Wild at Heart (Walk on the Wild Side #1)

by Lara Archer

  “Okay, fine,” said Nick desperately, “he never deserved you anyway, but—”

  She silenced him with a hand over his mouth, and then a quick press of her lips against his. Her lips felt like velvet, and tasted like strawberries. “Help me celebrate my new life, Nick,” she said insistently. “Remind me why it’s good to be free. That’s what you’re good at, aren’t you? Enjoying whatever comes your way?”

  Her words stabbed at him. He didn’t want Amber thinking of him that way, as some loose and easy nightclub crawler. Not that he wasn’t exactly that way—with other women. But Amber was the one who saw the better side of him, the artist in him. The soul in him.

  He needed somebody in this world who recognized he even had a soul.

  But he was her friend, too. And right now, all he could see was the need in her. Damn it.

  “I don’t want to talk,” she said, and just like that, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked it up over her head. She stood before him in shorts and a pink lace bra, with pure invitation—and a heartbreaking look of insecurity—in her eyes.

  Nick heaved a deep breath, and he was lost.

  A sheen of sweat made Amber’s breasts seem rounder and fuller than ever, and the dusky shadows of her nipples peaked through the pink lace of her bra. Her beautiful blonde hair shimmered across her shoulders, swaying lightly in the early summer breeze, stroking over her skin the way Nick’s fingers ached to.

  And then she reached around behind her and released the hooks; the bra slid to the grass, and he could see the rosy peaks of her nipples bare in the sunshine, looking like wildberries ripe for his mouth.

  He couldn’t think straight anymore. He’d wanted this so damn long.

  In one swift move, he peeled off his own t-shirt and dropped it in the tall grass. Then with a lunge he had Amber in his arms, pressed tight up against him—her bare breasts against his chest, her belly warm and yielding against the surging of his cock. It was what he’d fantasized about for so many years, and so much better than his fantasy: her soft mouth crushed beneath his, his tongue probing against hers, her moans filling his ears, the silky skin of her back naked under his hands.

  And he could hardly decide where to touch her next, where to taste her.

  Her hands went everywhere on him. She stroked his shoulders, his chest, his abdomen, making his muscles seem to swell and strain wherever she touched him.

  They pulled off their hiking boots and fumbled with the buttons and zippers of one another’s shorts, hands trembling and clumsy and desperate in the need to get every barrier out of the way.

  He got her fly open, then made himself take his time easing the fabric away from her hips, feeling the soft silky swell of them, the utter femininity. He relished every inch of her curves as he slipped his thumbs beneath the elastic of her pink lace panties and tugged them loose. She gave a wriggle, and the last of her clothing slipped free, and she stepped out of them, utterly bare to him, utterly beautiful.

  Their mouths were still mutually devouring, tongues playing, teeth giving little nips. Her long, strong fingers were inside his boxers now, and she’d filled her palm with his balls. He was groaning loud, thrusting against her. He didn’t care—there was no one around to hear them, and he felt as free and wild as any creature in these woods.

  He ran his hands down the mounds of her ass, gripping and kneading the firm, hot flesh. He had to get his mouth on her breasts now, and tore his lips from hers. He fitted his mouth to one of her perfect breasts, and suckled her; the taste of her was sweet, the heat of her seemed to blast the top of his head off. She moaned and arched her back, offering him everything. He moved to the other breast, laving it, feeling as if he were worshipping a pagan goddess.

  Amber was worthy of worship, utterly worthy. Louis had never been good enough to touch her.

  Nick wasn’t good enough to touch her either, but it was too late to think about that now.

  They were both panting, frantic, but then the hand she had stroking his balls moved to his cock; she seized his shaft, her fingers not able to close fully around him, even when she squeezed him tight. “Oh, God, Nick—oh, God!” she moaned.

  He wanted her hand to move, to stroke him, but she’d gone almost boneless in his arms. He’d slipped his own hand between her legs and was sliding his fingers against the slick flesh there. He parted her with just his fingertips to spread her incredible hot wetness up higher, back to the tight nub that made her gasp and jolt when his fingers flicked against it.

  With a groan, she spread her legs farther for him, her free arm clutching his neck as though she couldn’t support herself any longer, and he stroked between her legs, fueling her desires, and drew long shuddering moans from her that were sweeter than any other sound he’d ever heard.

  With his other hand, he shoved off his shorts and boxers. They were both naked now, and because he couldn’t bear to stop touching her with his hands, he let his desperate cock press to the soft swell of her belly, thrusting mindlessly against her there while he inserted one finger inside her, then two, then three.

  He slid his fingers deeper, gentle at first, then harder, until she was rocking her hips against him, the heel of his hand rubbing against her clit. Their mouths were locked together again, his tongue probing her mouth with the same rhythm as his fingers moving inside her, and his cock sliding with the same intensity along her stomach, up and down to her hip.

  They went on like that, growing hotter and wilder, his mouth moving between her lips and her breasts, his free hand locked around the sweet curve of her ass, drawing her to him with each thrust of his fingers, until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

  He had to be fully inside her. He had to be.

  The frantic way her fingers grasped at his shoulders and at his hair, the way she was gasping and moaning, told him Amber wanted exactly the same thing.

  Amber.

  He had enough presence of mind to grope in his pack for his nylon rain poncho before they fell to the ground—it made a decent little bed on the soft grass.

  And then he ripped open another flap of his pack and grabbed a condom. He felt a moment’s shame letting Amber know he truly never left home without one, but she knew what he was like. No point hiding it now. He had it open and rolled down snugly over his rock-hard cock before she had to make a move.

  And then it was time. God, after all these years, she was going to be his. For the next few minutes at least.

  He had to stop—he had to look at her before he took her, to be sure this was real.

  His arms were braced on either side of her, and she gazed up at him, looking sleepy and dazed and happy and hungry all at once, her blue eyes bright, her mouth swollen with kisses. An amazing sight. The sun gleamed on their flesh, and purple dragonflies danced around them. Little white and yellow wildflowers mingled with the strands of Amber’s hair, and Nick thought this must be how Eve looked to Adam in the world’s first Garden when he made love to her.

  They must have made love constantly in Eden. How could Adam have resisted?

  Her hands were on his hips now, her thumbs digging into his hip bones, her fingers pressing hard into the muscles of his ass, urging him forward.

  He extended his body full-length over hers, taking her mouth in another endless kiss, and his throbbing cock found its way to her slick, hot entrance. He rubbed himself against her, sliding with her wetness, teasing with the head against her lips and then her clit.

  She was moaning beneath him, writhing, straining her hips up at him. It was time.

  He angled his pelvis, pushing his cock against her cleft. The thick, blunt tip parted her, and the sensation in all his nerve-endings was like a sunburst. Mindless now, he thrust forward, sliding fully into her tight, slick channel. He filled her, felt her stretch wide enough to accommodate him.

  She moaned again, and locked her legs around him, her arms around his shoulders, and he canted his hips to pull himself out again, then thrust again, and again, and again. Gently at first,
overwhelmed with the thought of where he was, who this was.

  But then more urgently, as her shuddering response told him to claim her fully. Thrusting, then bucking, then ramming home, he rode her freely, fiercely, all the desperate need of dreaming of her for years driving him. And the sounds coming from her mouth, the rake of her fingernails against his back, the urgent rise of her hips meeting his told him she loved every second of it as much as he did.

  She was so giving, so passionate, so uninhibited—everything he’d always known Amber would be.

  He felt her tightening beneath him, felt her abdomen go rigid, her thighs clamping. As he thrust into her, he kept the angle where he sensed she most needed it, pressing hard at the juncture of her thighs, where the center of her pleasure was. She was close now, he was sure of it—very close. And so was he.

  But he wanted one more thing for himself—one more piece of his fantasy coming true. Bracing himself on one elbow, he took hold of her hands with one of his, peeling them away from his shoulders and drawing them far above her head. Her eyes flew open in surprise, and he gazed down into them boldly.

  His hand pinioned her wrists. She was stretched out beneath him now, completely open to him. She was his. For now. For now.

  She looked astonished by this gesture of possession, but then a new heat came into her eyes. “Nick,” she murmured. “Yes, Nick. Please, Nick....”

  “Amber,” he gasped. “Amber....” She was so beautiful, so impossibly beautiful. He had to bite his tongue or crazy words were going to come out of his mouth. Words about how long he’d wanted her, about how he couldn’t stop thinking about her, about how she was the most perfect woman in the world. Dangerous words he couldn’t ever take back.

  And then there was nothing for him but sensation—his hands gripping her wrists, his cock sliding and plowing and taking, the soft yielding of her thighs as his hips surged between them. Oh, sweet Jesus, the glorious sight of her as her back arched and her cheeks flushed a deep rose and she cried out in hard gasps and then screamed out her pleasure, and then his balls convulsed and he shoved hard up into her and came hard, hard, hard and was screaming, too.

  Pleasure. Sheer pleasure. And a wild fleeting happiness like he’d never felt in his life.

  It stretched for long moment, the universe rippling, expanding, contracting again, aflame with heat. And then he collapsed on top of her, utterly spent.

  She was still breathing hard, panting, laughing against his ear. Her sheath was pulsing around his cock, and her arms were trembling. Her lips brushed his neck. Her hands were still in his hair, and her legs were wrapped around him, pulling him tight against her. “Nick,” she whispered. “Nick, Nick, wonderful Nick.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut; he couldn’t look at her right now. Those crazy words were still trying to force themselves up from his throat: you, only you, love you, love you. And he knew those words could only bring misery for both of them, knew he couldn’t possibly live up to them. He tried to concentrate on something else—on the earthy smells of the meadow filling his nostrils, and the heat of the sun on his shoulders, and the breeze wicking the sweat from the small of his back.

  And the soft, warm strength of Amber stretched out beneath him...oh, Lord.

  The bliss he’d felt was draining away, and something else, something colder, was trickling in to take its place. Regret. Fear.

  He couldn’t be what she needed. Not what she really needed.

  Jesus, had he screwed everything up forever? What in hell were they going to do now?

  * * *

  Amber felt the world swirl around her, full of every amazing sensation she could imagine. She felt halfway melted, utterly relaxed. Blissful.

  Nick. Dear God, she was lying under Nick. She had her arms and legs wrapped around him; her hands were tangled in his hair, her mouth was pressed against the corded muscles of his neck, and the wonderful subtle musk of his scent was everywhere. Their bellies were pressed together, damp with sweat. And, oh man, her inner muscles were clenching around his still-pretty-damn-hard cock.

  If she wasn’t bathed in waves of pleasure, she would have felt embarrassed. Utterly mortified, in fact.

  But, oh, it was so incredibly sweet to hold him like this. So incredibly right. Like she’d been sneaking up on this moment forever, maybe from the day she’d first met him, almost a decade ago.

  Sneaking up. That was certainly one way to put it. They’d been friends for year and years and years. Best friends. And in all that time, Nick had never shown any sexual interest in her. He treated her like his virginal kid sister, though they were both the same age.

  Meanwhile, he was always with a different girl, always perfectly frank about his lusts, about his inability to settle down. Hell, Nick was the one who encouraged her to start things up with Louis, who’d been mooning after her since sophomore year, and who was very clearly interested in marriage and family and a stable, happy home.

  Things Nick was very definitely not interested in.

  No more than he was interested in her. Nick scarcely seemed to know she was female.

  And now she’d just jumped him.

  She hadn’t planned this. Hadn’t thought about it—well, not consciously, though every now and then for years she’d had dreams in which somehow or other they were alone in a bed or a tent or, hell, a supply closet, and things just...happened.

  Okay, maybe it was a little more often than every now and then.

  But she definitely hadn’t meant to act on it. Ever.

  She felt Nick’s body stiffen now, as though he were just coming back to consciousness, too, and realizing the awkwardness of their situation. She felt him take hold of his cock at the base, and withdraw carefully to keep the condom from slipping off...and she felt a terrible sense of loss. He reached into his pack and grabbed a tissue, disposing of the condom without looking at her.

  He’d reared up, still on his knees but with his torso straight. God, he was beautiful, primal man—all those corded muscles, those black curls, those green eyes with the amazing flecks of bright gold. In this setting, with the mountains and sky behind him, and not a man-made thing in sight (if she sort of squinted and ignored the small heaps of their packs and cameras and clothes) he looked like a pagan nature god.

  Despite her embarrassment, she felt a wicked impulse to lick her way down the gorgeous muscles of his belly, take that amazing, thick, hot cock in her mouth and bring it to its full, splendid glory again. And then ask him to take her again afterwards...maybe bind her hands with the straps of his camera bags. She blushed and heated at the thought. He’d caught her by surprise when he’s grabbed her wrists, but, damn, she’d liked it—lust had gone through her like a spike. She’d forgotten how strong Nick was, how muscular, like he was meant for living outdoors even though he’d lived most of his life in L.A. It was why she’d originally started calling him cowboy.

  And she’d liked having him use that power on her. She’d gone hot and molten under him, ready to give him anything he wanted. Anything.

  But why wasn’t he looking at her now? Shit.

  Still on his knees, he had his back to her as he sorted through their clothes. Lord, the sight of his chiseled buttocks—it sent a little shock through her again, straight to her clit, thinking of all the power bound up in those muscles, and the way he’d been thrusting and thrusting into her. She wanted that again. Wanted it right now.

  But he was pulling his t-shirt down over his head, picking up his boxers. His shoulders were stiff. His hands were clenched. He looked like he’d just pulled himself out of a freezing stream, not like he was basking in the haze of sexual afterglow.

  Shit. This was bad. Definitely bad.

  Nick was supposed to be good at moments like this, wasn’t he? Handling the aftermath? Being charming and nonchalant? Lord knows she’d met his women on many a weekend morning when he brought them along for brunch or to see the editing studio, and they always seemed relaxed and smiling and so happy they were practically p
urring. And Nick was always smooth as silk, rubbing the girl’s back, spooning some omelet into her mouth, making suggestive little jokes, acting totally at his ease, even if the girl was never to be seen with him again. Nobody seemed to have any regrets.

  So why should a good hot bout of sex—okay, the most amazing, mind-blowing, sex she’d ever had—make him seem so stiff and unfriendly now? So freaked out?

  She couldn’t possibly have been that bad, could she? Was she too vanilla for him? Damn, what kind of acrobatic stuff was he used to doing?

  He was standing now, yanking on his shorts. His boots were next, and he still had his back turned to her.

  She snatched up her own clothes and began trying to convince her still-languidly-postcoital limbs to shove themselves through the arm and leg holes.

  “Nick,” she said.

  “Yeah, kiddo,” he said shortly, still without looking at her. At least he spoke.

  “You okay?”

  “Great. Fine.” He turned and gave her a smile that looked like it had been carved into his face. “How about we get those test shots now?”

  He’d picked up one his light meters, but he was holding it upside down.

  Amber buttoned up her shorts clumsily. Her hands wouldn’t seem to stop shaking.

  Had she just ruined everything? The magic of their friendship?

  She couldn’t bear to lose that.

  Breaking up with Louis had been...well, it had been remarkably easy. She didn’t really miss him. She felt lighter. Relieved. For several years now, she’d been having to explain too much to Louis—half her jokes flew right over his head.

  With Nick there was a shorthand. They communicated on set with little more than glances. It seemed they always had the same instincts on how to shoot a scene, the same vision for what a film should say. They were together almost all the time, and when they retreated to their separate apartments or hotel rooms, she kept finding herself thinking of things she wanted to tell him.