache that grew stronger inside me.

When I draped my leg over his hip, he settled between my thighs. His weight was exquisite, holding my body to the earth while he gave my soul the freedom to fly. As he rocked forward, I felt his erection hard between us, and instead of shrinking, I rocked back, reveling in the friction against my center.

He thrust forward again, sending sparks through me as he hit my clit, the fabric between us only heightening the sensation. “Is that what you want, Leah?” he asked, his breath hot against my ear, his breathing bordering on ragged.

I whimpered again, answering him with another push of my hips.

He drew back, denying me the pressure I was desperate for. “It’s what I want. Except I want you naked, so I can feel all of your skin against me, taste the tiny beads of sweat I’ll work you into.”

I tried to roll up again, but he brought his hands to my hips, pinning me to the bed. “Paxton,” I whined, trying to reach to kiss him, to get any part of him I could.

“Tell me, I want to hear you say it.”

“Why? You know I want you. Isn’t that enough?” I asked.

His thumbs caressed my hip bones, but I wanted more. Needed more.

“No. I want the words.” He leaned down, dragging his tongue across my lower lip. When I tried to get more, he pulled back, no trace of teasing on his face. “I want to know that I have you on the same fucking edge you’ve had me dangling on for weeks now, desperate to know how you feel, taste, sound when you’re coming apart.”

His words—those sweet, seductive, dirty freaking words turned me up another notch, deepened the pulsing ache I had right where his hips were pressed. How the hell could I keep up with this man?

“Words give you power over me,” I admitted. I tried to roll my hips again, but he held me pinned, immobile. “You’re already the one in control.”

He lowered his head, dragging his tongue from the line of my pajama bottoms, past my belly button, through the valley of my breasts and ending at my neck before he kissed me. There was an edge of desperation to his kiss that hadn’t been there before, like he could kiss my compliance from me.

He damn near did. I would have done almost anything to keep him kissing me like that, but it wasn’t enough. My body was on fire, demanding a release I’d denied it for way too long.

“Control?” he questioned as he pulled away, those blue eyes digging into my soul in a way nothing else could. “Okay, I like being in control, especially when I have you underneath me. But the power is all yours. You just have to realize that I will do whatever you ask, whatever you need. I might control your body, but you control every…part…of…me.” He punctuated each word with a slight thrust against me, the pressure enough to send tendrils of pleasure through my limbs as if he’d caressed my entire body. “Now tell me what you want. I am yours to command.”

“I want your hands on me,” I answered. Then, before he could ask me where, I showed him, taking one of his hands and sliding it under the waistband of my drawstring pants.

He groaned, his forehead leaning on mine, his eyes closed tight while his fingers slipped under the pink lace underwear the hotel had brought with my change of clothes for tomorrow.

His hand stilled, covering me completely for a moment, like he was savoring it. I arched my hips up, and he gave in, his fingers sliding through me. His breath left in a rush against my lips. “Fuck, you’re so wet. I could slide inside you so easily right now.”

“Then why don’t you?” I challenged him, needing him inside me, a part of me.

He kissed my mouth softly as his thumb drew a lazy circle around my clit. “Because the first time I’m inside you, it will be because you’re running toward me, to us, not away from something else.”

I gasped as he lightly stroked me, dragging his thumb at the most sublime pressure. “Paxton,” I begged. I just wished I knew exactly what for.

He switched his angle and slid one finger within me. “Tight. So damn tight. How long has it been?” he asked, stroking my inner walls.

“Years,” I answered truthfully.

“God, I can’t wait to be here.” He stroked me again, sending spirals of fire through every nerve in my body. “You have no idea how good it’s going to be between us.”

“And you do?” I asked, gasping as he pressed on my clit.

“The way you respond to me? How wet you are? Your body is practically begging for mine, Leah. Here?” He inserted another finger, and my back bowed off the bed. It felt so damn good. “You’re going to squeeze me perfectly, and I’m going to make you so glad that you said yes.”

I rocked my hips against his hand, moving his fingers within me. “And you?” I asked with what brain power I had left.

He took my other hand and placed it on his erection. I squeezed his length gently, my eyes widening at the size of him.

“I’ve never been this hard for a woman. This desperate. I’ve never had to hold myself back and not take exactly what I wanted, and I’ve never wanted anyone the way I crave you. That’s how I know we’ll be good together. Because what we have right here is better than anything I’ve ever had.”

Then he kissed me, his tongue moving in rhythm with his fingers below, stroking, teasing, giving me just enough to keep me on edge, but not enough to tip me over.

“What do you want?” he whispered again. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Paxton,” I begged.

“Say it.”

“Let me come,” I pleaded, knowing he held it back on purpose, loving that he had that control over my body as much as I hated it.

“God, yes,” he groaned. Then he rubbed my clit, giving me the perfect amount of pressure and friction to curl my toes. When he stroked his fingers upward inside me, that blessed pressure tightened in my belly, so sweet I could taste it with his tongue moving with mine.

He worked me expertly, keeping the pressure steady, the rhythm perfect until that tightening grew unbearable and my body took over, riding back against him, my hands in his hair, desperate to hold on to whatever of him I could.

“Paxton!” I cried out his name as the tension broke in beautiful waves over me, releasing parts of my heart into his keeping with the same breath.

“You’re exquisite,” he said as he stroked me back down, kicking back the orgasm with skilled motions.

My heartbeat slowed along with my breathing, a peaceful lethargy stealing over my limbs. “You,” I said, my hands moving down the rigid muscles of his abdomen.

He trapped my hands. “Nope. My control is one touch away from snapping.”

It was ridiculously selfish, but the gesture made me feel separate from his conquests, like I was special—like we had something special.

He brushed a damp tendril of hair from my forehead. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a martyr.”

“Really?” I teased, rubbing my hips gently against his hard-on.

He eased off me and then turned my body in his arms, spooning against my back. OMG, and he spoons? Paxton Wilder spoons.

“Really. I have devious plans for you, Miss Baxter. They just won’t happen here. But trust me. Very devious. I’d be bold enough to say nefarious.”

I groaned. “Talk vocabulary to me, baby.”

He laughed, the sound warming me even more than his raging body heat. “Downright diabolical, my little Firecracker.”

Through the sliding glass door next to our bed, I watched a shooting star streak across the sky.

I wish that I could always feel like this.

Had there ever been a more romantic, perfect setting?

Sure, back on the ship…where you’re supposed to be.

“What did you wish for?” he asked.

I turned in his arms and traced the lines of his face. “I wished I could be as fearless as you,” I said, my hand absently stroking the head of his dragon tattoo.

“I’m not fearless. There are plenty of things that scare me.”

I looked up at him, his features softened by moonlight. “Like what?”

“Snakes,” he answered with a self-deprecating half smile. “They’re slimy little fuckers who move without feet. It’s unnatural.”

My lips turned up. “What else?”

His forehead puckered. “The first time I bungee jumped. I didn’t like that someone else had measured the line, decided how far I’d go. It wasn’t fun, putting my life in someone’s hands like that.”

“But you did it.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” My fingers slid along the dragon’s spine that curved outside his pec, and down the tail that outlined his abs. I stopped short of the spiked ending that led to his incredible fuck-me lines, remembering not to torture him more.

He sucked in his breath as my fingers moved back up. “Because I knew it would haunt me if I didn’t. Because I knew there was something exquisite waiting just past the fear if I could get there.”

“And now that you’re a daredevil extraordinaire?”

“There are still plenty of things that scare me.”

“What scares you the most?”

His fingers threaded through the hair at the base of my skull and then tugged, guiding me to look up at him. He looked into my eyes for what seemed like an eternity. “You. You scare the shit out of me.”

My heart lurched, instinctively reaching for his. “I’m not scary.”

“No, you’re terrifying. On paper you’re everything I shouldn’t mesh with, but I look at you, touch you, or get my mouth on you, and you’re the only thing I see, the only one I want, and that’s by far the scariest thought I’ve ever had.”

“I’m just me.”

His hand slid until his thumb stroked my cheekbones. “You are everything and don’t even see it. You’re smart, and strong, and so beautiful that you make me ache when I look at you.”

“Don’t say things like that,” I whispered, my brain scrambling to build any wall around my heart while it did its best to reach for Paxton.

“Things like the truth?”

“Things that make me want what I can’t have.”

“You can have me, Leah. I’m yours for the asking.”

There was nothing but honesty in his eyes—and God, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to be his, even if it was only for this moment, and not just physically.

He lifted his chin over my head, tucking me in. “Get some sleep, Firecracker. We have an early flight.”

Despite the overpowering exhaustion I knew was the result of stress, our day, the nightmare, and a spectacular orgasm, I had to know. “What did you wish for?”

He sighed. “For you to give me a second chance.”

My eyebrows puckered, but my limbs felt too heavy to move. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“It’s not for now. It’s for later.”

“That’s not necessary,” I slurred as I drifted off, but just before I was pulled under, I heard the faintest whisper against my forehead.

“It will be.”