“Fuck.” The vicious curse erupted from his sexy mouth. His warm breath hit her cheek. She hated when he got pissy. “You better remember this tomorrow.”
“Huh?”
Suddenly, he loomed over her, pressing her back into the ground, his hips cradling hers. Oh wow. His body heat scorched through her wet clothes and her bare legs automatically opened in a primeval urge to surrender. He planted both hands on either side of her head and lowered his mouth. What was he doing? His delicious scent rose to her nostrils, and her hands found their way to grip his hips, his damp skin sleek and muscled beneath her touch.
Another curse escaped. He seemed grumpy and torn as he stared at her, inches away from her mouth, and Gen blinked a few times because his head kind of floated around, and her body screamed for more contact, please, just a bit more, and then he muttered, “I’m gonna prove you’re good at this kissing thing, okay?” and his mouth took hers.
She whimpered, literally whimpered, at the amazing feel of those ultrasoft, smooth lips coasting over hers with an expert grace and blistering heat that made her toes curl. Oh, alcoholic visions were so yummy! Wolfe, her best friend and confidant, was kissing her, and it was too good to be real, so it had to be some sort of psychedelic mirage from too much Sam Adams.
Her mind spun, tried to make sense of it, and gave up.
Her body roared forward and seized control.
Hips arched, nails digging into his lower back, she surrendered to the sensations rocketing in her core and spreading like fire through her veins. He kissed her for a while, until she was a soft, gooey mess beneath him, and then his tongue parted her lips and surged in.
She opened her mouth and met him halfway, crazed for the full taste and essence of him. His tongue pushed, stroked, and explored, taking her deep. She moaned and reached for more. God, she wanted more, the taste of citrusy lemon and male hunger pulling her under. He grew hard between her thighs and she nipped at his bottom lip, sucking gently, and he muttered something foul, deflowering her mouth like she was a virgin asking to be ravished and taken and fucked.
Time stood still. It was too short, it was endless, it was everything. Her head spun, her breasts grew achy and tight, and she was so wet he could’ve slipped between her thighs and slid home without a protest. She made a sound deep in her throat when he slowly pulled away, the wet slide of his tongue over hers bestowing one final taste.
She blinked. Blistering heat and fury and lust mingled in those blue eyes. She felt eaten alive, scoured raw, and Gen shook as the solid foundation underneath her shifted and broke open.
“Are you listening, Gen?”
She couldn’t speak, so she managed a nod.
“You’re an amazing kisser. I could’ve fucked you right here and now and been the happiest guy in the world. A guy has to be dead not to want you. David is a piece of shit. Understood?”
She swallowed. Nodded again.
“Good.” He slid off her and she almost cried out at the loss of his heat and pressure. The sky opened and swallowed her up as utter exhaustion suddenly hit her. Turned on, spent, emotions ripped and bleeding, she grabbed for his hand so as not to lose physical contact, and he interwove his fingers with hers and lay back on the dock. Slowly, she relaxed, his presence a bone-deep comfort and something else, something she refused to examine.
Gen gave up and let the blackness take her. But first she said the words.
“I love you, Wolfe.”
She slid toward sleep. His response drifted in the sultry air among the chirp of crickets.
“I love you, too, babe.”
Five
HE’D MADE A huge mistake.
Wolfe kept his hand firmly within hers while she slept. Her words crawled under his skin and embedded into his muscles, veins, heart. He knew, of course, what she meant. She loved him as a friend, a protector, and the one who had rescued her from making a lifetime mistake. Still, he’d only said the words back twice in his life. Once to Sawyer. Once to Julietta.
Never to a woman outside of family.
But he meant it. He did love her. She was more precious than any of his other relationships, and he hoped he hadn’t screwed them up by introducing a sexual want that still rattled his dick. The love was deeper and purer than any crap in his past. How many women had uttered those words, when he knew it was only the sex and power and excitement of the encounter? They knew nothing about him. Not their fault. He rarely opened up and was content to keep it on the surface of the physical, with companionship and a few laughs the extra bonus.
Wolfe dragged in a lungful of air. Cleared his mind. When was the last time he’d reacted on impulse? Never. Impulse had no place in the business world or his personal life. Sure, it may be an illusion of control, but it worked for him. He’d been in and out of enough shrinks’ offices to know his way around the mental blocks and issues a screwed-up individual created for survival. He hated therapy, but he’d gone for Sawyer because he never wanted his honorary stepfather to wonder if he could’ve done more. Sawyer had saved him—both literally and figuratively. He had a life he wanted to live because the man he pickpocketed cared enough about him to try and make a difference.
Wolfe shook his head as the past reared up. He’d been living on the streets, and began staking out big luxury hotels like the Waldorf for patsies. Stealing uniforms and pretending to fit in was easy, but he’d picked the wrong mark. Sawyer was street-smart and superrich, and had dragged his ass to the management.
Wolfe remembered the sick fear when he realized he was going to jail. Instead, Sawyer offered him a bargain. Work for him, and he’d stay out of jail. The judge had agreed. The night before Sawyer was about to pick him up, Wolfe realized he was terrified. He didn’t want a chance at a life he’d only screw up. He refused to trust anyone anymore, so he’d hurriedly gotten his tat, styled his hair in a bizarre mockery of Johnny Depp, and pierced his face in every way possible.