Page 22 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

A low moan escapes before I can stop it.

“Wade…”

The name slips out like a confession. A betrayal of every logical thought I’ve had.

I hear the creak again. This time it’s clearer. Closer.

My eyes snap open, heart hammering —

And he’s there.

Standing in the doorway.

Watching.

Chapter Eight

Wade

I’d only come back for my damn truck keys. That’s it.

But then a sound filtered through the hall. Breathless noises that no man with blood in his veins could mistake. I should’ve left right then. Turned my ass around, shut the door, and drove to my cabin like a decent fucking human being.

But let’s face it, I ain’t a decent man. And sure as hell never claimed to be. Especially not when the melody of soft moans soaked in pure need and desire echoes into my ears, drawing me in like a siren's song.

I knew who it was. Of course I did.

Maeve. The same girl who’s been a thorn in my side since the moment she opened that smart fucking mouth in my truck.

And as much as I’d like to believe I’ve still got some goddamn self-control left in me, I don’t.

I wanted—no, I needed— to hear more.

I followed the sound, and now I’m standing outside her bedroom door. It’s only pulled to, not latched shut.

I tell myself that it isn’t an invite, just her being used to this house turning into a ghost town after dinner.

But logic doesn’t stand a chance when it comes to her. And before I can think twice, I’m slowly, quietly pushing the door open just enough to get a full view.

And there she is.

Flat on her back. Legs spread wide. Fingers working slow, steady circles over her swollen clit. Her T-shirt is bunched around her waist, leaving everything beneath it on full display.

Fuck me, she is intoxicating.

If her eyes hadn’t been closed, I’d swear she knew I was watching. Moving like she’s putting on a private show, one she doesn’t know she’s giving, but God, I should shut the door. Walk the fuck away.

Instead, I step forward into the doorway, hand palming the bulge straining against my jeans.

Her fingers slip lower. Her breath catches.

She’s close. Too close.

“Wade…”

I step back, caught off guard by my name.

Her eyes fly open and lock on mine.