Page 77 of Wild and Wanted

‘No, wait…’ Her fingers circled his wrist. ‘Could you—’ She faltered, pressing her lips together, her gaze dropping to their hands, and although her cheeks were already flushed, he could see an extra rush of colour.

‘Look at me, Stevie girl.’ It took a beat but her eyes slowly lifted, radiating uncertainty. ‘You can have whatever you want.’

She nodded but it lacked enthusiasm. ‘I read in one of Yolly’s books once, she was on top like this and the hero, he⁠—’

She paused again, her gaze searching his for a beat before she tugged on his hand and brought it to her throat, her own slipping away.

Ah.

Clay smiled slowly, surprised but really fucking turned on by this development. Like he wasn’t close enough to blowing his load already.

‘This?’ he murmured as his thumb brushed the shallow dip at the base of her throat and wafted over the thick thud of her carotid pulse as it settled to one side of her neck, his fingers sliding to the opposite side until he was lightly cuffing her throat, the ridge of her trachea hard beneath his palm.

‘You want this, Stevie girl?’

Clay almost groaned at the sudden sexual glitter in her eyes and the shift of her throat against his hand as she swallowed.

‘I… I don’t know.’ She swallowed again. ‘But it was… exciting to read.’

‘You got off on it?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Shall I?’ Clay exerted the lightest of pressure.

Her breath hitched, and her eyes bugged a little as she shook her head and he eased off. ‘Can I just…’ She leaned into his hand instead, putting herself in control of the pressure, and Clay braced his arm as he took more of her weight.

‘Better?’

She nodded, swallowing thickly, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her breathing sexily unsteady. ‘Yes,’ she assured him on a pant then started to move again.

Clay did moan this time. The sight of her in nothing but his hat, his hand around her throat, her back arched as she leaned more of her weight into his hand and rode him like she’d been born in a saddle, was a goddamn revelation.

‘Fuuck, Stevie girl,’ he muttered, his eyes locking in on hers, ‘you look so sexy wearing my hand as a necklace.’

Her moan vibrated against his palm as she picked up the pace, her breathing heavy as she worked her hips in a circle-circle-grind rhythm that got faster and more intense, her eyes glazed with lust as she started to whimper and pant.

‘Yesss,’ Clay whispered, his heart a mad slam in his chest, his breathing crazy unsteady considering he was doing fuck all except fighting the rising surge of his climax. ‘Yes, Stevie, bring it home.’

‘Clay,’ she panted, her rhythm becoming haphazard now, one hand flailing before sliding over his hand at her throat, the other landing on a pec and squeezing as she leaned into it, shifting her angle a little, a satisfied grunt falling from her lips.

Fuck, she was awesome. ‘Stevie,’ he groaned as he clamped down on the dictates of his body to let go. ‘Gonna make me come.’

She gasped then, her eyes widening, and Clay saw the moment her body let go, a hard jolt shuddering through her and into him, swallowing convulsively against the restriction at her throat as her internal muscles clamped hard, squeezing him as she bucked and writhed and called his name, her gaze never leaving his as he finally gave into the scream in his blood.

His orgasm soared with hers as he vaulted upright, his hand falling from her throat to slide around her waist and anchor there as he took over, hammering up into her, his tongue licking into her mouth as he kissed her hard and deep, pushing them higher and higher and higher into a galaxy of stardust.

23

STEVIE

An hour later, Stevie was sitting cross-legged on an Adirondack chair on the front porch, dressed in her panties and T-shirt, absently picking the strings of her guitar as she watched the setting sun mist the distant mountains in hazy purple hues. She wasn’t playing anything in particular, just strumming as she took in the breathtaking spectacle, her mind drifting in that space where her creativity swirled.

Clay had fallen asleep shortly after they’d collapsed back against the mattress, but she’d felt too mentally wired to sleep despite the post-climax stupor pulling at her body. Riding Clay like that had been wild. Dragging his hand to her throat, the feel of it cuffing her, the brace of it, had been even wilder.

She didn’t feel like the same woman any more. Not the same Stephanie obviously – that boat had sailed a couple of weeks ago – but she didn’t feel like the same Stevie, either. Clay had loosened something in her and given her the freedom to go after it.

Look at me, Stevie girl. You can have whatever you want.