Page 15 of And Forever (The Riders and Rings Duology #2)

“Charlie,” he breathes. The gap between us is so small, I can feel the heat of the word against my lips.

I don’t know if it’s a warning or a plea, but I don’t think I care anymore.

I fought against my feelings for Wilder McCoy almost four years go, and despite how it ended, I know without a doubt that I won’t battle with them again.

I’ve loved him once, and I never stopped.

But I freeze, needing Wilder to be as certain as I am. I hover over him and still my questing fingers at the nape of his neck. I pull back enough to let him see my face.

“I asked you once what I was to you.”

His face softens at the memory my words bring up. Golden light spills from an open barn door, and twin acoustic guitars play a soft country love song.

“You told me you thought I could be everything.”

He nods solemnly. I release the tension in my legs and sink onto his lap.

The outline of his hard cock creates a ridge along the seam of his jeans, and it notches against the cotton of my panties.

It’s getting harder to focus on what I’m after with him being underneath me.

My years-long celibacy demands I pay it some attention now, a warm ache spreading from the deepest parts of my core.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning at the sensation this proximity alone causes.

But instead of listening to the need in my body, I focus on the question I need to ask.

“Am I still?”

I swear, time doesn’t move as I wait for his answer.

I try to inhale the sweet scent of him, but I can barely breathe.

His warm hands finally rise from his sides to curl over my hips and dance up my back.

The touch burns under my skin with every inch his fingers travel.

When they finally gently cradle my cheeks, I’m trembling with anticipation.

Wilder’s eyes flick over my face, the shards of indigo in the lighter crystal blue indistinguishable in the low light. But the intensity from the fire is still there, alive and pulsing as he catalogs my features.

“No.”

His answer would send me reeling, the sting unexpected, except he flexes his hold and keeps me looking at him.

My heart deflates like a popped balloon, and my stomach sinks in a distressing way that makes me nauseous.

My thoughts begin to spiral, and all I can focus on is getting away.

Then, his thumb brushes along the apple of my cheek, drawing me back to him.

And even though I’m afraid of what comes next, I give him my attention.

“Charlotte, you’re so much more now.”

There is a fine mist of unshed tears in Wilder’s eyes, the corners creased with a softness and desperation I can’t quite place. He doesn’t give me the time to work it out. Just as all the distress and uncertainty fall away, his lips crash into mine.

His kiss is hungry and fevered. Not in the way it was before, when we would be rushing to steal our moments together.

No, this devouring—he slants his mouth and pulls me deeper, parting my lips with his tongue to take what he wants—is born of reclaiming.

Assurance that we won’t be parted again.

More than a melding of bodies on a quest for pleasure, this promises a joining of souls.

I moan at the first taste of him. Like an aged whiskey, he’s better than I remember, and I can’t get enough.

A deep, rumbling groan reverberates out of Wilder’s chest, shaking mine with the intensity when I curl my fingers into his short hair.

I can’t help but try to drag him to me. If he were in my bloodstream, it wouldn’t be close enough after all this time.

Chasing that need, I grind down and thrust forward on his lap.

Wilder breaks his mouth away from mine, sending hot, sweet breaths across my face just as I roll my hips back .

“Fuck.” He punches the word out between panting exhales.

His hands have abandoned my face, seeking purchase on my hips in a grip strong enough to bruise if he held on any tighter.

We cling to each other, but he keeps me from moving again, struggling to get his words out.

“Charlie, we should—Are you— fuck, you feel better than my memories.”

I press my lips to his again in a quick, hard kiss that is in opposition to the way I gently drag my fingers free from his golden strands.

Sliding them down his neck and over his collarbones before toying with the top button of the maroon Western shirt he is wearing tonight.

After threading the clear, utilitarian button through the hole, I let my index finger linger on the small amount of golden skin I exposed.

Gently, I kiss along his strong jawline, stubbled with the day’s growth, until my lips meet his ear.

“No more memories.” I slip the next button free as I feel his fingers slowly ruck up the fabric of my skirt.

His pulse pounds against my lips as I kiss under his ear.

Then, I relieve another button of its hold, sliding my hands flat against his chest before kissing the base of his neck.

I smile against him when his throat bobs with a heavy swallow.

“Unless they’re new ones we make together. ”