Page 66 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

But I’m obsessed with her. No point denying it.

All I have thought about is Maeve. Replaying how good it felt to be kneeling in front of her, my face in between her thick thighs. How my name came out all breathless and desperate when I had my tongue on her. And Christ, she tasted insanely good. Better than I imagined.

I’d be damned if that was a one-and-done situation; I made her very aware of that earlier when I sent her a text mid tax paperwork. A task that even on the best of days my mind can’t not concentrate on. Maeve just made it all the harder.

Pathetic for a man my age, obsessing over a 27-year-old, but at this point I am past caring.

How could I care when I have never felt this free around another person in decades? It’s partly because she knows everything now, but even before, she didn’t back away. She saw something in me, God knows what, but I am glad.

I’ve been alone for so long that I forgot what it’s like to have someone to talk to, be with, and call me out on my shit—which she fucking does. My mouthy little angel.

I’m gripping what’s left of her thong. The scrap of blue lace I pocketed like some teenage boy keeping a trophy. Don't know what possessed me to take it. Some primal urge to claim her, maybe. Mark her as mine even when she's not here.

Twisting it between my fingers while I drink my whiskey and trying not to give in to the devil on my shoulder whispering in my ear to storm over to the main house and claim her properly.

I’d be lying if I said it’s not taking every ounce of my self-control to avoid doing just that. Then again, if this situation has taught me anything, it's that my self-control is non-existent when it comes to Maeve Callaghan.

But I can’t.

The decision needs to be hers. I want her to choose this, even if it can only realistically be short-term fun. Another secret, but one that is for me and my happiness for once.

So, I’ll wait for her.

Tipping my head back to take another pull of the amber liquid, I spot a bright warm light reflecting off the crystal glass. I swallow quickly, not even allowing the burn of the whiskey to hit my throat, placing the glass back down to see headlights cutting through the dark, moving slowly up the gravel drive.

The restless energy I was feeling is now going haywire, firing off and making my heart kick against my ribs.

It can only be her. I know the cautious way she drives our ranch trucks, like she’s still getting used to the size of it and the “backward” way we drive, or so she calls it.

I am on my feet in mere seconds, the thong falling from my hand onto the chair.

The truck stops outside my cabin. With a squint of my eyes, I can see her sitting there, hands gripping onto the steering wheel with all her might.

I’m already walking toward her when she finally cuts the engine. I can hear the sound of gravel crunching under my boots, but it’s subtle compared to the hammering of my pulse, anticipation coiling tight in my chest as I reach the driver’s side door and pull it open.

She turns to look at me, still buckled in, her blue eyes catching the dimmed lights from outside the cabin.

“I want more, Wade. I want you.”

That’s all it takes.

I don’t hesitate. My hands reach for her seatbelt, clicking it free, allowing me to pull her out of the seat and into my arms. She huffs in surprise as she loops her arms around my neck and wraps her legs around my waist. The closeness of her body instantly causes my cock to twitch.

“Say it again,” I growl against her mouth, already carrying her toward the house.

“I want you,” she breathes, my mouth on hers. I’m not going to tell her I want her too; I am going to show her.

I’ve never kissed anyone like this before. All desperate and messy, driven by a burning need to have each other. The lingering taste of toothpaste on her tells me she was ready for bed before she decided to come here. Wonder what prompted her—not that I am complaining.

Unwilling to put her down even for a second, I only release one hand to fumble with the door handle. My lips still on hers, not wanting to break the kiss. When I finally get it open, I push her back up against the wall by the entrance, keeping our bodies close. Her pink fluffy slippers fall from her feet as I kick the door closed. She gasps against my lips as it slams, and I hold her tighter.

“Wade—” Her voice is the same breathy and desperate plea as this morning, and I want to hear it like that all night.

“Angel,” I murmur as I move us further into the cabin. Her head falls back as my mouth moves to her neck; her pulse thrumming under my lips.

We are a hot panting mess already, and clothes haven’t even been removed yet.

“Bedroom,” she manages. “Please—”