Wilder (The Renegades)

by Rebecca Yarros

  “The way you respond to me? How wet you are? Your body is practically begging for mine, Leah. Here?” He inserted another finger, and my back bowed off the bed. It felt so damn good. “You’re going to squeeze me perfectly, and I’m going to make you so glad that you said yes.”

  I rocked my hips against his hand, moving his fingers within me. “And you?” I asked with what brain power I had left.

  He took my other hand and placed it on his erection. I squeezed his length gently, my eyes widening at the size of him.

  “I’ve never been this hard for a woman. This desperate. I’ve never had to hold myself back and not take exactly what I wanted, and I’ve never wanted anyone the way I crave you. That’s how I know we’ll be good together. Because what we have right here is better than anything I’ve ever had.”

  Then he kissed me, his tongue moving in rhythm with his fingers below, stroking, teasing, giving me just enough to keep me on edge, but not enough to tip me over.

  “What do you want?” he whispered again. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  “Paxton,” I begged.

  “Say it.”

  “Let me come,” I pleaded, knowing he held it back on purpose, loving that he had that control over my body as much as I hated it.

  “God, yes,” he groaned. Then he rubbed my clit, giving me the perfect amount of pressure and friction to curl my toes. When he stroked his fingers upward inside me, that blessed pressure tightened in my belly, so sweet I could taste it with his tongue moving with mine.

  He worked me expertly, keeping the pressure steady, the rhythm perfect until that tightening grew unbearable and my body took over, riding back against him, my hands in his hair, desperate to hold on to whatever of him I could.

  “Paxton!” I cried out his name as the tension broke in beautiful waves over me, releasing parts of my heart into his keeping with the same breath.

  “You’re exquisite,” he said as he stroked me back down, kicking back the orgasm with skilled motions.

  My heartbeat slowed along with my breathing, a peaceful lethargy stealing over my limbs. “You,” I said, my hands moving down the rigid muscles of his abdomen.

  He trapped my hands. “Nope. My control is one touch away from snapping.”

  It was ridiculously selfish, but the gesture made me feel separate from his conquests, like I was special—like we had something special.

  He brushed a damp tendril of hair from my forehead. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a martyr.”

  “Really?” I teased, rubbing my hips gently against his hard-on.

  He eased off me and then turned my body in his arms, spooning against my back. OMG, and he spoons? Paxton Wilder spoons.

  “Really. I have devious plans for you, Miss Baxter. They just won’t happen here. But trust me. Very devious. I’d be bold enough to say nefarious.”

  I groaned. “Talk vocabulary to me, baby.”

  He laughed, the sound warming me even more than his raging body heat. “Downright diabolical, my little Firecracker.”

  Through the sliding glass door next to our bed, I watched a shooting star streak across the sky.

  I wish that I could always feel like this.

  Had there ever been a more romantic, perfect setting?

  Sure, back on the ship…where you’re supposed to be.

  “What did you wish for?” he asked.

  I turned in his arms and traced the lines of his face. “I wished I could be as fearless as you,” I said, my hand absently stroking the head of his dragon tattoo.

  “I’m not fearless. There are plenty of things that scare me.”

  I looked up at him, his features softened by moonlight. “Like what?”

  “Snakes,” he answered with a self-deprecating half smile. “They’re slimy little fuckers who move without feet. It’s unnatural.”

  My lips turned up. “What else?”

  His forehead puckered. “The first time I bungee jumped. I didn’t like that someone else had measured the line, decided how far I’d go. It wasn’t fun, putting my life in someone’s hands like that.”

  “But you did it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?” My fingers slid along the dragon’s spine that curved outside his pec, and down the tail that outlined his abs. I stopped short of the spiked ending that led to his incredible fuck-me lines, remembering not to torture him more.

  He sucked in his breath as my fingers moved back up. “Because I knew it would haunt me if I didn’t. Because I knew there was something exquisite waiting just past the fear if I could get there.”

  “And now that you’re a daredevil extraordinaire?”

  “There are still plenty of things that scare me.”

  “What scares you the most?”

  His fingers threaded through the hair at the base of my skull and then tugged, guiding me to look up at him. He looked into my eyes for what seemed like an eternity. “You. You scare the shit out of me.”

  My heart lurched, instinctively reaching for his. “I’m not scary.”

  “No, you’re terrifying. On paper you’re everything I shouldn’t mesh with, but I look at you, touch you, or get my mouth on you, and you’re the only thing I see, the only one I want, and that’s by far the scariest thought I’ve ever had.”

  “I’m just me.”

  His hand slid until his thumb stroked my cheekbones. “You are everything and don’t even see it. You’re smart, and strong, and so beautiful that you make me ache when I look at you.”

  “Don’t say things like that,” I whispered, my brain scrambling to build any wall around my heart while it did its best to reach for Paxton.

  “Things like the truth?”

  “Things that make me want what I can’t have.”

  “You can have me, Leah. I’m yours for the asking.”

  There was nothing but honesty in his eyes—and God, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to be his, even if it was only for this moment, and not just physically.

  He lifted his chin over my head, tucking me in. “Get some sleep, Firecracker. We have an early flight.”

  Despite the overpowering exhaustion I knew was the result of stress, our day, the nightmare, and a spectacular orgasm, I had to know. “What did you wish for?”

  He sighed. “For you to give me a second chance.”

  My eyebrows puckered, but my limbs felt too heavy to move. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “It’s not for now. It’s for later.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I slurred as I drifted off, but just before I was pulled under, I heard the faintest whisper against my forehead.

  “It will be.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Leah

  Istanbul

  “First class?” I asked as we took our seats in the front row of the airplane.

  “It’s not hard to do when the plane is this small,” Paxton answered, buckling his seat belt as I did the same.

  The plane was tiny, with only about sixteen of us on board. “It’s cozy.”

  “It’s a sardine can with propellers,” he muttered, looking past me at the window.

  “You don’t like flying,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips.

  “Not too fond of it,” he answered, cracking his neck. The lines of his tattoos flexed with the movement.

  The middle-aged man across the aisle noticed, too, frowning his disapproval.

  “How can you, of all people, not like flying?”

  “It’s a control thing. I like having it.”

  “I noticed,” I said as the flight attendant raised the door and sealed it for takeoff.

  He rolled his eyes but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he let out a huge, jaw-cracking yawn. We’d slept in this morning and barely made the flight, but hey, it wasn’t like we could lose luggage we didn’t have. I fingered the beautiful white skinny jeans that must have set him back a fortune to have delivered, especially with the blue silk top I’d found when we woke up t
his morning. He’d shrugged and said it was only money, but to me it was so much more.

  It was the thought he’d put into it, the fact that he’d cared enough to get the right sizes, that he’d bought me pants instead of shorts or a skirt.

  What I wouldn’t give for a short, flirty skirt. Something that swirled a little when I turned, that left my legs bare to the sun.

  But bare to his eyes, too.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked as we rolled toward the runway, another yawn distorting his last word.

  “That you look awfully tired this morning.”

  “That’s because you kept me up all night with your demands,” he answered, closing his eyes and leaning back in his seat.

  The gentleman across the aisle sputtered in his coffee.

  “I most certainly did not,” I fired back in a stage whisper.

  He cracked one eyelid as we barreled down the runway. “I’m sorry, was that not you under me last night? Asking me to put my hands on you, begging me to let you come?”

  Now the guy was actually coughing, his wife slapping him on the back.

  I glared at Paxton. “Seriously?” Not only was it hugely embarrassing to hear him say that, but I wasn’t comfortable with the way it immediately flipped my sex switch to “go for launch.”

  He gave me a hot-as-hell grin as his hand worked its way up my thigh. I promptly returned it to his own lap. “Relax,” he whispered in my ear. “We’ll never see these people again.”

  “I’m never going to see you again,” I muttered, flipping open the emergency procedures booklet. What I wouldn’t have given for my Kindle.

  Paxton’s grip tightened on the armrest between us. I’d never imagined that he wouldn’t like something as simple as flying, but it was oddly endearing to see one tiny flaw in his impenetrable armor. I covered his hand with mine and gave him a reassuring squeeze as we launched into the air.

  His breaths were even and steady, but his eyes stayed closed until we finished our climb to altitude. “You okay?” I asked.

  His eyes finally opened, and he nodded. “Yeah. I’m just not a fan of takeoffs and landings.”

  “Yeah, I can understand that. Has it always been that way?”

  He shook his head, focused on the space directly ahead of us. “I was flying with my mom once when an engine caught fire.”

  “Oh. That must have been terrifying. How old were you?”

  “Nine. And yeah, it was scary, but I knew she’d keep me safe.” A slight smile touched his lips.

  “Did she hold your hand?” I tried to imagine a little Paxton, without tattoos, slightly needy.

  “Hell no. She had both hands on the controls.”

  “She was the pilot,” I guessed.

  He nodded. “She’s always had one foot on the ground and the other climbing for the sky.”

  She sounded just like her son. “So have you been nervous ever since then?”

  He shrugged. “It’s gotten a lot better. For the first years after it was hard to get in a plane, but I managed. What about you?”

  “Oddly enough, flying doesn’t bother me.” I reached for the Visit Istanbul pamphlet in the pocket in front of us and started to flip through.

  “No, I meant with cars?”

  My fingers locked on the page showing the Cistern, my stomach dropping thousands of feet to the earth below. He didn’t mean it. He’s talking about something else.

  I gave him a sideways glance and saw his eyes blown wide, then squeezing shut with a long breath.

  He fucking knew.

  I might as well have been sitting there naked with how exposed I felt. Even his inappropriate little comment earlier hadn’t done this to me. My hands shook, but I turned the page, looking over the intricate details of the Blue Mosque. “How long have you known?” I asked, my voice a hell of a lot calmer than I was right now.

  “Known what?” he tried.

  “Cut the bullshit.”

  “Last night.” He looked at me, but I stayed locked in my safe little booklet.

  “Well then, you certainly can’t keep a secret for long, can you?” I flipped another page. Why the hell were we on a plane? My knee started to bounce with restless energy, with the need to get away from him. Every single seat on this plane was taken, so it was either sit here or parachute.

  “I didn’t mean to say anything. It just slipped.” He reached for my hand, and I jerked farther toward the window. Parachuting looks like a great option.

  “Like your fingers slipped on the keyboard while you googled me?” I threw back.

  His eyes closed briefly. “No, I deliberately did that.”

  No apology. What a first-class asshole. “Is this because I googled you?”

  “No. God, no, Leah. I wanted to know how to help you, and I couldn’t do that without knowing what you’d gone through. It was obvious that you’d had some kind of trauma.”

  My head snapped like he’d struck me. I wasn’t proud of much, but I’d done a damn good job of recovering. Or at least faking it. “I told you that I wasn’t ready to talk about it, that I wasn’t your project to fix. When the hell did you find time last night to invade my privacy?”

  “It’s on the internet. Not exactly private,” he pleaded for understanding.

  Fuck. That. “When?”

  “While you were in the shower. Please look at me.”

  I snapped the booklet closed and looked at him, only to immediately look away. Those eyes of his were an unfair advantage in an argument. Wait. In the shower…before. Oh God. I flicked the booklet back open and let anger take the place of mortification. “So was that a pity orgasm last night? Or were you just hoping to see if I’d show you where the damage is?”

  Paxton’s mouth dropped open before he snapped it shut, mirroring the guy across the aisle. “Eyes forward,” his wife ordered him in English. Good woman.

  “Hey,” Paxton said, his voice deceptively soft. “What happened last night was because I wanted you, plain and simple.”

  “Right, and that’s why you didn’t fuck me when I asked you to, right? Because you wanted me soooo badly,” I sang. God, I was going to throw up, or throw something at him. Either choice was reasonable.

  The guy across the aisle started to whistle.

  “Fuck,” Paxton muttered under his breath before raking his hands over his hair. “You have no idea how hard it was for me not to—”

  “Oh, I remember how hard it was. I was there.”

  Now the guy behind us started coughing.

  “Leah.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. We’ll never see these people again, right?” I tore the page I was turning. “Fuck. Well, that’s broken now, so no use trying to read it. Or maybe I should try the next page…you know, to make it feel not so broken.”

  “Look, if you want, I’ll take you to the bathroom and show you how badly I want you. You’re right, we won’t see these people again, so I don’t give a fuck if they hear you screaming my name.”

  That brought me up short. Everyone could hear us. I lowered my voice to a hiss. “Whatever. So did you get your curiosity appeased? Read the details? The speculation? Of course you did. You all do. Then the questions start.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Go ahead and ask. Let’s get it all done now. After all, your fingers have been inside me, may as well rip apart my head, too.”

  I kept rolling, embracing the anger that burned my veins like acid, eating away the glimpse of happiness I’d had in his arms. “You all want to know the same thing. Why was he in such a hurry to get home after our date? Didn’t I ask him to slow down? How long was it before I decided I had to climb out over Brian’s body? Was he still alive when we hit the first time? Why did I unbuckle? Why did I wait so long? How many times did the car fall? Was it hard to use my dead boyfriend as a step stool to get out? How long did I hang there on the cliff face? Did my fingers go numb? Did they bleed? Did I think about letting go? Did I want to die?”

  “
Leah!” Paxton snapped, forcibly turning my head to meet his eyes. “Stop.”

  “Why?” I asked, my voice breaking as tears pooled, stinging me with my own weakness. “Don’t you want to know? You all do. You all want to dig inside, to know every detail like you were there, like it’s your story. Like by knowing my tragedy you can somehow touch it. Well you can’t, it’s mine. I was alone then, and I’m alone now.”

  He flinched before his eyes narrowed in focus. “Stop assuming I’m everyone. I’ve lived my life making sure that no one is like me, so don’t lump me in with those assholes.”

  “But you looked,” I whispered, a tear slipping down my face.

  He wiped it away with his thumb. “I can’t say that I’m sorry I looked. Because I looked, because I fucked up and slipped, we’re having this conversation now. Yes, it was a violation of your privacy. Yes, you did it to me, but this was not payback. I knew you guarded your legs. I’m not stupid. I can’t imagine what you would have done had I tried to take off your pants, and believe me, getting in your pants has been at the top of my list since I saw you on that balcony.”

  Some of the fight drained from me. I hated that he was right, that I would have spazzed out on him and ran the minute he tried to slip my jeans down my hips, but that didn’t excuse what he’d done. How he made me feel.

  “I’m not sorry that I know,” he continued, his expression softening. “But I wish you’d been the one to tell me. That you would have trusted me.”

  “It’s not about trust. It’s about ripping open scabs I’ve barely let heal. That accident, losing Brian that way…it was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. It is something that changed who I am, what I’m capable of, and how I view my future. You had no right to cut open my scars. Just because you live your life in some transparent, camera-ridden world doesn’t mean that the rest of us believe in cellophane for our bedroom walls. Some of us need to block out the light. Some of us need to lick our wounds in private.”

  “You’re right,” he said, wiping another tear that I hadn’t realized had fallen. “My life is a public spectacle. But please don’t think that you can find everything about me on Google.”

  “Okay. Then what is the worst thing that has ever happened to you? And I’m not talking about broken bones or failed stunts.” I wanted him as raw as he’d scraped me, as vulnerable.