Page 41 of Made for Wilde

A growl escapes his throat as he surges forward. His mouth crashes against mine. This kiss is different. It’s desperate, hungry, and unleashed.

"I know I shouldn’t want you," he murmurs against my lips as he walks me backward until my spine hits the kitchen counter. "But I can’t fucking help it."

His hands slide down my sides and he lifts me onto the counter in one fluid motion. I wrap my legs around his waist and draw him closer.

"Tell me to stop, sweetheart," he says, his forehead pressed to mine. "Tell me this is wrong."

I shake my head and tangle my fingers in his freshly cut hair.

"I don't want you to stop,” I tell him. “I want you.”

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes.

Koda’s hands find the hem of the sweatshirt—his sweatshirt—and slide underneath, his calloused palms dragging against my stomach.

"Jesus, Charlotte," he groans when he realizes I'm not wearing anything underneath. His thumbs brush the undersides of my breasts, and I arch into his touch. "You're so fucking soft."

He kisses a path down to my collarbone and when his teeth graze the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, my hips jerk against him. Then one of his hands travels lower, his fingertips tracing the waistband of my jeans.

"These need to go,” He growls.

He works the button free and slides down the zipper.

"Koda, wait. I-I’ve never done this, before," I admit. "I mean, I've done stuff, but not... this."

Koda freezes.

"Never?"

I shake my head.

"Is that weird?"

His thumb traces my lower lip.

"No, baby. It’s not weird. But it does mean that we need to slow down."

"I don't want to slow down," I protest as I tighten my legs around him. "I want you."

"And I want you so fucking bad it hurts," he says. "But I need to make sure you're ready for me."

Before I can argue, his hand dips into my open jeans and his fingers slide beneath my underwear.

When he touches me, we both groan.

"Christ, you're soaked," he growls as his fingers explore with devastating precision. "Is all this for me?"

I can only nod as his middle finger circles my clit. I grip his shoulders, nails digging into the muscle beneath his shirt.

"That's it," he encourages. "Show me what feels good."

I rock against his hand, chasing the pressure. He slides one finger inside me, then another, stretching me. His thumb takes over the circles on my clit and the dual sensation makes my head fall back against the cabinet.

"Are you going to come for me, Charlotte?" He curls his fingers inside me, finding a spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. "Are you going to let go and show me how pretty you look when you fall apart?"

"Koda, I—" I can't finish the sentence.

"That's it, baby. Let go. I've got you."