Page 102 of The One Month Boyfriend (Wildwood Society)

“I,” she starts. Clears it again. She’s breathing hard. “I, um.”

I laugh and grab one hand and pin it over her head, against the wall, lightly enough that she could pull away if she wanted to.

“Right, I forgot,” I say, and let my lips brush the shell of her ear. “You’re shy.”

I bite her earlobe and she hisses, hand clenching in mine.

“You just shout my name,” I murmur. “I’ll take care of hollering dirty.”

“Thanks,” she whispers, and I pull away a bit, tilt my head back.

“God, Kat, just like that,” I shout. “Yeah.”

“Silas!” she gasp-yelps, and now I’m fighting a laugh and my erection all at once.

“God, that feels good,” I holler at the wall.

“Ooooh, Silas,” Kat adds, and I have to bite my lip.

“Love the way you feel, babe,” I tell the wall.

“Babe! Silas! Yes!” she gets out.

Fuck, I’m running out of Generic Dirty Phrases.

“I can’t wait to taste you,” I say, and it comes out too quiet so I take a deep breath and remember to project. “You wet? Show me how ready you are for this.”

There’s no response, only the sound of her breathing. My body pinpricks.

“You’re supposed to moan,” I murmur, dipping my head to her ear, letting my lips brush the shell. She gasps, barely audible, and I run my tongue along the outer rim.

“Sorry,” she whispers, breathless, and then head thrown back: “Fuck, Silas!”

It comes out raw and ragged and I crush her mouth under mine the second the words have escaped, control slipping, but she kisses me back hard and fast and frantic. Someone makes a small, desperate noise, and then Kat hooks her ankle around the back of my leg and pulls me even harder against her.

“Jesus,” I hiss, the sound half-lost in her mouth. I’ve got one hand locked around her wrist, next to her head, and she’s got my shirt in her other fist, pulling me in.

“What?” she whispers back.

“Say my name again.”

“Why?”

So they can hear itis what I should say, because that’s what this whole charade is about: convincing the people on the other side of the wall that we’re currently having sex.

“Because I fucking like it, Kat,” I manage to get out.

“Silas,” she growls and we kiss again, open-mouthed and wild, bodies pressed together against the wall.

Something slides against my side, rough and soft in a way that makes me bite her lower lip and then lick it. It takes me a second to register that it’s Kat’s hand, under my shirt, skin on skin. I grab her wrist and push her hand higher, desperate to feel her, and she digs her fingers in.

“Oh,” she whispers, the word half-lost against my lips, and in response I hoist her against the wall.

There’s a soft thump and they probably heard it next door, if they’re even listening, but there’s also a surprised gasp and there’s the way her long skirt rides up to her thighs as she wraps her legs around me and leans her head against the wall, arms slung over my shoulders as I put my mouth back on her soft, hot skin.

I know there are rules. I know. I know. They’ve been humming through my head for the past two weeks, invading my dreams.

“Does this count as a full-trunk embrace?” I murmur.