Till Summer Do Us Part(76)

“Wow.” He laughs. It’s hearty and from the gut. “Jesus, please, stop. Don’t say more. I don’t think my ego will be able to fit in this tent if you keep up with the compliments.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” I laugh.

“Oh, by all means, please continue to regale me with your compliments. I think you were saying how I’m normally not your type. Continue.”

I roll my eyes. “What I was trying to say is that I wouldn’t normally go for a guy like you—”

“Uh-huh, you said it differently, but it still feels the same.”

“Stop.” I laugh as I gently pat at his chest. “What I’m trying to say is that I would normally go for someone different, but the moment I saw you in front of Anthropologie, I thought to myself, how on earth did Mika not tell me about you?”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “Interested, were you?”

“And this is why I do not compliment you.”

He laughs and lies back down, wrapping his arm around me and holding me close to his chest. “It’s okay. You can say it. You have a crush on me.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Annoyingly attractive.”

Yup, exactly why I didn’t want to say anything.

“It’s the lip ring, isn’t it?”

Yes.

“Or my eyes—I’ve heard they’re mesmerizing.”

Also those.

“Or my strapping body that I spend countless hours training in the gym?”

That doesn’t hurt.

“Or is it the fact that you’re questioning whether I’m pierced anywhere else?”

Also, dying to know such things.

“Nope,” I say. “It’s your chin. It’s well structured.”

“My chin?” he asks in such a comical way that it almost makes me laugh.

“Yes, your chin. So…great job growing it. Okay, going to bed now.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s your choice,” I say and snuggle against the pillow. “Night, Wilder.”

He’s silent for a second, and then his hand moves slightly under the hem of my shirt, inching over my heated skin. Immediately, a dull throb erupts between my legs as his palm connects with my stomach. And then he leans in, and, in a sultry, deep voice, he asks, “Are you sure it’s just my chin?”

Dear God.

No, it’s not.

It’s the whole package.

It’s how kind you are to me.

How you make me feel special.

The way you look at me with those eyes, like I matter. Like I’m of importance.

It’s the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you have no problem sticking up for me.

It’s everything. At first glance, I wouldn’t have thought he was my type. And even now, given how good he is, I still wouldn’t have thought he was my type. But I’m starting to learn what I deserve in a man, and Wilder somehow ticks all those boxes.

Wetting my lips, I nod as his thumb strokes my skin. God, I might burn up right here on the spot. “Yeah, your chin,” I say, barely getting the words out.

“Hmm, shame, I thought it was so much more.” And then he lies back down but keeps his hand under my shirt. I swear it’s a test. Like he’s waiting for me to tell him to remove himself. Like he’s seeing where my head is at.

And the thing is, I don’t want him to move. I want him to hold me like this. I want to feel his skin against mine, because it’s been so long. Because it’s comforting. Because deep down inside, I’m starting to figure out that I wouldn’t mind just a little more from him.

“Well, we all learn something new every day.”

“I guess we do,” he says softly, his thumb still stroking my stomach. “Just like I’m learning that you don’t mind having my hand under your shirt.”

I would actually prefer it a little higher, thanks.

“Um, well, I wouldn’t, uh, I wouldn’t want your hand to get cold.”

He chuckles, the sound so addicting. “You’re so considerate,” he says as his hand moves farther north. “I wouldn’t want my hand to get cold either.”

I bite my bottom lip. “Cold hands are no fun.”

“Not even a little,” he says, his thumb stroking the spot just below my breast.

Mother of God.

Within minutes, this man has not only reinvigorated my confidence, but he has turned me on faster than my ex ever had with just the lightest stroke of his thumb.

“G-glad we can establish that,” I say, really unsure what I’m saying at all.

“You know, you sound nervous, Scottie. Is there a reason why you’re nervous?”

Yeah, because all I can think about is how I want you to touch me more than you are. And I shouldn’t be thinking that. I shouldn’t be thinking about him in any sort of sexual way. But my God, I’m panting. Begging. Needing.

“Not nervous,” I say.

“You sure?” he asks in a teasing tone.

“Positive,” I say.

“Because if you want, we can change positions. You can lie on my chest if you want, and you can place your hand on my stomach.”

That would be a very bad idea.