Smolder: The Wildwood Series

by Karen Erickson

  Oh, he was treading on dangerous territory here, but fuck it. He could claim he was buzzed. Shove her away, tell her it was a mistake so she’d leave his house in a huff, hurt and upset. That was how they usually operated, so it wouldn’t seem out of character for him to do something like that.

  But . . . he couldn’t make himself do it. Now that he’d had a taste, he wanted another. He wanted more. He wanted to touch and feel and explore and kiss and undress and all those other bad, dangerous things he shouldn’t want. Not with Delilah.

  “Lane.” She whispered his name when he broke the kiss to slide his lips along the length of her neck. She smelled damn good. Sweet and floral with a hint of spice. Her hair was incredibly soft and brushed against his face when he kissed her ear, nibbled on the lobe, murmuring her name and making her shiver. “Don’t stop.”

  Why’d she have to go and say that? He lifted his head and stared down at her pretty upturned face, her lids at half-mast, her lips damp and swollen from their shared kisses. He should stop. He knew he should stop. Once he reached the point of no return all hell would break loose and he might scare Delilah. That was the last thing he wanted to do. She was a good girl. She deserved a man who would respect her and treat her like a princess. Lane respected the hell out of her, always had, but could he treat her like a princess?

  Only if princesses liked to be fucked hard against a wall. Hell, his kitchen counter would do. But he doubted she would like that sort of thing. Well, she might at first but the novelty would wear off quick. The dirty talk might turn her off too.

  Or would it? He’d been with women who liked being fucked gently in bed, missionary style, neat and tidy and finished in less than fifteen minutes. He’d also met women who hated that sort of thing.

  What did Delilah prefer? She was pretty feisty. Always putting up a fight. Chasing after him and always brave enough to tell him how she felt.

  Most of the time, she was braver than him.

  Maybe she liked it hard and fast and dirty—like he did. Sometimes he said the worst things, things that had turned off more than one woman from his past. Would his ways and words turn off Delilah?

  But he wasn’t willing to test it to find out. They shared too many years, too many memories. Her friendship was too valuable, and he wasn’t about to risk her finding out he was a dirty motherfucker.

  Practically having to wrench his lips from hers, he let go of her and took a step back, Delilah’s hands falling away from him with the motion. Her skirt fell back into place; her chest heaved with her labored breaths. His breathing was just as labored, his lungs aching, his entire body aching over the loss of her nearness. She gaped at him as he kept moving, putting distance between them until he deemed it safe.

  For her or him, he wasn’t sure.

  “That . . . ” His voice drifted and he swallowed hard. “Shouldn’t have happened.”

  Her eyes looked ready to pop out of her head. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because.” He sounded like an idiot. Because. What sort of reason was that? “You and me—we wouldn’t work.”

  Delilah threw her hands up into the air, growling. Literally growling with frustration as she stormed toward him, her eyes blazing with anger, her mouth formed into a determined line. He took another step back, his butt hitting the wall behind him, and she reached out, her hands slapping his chest with enough force to make him wince. “You’re an idiot.”

  He knew this. Wasn’t going to bother arguing with her.

  “Why do you keep denying what’s happening between us?” When he said nothing, she shoved him again and he let her. She needed to get out her frustration and anger, so why not let himself be her punching bag? It was all directed at him anyway because he was the source of those emotions. “Why did you have to go and ruin such a . . . beautiful moment between us?”

  Lane snickered at her choice of words. He couldn’t help it. And when he saw a murderous glow in Delilah’s dark brown eyes, he figured he’d really stepped in it. Yet the words tumbled from his lips anyway. “A beautiful moment, Dee?”

  She crossed her arms, glaring at him. “I should hit you.”

  “Beautiful? Really? Is that what you prefer? Sweet, precious kisses where you get swept off your feet by the white knight who’s come to save you?” He practically sneered with disgust.

  Oh, he was being mean now, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe this would push her away once and for all. End this torturous attraction between them for good. He needed to do something to cut her off and redirect her toward someone else. A man who was a better fit for her—she deserved that, at least.

  Delilah just blinked at him, surprise etched on her features. They stared at each other for what felt like an hour. “I’m not looking for a white knight,” she finally said.

  “Is that so? So what the hell was that kiss we just shared?”

  “It was a . . . a moment of learning each other.” She was stuttering, her gaze sliding away from his, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I thought it was nice,” she added weakly.

  “Nice. Is that how you like it? Nice and sweet with a little bit of tongue and a grope here and there? Nothing too forward? Nothing too rough?” He pushed away from the wall, invading her space, but she didn’t move. Merely stood her ground and tilted her head back, her gaze never leaving his as he stared down at her.

  She was so beautiful, so willing to stand up to him even when he was being a complete jackass. And he was acting like a world-class jackass at this particular moment, trying to shock her, disgust her, drive her away.

  “I’m afraid you’ll take off running if I push you any further. That is your usual mode of operation,” she retorted, eyes flashing. “Don’t want to scare the big, bad Lane Gallagher. You’re quite the runner, you know.”

  Hell if his dick didn’t get hard at her feisty words. He was trying to drive her away, and she was looking to get a rise out of him. What a combo they made. “There’s a reason I push you away, Delilah. It’s for your own good.”

  “Please.” She practically spit the word out, her lips pursed. “You always give me that line, and you know what? I think it’s total crap. I think you’re just—scared.”

  “Scared?” He raised a brow. “Of you? Are you kidding?”

  “Why else would you shove me away at every opportunity? And trust me, I give you plenty of golden opportunities, Lane. I don’t know how to make it more obvious, beyond stripping naked right now and begging you to fuck me.”

  He started to sweat at her words and the image they fueled in his brain. Lane would give anything to see her shed that dress, step out of her panties, and get on her knees, begging him to fuck her in that sweet, sexy voice of hers. Damn it, that was like his dream come true.

  Trying his best to remain indifferent, he watched her, concentrating on turning his face to stone. “I don’t think you have the guts.”

  “Ha! Challenge accepted. Watch this.” Shooting him a triumphant smile, she grabbed her skirt and started to pull it up, flashing him her pale blue cotton panties—of course, innocence personified—offering him a glimpse of her flat, toned stomach, her ribs, and holy hell she wasn’t wearing a bra . . .

  He rushed her, grabbing hold of her arms and halting her progress. She glared at him, struggling against his hold, her nose scrunching up in anger and frustration. A look she seemed to wear only around him.

  “Let me go,” she demanded.

  “No.” He shook his head vehemently. “You’re not going to humiliate yourself in front of me.”

  “I’d only be humiliated if you told me no.”

  Lane said nothing, which earned him another glare and a hard kick in the shin. “Ow,” he muttered. She escaped his grasp, doing a triumphant little dance, and his palm itched to smack her ass. The woman needed some discipline. Not that he’d be the one to give it to her.

  “Gonna have to catch me,” she called over her shoulder as she made a mad dash past him, heading down the hall toward his bedroom. He
wondered if she was drunk. Or worse, if she’d lost her mind.

  He came to a halt in the middle of his hallway when he spotted her dress lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. He stared at the fabric stupidly, like a blind man trying to see something for the first time. All he could do was blink.

  Delilah had taken off her dress. Meaning, she was naked in his room. Waiting for him. Prepared to beg him to fuck her.

  Chapter Seven

  LANE TOOK A deep breath and opened the door, stopping short at the sight before him: Delilah in the center of his California king-size bed, on her knees wearing nothing but those pale blue panties, not even a bra. Her breasts were small, perfect handfuls with nipples the color of a ripe, juicy peach.

  His mouth literally watered at the sight of them. He wanted a taste, damn it. Just one. Just to know if they would pebble on his tongue. If she’d like it when he sucked her deep. Or would she prefer if he just licked them?

  It scared him that he wanted to know her preferences. He had no right thinking like this, wanting her, contemplating what he was about to do to her. He clenched his hands into fists again, fighting the urge to go to her and slowly losing the battle.

  Why would he turn away such an opportunity, such a gift? How could he tell her no? Denying her would be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. One of the stupidest too.

  “I think you curl your fingers tight because you think that’ll prevent you from touching me.” The smile curving her lush mouth was inviting. Mischievous. She looked pleased with herself for reading his damn mind. Like she’d just pulled the ultimate trick on him. “You looked shocked, Deputy.”

  Without a word he shut the door behind him, twisting the lock into place. Not that he was worried about anyone busting in on them . . .

  But better to be safe than sorry.

  He turned to face her, crossing his arms as he contemplated the situation. Her eyes glittered with excitement and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. All he knew was that he’d never seen her look more beautiful. Her body was just as he imagined, lean and slender, her hair tumbling past her shoulders wild and free. The longer he studied her, the more he noticed. Faint tan lines bisected her skin, making her breasts paler than her arms, her flat stomach and the slight indent of her navel. He’d seen that stomach time and again—the woman wore the skimpiest clothes imaginable when she was dancing, and he always snuck glances before looking away quickly. Guiltily. Hoping like hell she hadn’t caught him checking her out.

  Most of the time, he figured she dressed skimpily just to drive him out of his mind. To set his imagination off on a wild-goose chase, trying to remember what she looked like so exposed. Trying to envision what she might look like completely naked.

  So now, he took his time, and the longer he took, the more nervous she seemed to get. Her skin dotted with gooseflesh and her nipples grew harder. She straightened her spine, rested her hands on her hips, her fingers toying with the waistband of those sweet cotton panties she wore, and he was suddenly struck with an idea.

  “You failed on your promise, you know,” he said, his voice low, tone almost ominous.

  Her expression faltered just the slightest bit. A regular person would’ve never noticed but he was familiar with everything about Delilah. “What are you talking about?”

  “You said you’d be naked and begging me to fuck you.” She flinched when he said the word fuck. He continued on. “And you’re not naked, Dee.”

  She glanced down at her panties, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. He bit back a groan, both loving and hating how every little thing she did seemed to set fire to his blood. “I’m pretty exposed already, Lane.”

  “Not good enough.”

  Her head jerked up at his firm tone and he felt the teeniest bit of remorse for being so harsh. But then again, this was just the real him coming out. If she wouldn’t bend to his will, then they’d realize real quickly it wouldn’t work between them.

  He had a feeling Delilah didn’t much bend to anyone. She was fiercely determined and threw herself into pretty much everything she did. Did that include sexually? He hadn’t a clue. But he doubted she’d let some bossy asshole tell her what to do in bed. Or in the shower. In his truck. Against the kitchen wall, the bedroom wall, the living room wall. On his couch . . .

  Yeah. He was going to be a bossy asshole.

  “Are you demanding that I take my panties off? Is that what you want?” she asked sweetly, but he heard the sass in her voice too. She was taunting him. Meaning she was playing with fire.

  “Yes,” he bit out harshly, frowning when she climbed off his bed and sauntered over to where he stood, stopping just in front of him.

  Delilah tossed her hair over her shoulder and thrust her chest out, her breasts on proud display. His mouth watered. His hands itched to touch them. His lips tingled, eager to suck on her nipples. “Take them off yourself.”

  They were playing a game. It felt like a power struggle. She pushed, and he pushed back. He shoved, she shoved back even harder.

  Well. He’d show her.

  Sending her a look, he lowered himself to his knees, something he would never, ever do for another woman. But Delilah was an exception. And at this moment, he was desperate to push her past her comfort zone. Deep down inside, he wanted to scare her. He wanted her to bolt, to run and never look back. He wanted to show her exactly who he was . . .

  And he fully expected her to never want to see this side of him again.

  She tilted her head down, watching him as her teeth nibbled on her lower lip again. He liked that look. A little unsure, a lot sexy. Reaching out, he curled his fingers around the sides of her panties, his fingers brushing her skin. She was warm. And trembling. Was it fear? Or did she want him?

  He wasn’t quite sure.

  Lane glanced up, their gazes meeting. Holding. Her chest rose and fell, faster and faster the longer they stared at each other, and he was tempted to say something to put her at ease. But this moment wasn’t about ease or comfort. He wanted to push her boundaries.

  Slowly he tugged on her panties, exposing her hip bones. The lower plane of her belly, that gentle curve just below her belly button, such a vulnerable spot that few got to see. Christ, he could smell her arousal. He had a feeling if he slipped his fingers between her legs he’d find her wet. Hot.

  All for him.

  The realization blew his mind.

  But he didn’t touch her. Nope, he was torturing himself as much as he figured he was torturing her. Tearing his gaze from hers, he pulled her panties down the rest of the way, exposing her completely, until the blue scrap of fabric was wound around her knees and he was face-to-pussy. A place he never thought he’d be with Delilah, not really. Oh, he’d dreamed about it. Jerked off to thoughts of being in this exact spot, over and over again. But never had he believed he’d really be here. On his fucking knees in front of her, breathing across her most sensitive skin, seeing her thighs tremble, her scent winding around him, making him dizzy.

  Making him want to taste.

  Devour.

  IF LANE DIDN’T make a move, didn’t goddamn do something and soon, Delilah was going to lose it. She was tempted to thread her fingers into his hair and pull. Just to make him yelp, react, touch her, lick her, push his face into her, whatever he had planned. He just needed to do it and get it over with.

  Lane slid his hands along the outside of her thighs, his calloused fingers deliciously rough on her skin. She pressed her knees inward, her panties falling to the floor, and she carefully kicked them off, standing before him completely naked.

  Completely on display.

  “Looks like you’re the one on your knees,” she tried to joke but her voice was shaky and high, her nerves loud and clear. He let his hands fall from her legs and drew himself to his feet, standing above her, so tall, and still fully dressed, making her feel vulnerable.

  “I think it’s your turn,” he said, his voice like steel—hard and solid and completely unfo
rgiving. “Can you do it, Dee? Or are you afraid?”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she said. And she wasn’t. He’d never instilled any sort of fear in her, ever. He was inherently kind, even when he tried to act like a tough guy. Even though he was a man of the law. He dealt with liars all the time and shouldn’t trust a soul.

  But they’d known each other a long time, and she hoped he trusted her. She certainly trusted him. Why else would she put herself into this position? Kneeling before him, her gaze dropped to the front of his shorts, the unmistakable outline of his erection. Her mouth went dry. He looked . . . large. Not that she should be surprised, considering she saw him in just his underwear earlier.

  “Then let me hear you beg.” He smirked, looking rather pleased with himself, and she wanted to smack him. The way he acted, she was pretty sure he believed she’d chicken out. Well, she’d show him.

  “And use the right words,” he added, that smirk still firmly in place. “You know what they are.”

  Oh yes, she did. Maybe she should be ashamed for being on her knees, naked in front of Lane Gallagher, a man she’d known for what felt like forever. But she didn’t feel ashamed, not at all. She was excited. Arousal buzzed in her veins, making her eager.

  She straightened her spine and scooted closer, wanting to grab hold of him but restraining herself. Resting her hands on top of her thighs, she cast him a demure look, hoping she looked both innocent and sexy. She was giving him all she had right at this very moment, and if he responded negatively . . .

  Delilah had no idea what she would do.

  “I’m only going to ask this once.” She blinked up at him, her lips parted, her tongue darting out for a quick lick. “Fuck me, Lane.” His eyes followed her tongue’s every move and she fought the wave of triumph that wanted to sweep over her. “Please?”

  He said nothing, his hands clenched into fists—what else was new?—his nostrils flaring. The tendons in his neck stood out in stark relief, and she had the sudden sense that he was holding himself back.