The Drift: Preacher Brothers, 3 Page 7

  I walked slowly by the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf in the Preacher brothers’ house. I didn’t know whose office this was, but I heard enough to figure out all four brothers had grown up in this house, their father a piece of shit who beat them. I knew Dom and Cullen, along with their women, no longer lived here. After they found their women, they moved out and got their own places together.

  So it had just been Frankie and Wilder since then, and I knew they were close, being brothers, but even more so because of their twin connection. And I knew that’s why Frankie had done what he did.

  I was roaming the house after dinner and found myself in here scanning the books that lined the shelves. I thought about the possibilities of getting lost in all the different worlds and lives that could be led between the pages.

  Over the days that seemed to meld together, I continually asked myself why I hadn’t just left yet. I tried to reason that it was because the big-ass, scary Preacher boys were always around, and I guessed that was part of it, but the truth was, they didn’t scare me enough to try to not leave. There had been moments I could’ve snuck away, times where Dom was with Amelia, Cullen was with Kimber, and Frankie had disappeared into a room where he turned up the stereo and the sweet smell of pot seeped out from underneath the doorjamb.

  There had been plenty of times I could’ve just left, said fuck all of this, fuck my purse and phone. I could’ve just withdrawn the little money I’d been squirreling away, gotten another pay-per-use phone, and just left, went somewhere no one could find me.

  But I had a feeling a Preacher brother would have found me.

  I could’ve ran, escaped. I was sure as hell good at it. But here I was, two weeks later, and still no closer to distancing myself for this situation or Wilder.

  What in the fuck was wrong with me?

  I left the office and turned the light off, my bare feet silently moving over the wood floor. Everything was so silent with the house empty, and as I passed the room I still shared with Wilder, I heard the shower running. Of course, I pictured him naked under the spray, all that hard, tattooed muscle wet. God, I bet he looked good totally naked. My body heated, and from zero to sixty, I got uncomfortably wet between my thighs.

  I pictured me straddling him, the kissing, the grinding. That had been the last time we touched. Nearly a week had gone by, with the only intimate thing passing between us these heated, hooded looks.

  Nearly a week of me lying in bed just feet from him, wanting nothing more than to slip between the sheets and press my body to his.

  Did he picture that too? Did he ache for me in the same hardcore way I did for him? I assumed he did by how he looked at me, how he had this predatory expression on his face every time I was near. It was like he wanted to tear me up in the best of ways.

  But I still stayed away, mainly because he stayed away. I wouldn’t be the one who made the first move. I figured if he wanted this to go further, he’d start it. I was also scared as hell of rejection. Even though I knew he desired me, he stopped us from going all the way once. I didn’t want a repeat performance.

  I moved past the bedroom until I was standing in front of the large windows in the living room. I explored the house since being here, looking into rooms that had the doors open, catching pictures here and there of Wilder and his brothers at different stages in their lives. But I always felt eyes on me, someone watching me, maybe not worried I’d leave, because they could see how weak I was, but more so watching me out of curiosity.

  Or maybe they thought I was an idiot, because I had just rolled over and submitted to them, didn’t try to fight back, didn’t even try to fight.

  I pushed those thoughts away, because I was tired of feeling guilty for thinking them, tired of the shame for wanting Wilder over just the simple fact we lived two very different lives. I was tired of feeling like an idiot for not trying harder, for not being smarter in this situation, and for giving in to my basic instincts. And I was tired of feeling like I had no right to feel these things for him. I had every right. I deserved to experience them, to want him.

  I exhaled and ran a hand over my hair, the ends slightly damp from my earlier shower.

  I turned away from the window and started heading back toward the room. I’d just go to bed, sleep this off, and maybe in the morning I’d have a clear head and picture of what was going to happen and what I should do.

  You fucking liar.

  I made my back into the bedroom, Wilder still in the bathroom getting ready for bed, the small lamp on the little table by the couch on and giving the room a muted glow. My bed was already pulled out, because I hadn’t bothered righting anything after I woke up in the morning. What was the point?

  I glanced at where Wilder slept, and like every time I looked at that bed, images of me on top of him as I worked myself back and forth along his massive length until I came played through my head. Then the memory of him holding me after I found that completion, after he denied himself, gave me this warm, calming, and fuzzy feeling.

  I swallowed, my mind and body constantly at war these last two weeks. And if I were being honest, these fourteen days seemed to last forever yet moved by at lightning pace. It felt as if I lived a lifetime here, yet everything had gone by in the blink of an eye. It was enough to confuse a girl even more than adding these combustible feelings and arousal, made me feel like I was losing my damn mind.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, my back to the bathroom door, knowing he’d be out any moment. I should have just gotten under the comforter and pretended to be asleep. It would have probably been easier than pretending I didn’t want to continue what we started. I told myself he had to heal, that even if he seemed stronger every day, he nearly lost his life, and fucking like wildcats probably wasn’t the best form of healing.

  And when I resolved myself to do just that, the bathroom door opened, and I felt the humid air fall out of the bathroom and bathe my back in wet heat. I felt Wilder’s gaze on me despite the fact that I wasn’t facing him. My entire body was strung right, and it wasn’t lost on me that we were truly alone for the first time since all this happened.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Zoey

  He’d left, gone to speak with Frankie, and I’d been a coward, darting into the bathroom when he stepped out, needing that one moment for myself, to clear my thoughts.

  And here I was, ten minutes later, still in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror, because I wanted to do something very specific with Wilder, but was afraid of the fallout, of what he’d say and how he’d react.

  Man up. Stop running. Always running.

  I took a stuttering breath in and left the bathroom, opening the door and seeing Wilder standing just a few feet from me.

  I took that moment to look at him, to really look at him. Wilder’s hair was dark and short, damp from his shower, slightly disheveled. His facial bone structure was masculine, like it had been chiseled out of stone. His nose was straight and strong, and his jaw was masculine and square. The days’-worth of scruff that covered his cheeks and chin had heat licking over me and settling right between my thighs.

  This is the last thing I should be thinking about. Although I knew he was healing nicely, this just wasn’t right. It wasn’t his fault I’d been taken by his twin, but the truth of the matter was, I was still here, forced to be in Wilder’s room until he was completely healed. Why that mattered, I had no clue, but I also couldn’t lie and say I didn’t like being around him, forced to or not.

  But we should’ve talked, right? We most definitely shouldn’t have sex.

  But that’s what I want.

  Feeling my body climb higher with an arousal I’d never felt before, my eyes dropped to his feet. He was barefoot, and even that part of his body was so damn attractive. I lifted my gaze over his faded jeans, ones that molded to his muscular thighs and looked well-worn. His chest was bare aside from the white bandage wrapped around his bullet wound. I knew he hated wearing the bandage because the wound was all
but closed, but Kimber insisted he kept it on, and I knew he only did it to placate her.

  But even still, even knowing the wound that lay under it had nearly taken his life, his muscles in his chest were so pronounced, so cut and raw, that it was impossible not to feel wholly feminine around him.

  The tattoos he had weren’t grossly exaggerated, and he wasn’t covered in them like his other brothers, but the ones he did have only seemed to accentuate the power he wielded. I had a feeling, just by looking at Wilder, that the authority he emitted was natural to him, as natural as breathing.

  And then I was staring at his hands, saw how big they were, how they’d dwarf mine. Even now, I could feel them in my hands, his fingers twined with mine as I held him.

  God, the images I conjured of what he would do with those long fingers and at how much power he could exude made me blush intensely. And then I was staring at his face. He watched me, and the fact that he saw me checking him out should have embarrassed me that I’d been caught, but I couldn’t care. I liked that he saw me, no doubt knew how much I wanted him.

  “We should talk,” I whispered, but talking was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “We’re alone,” he replied, and a shiver left me at the way he spoke those words. There was dark intent in them. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and this low, deep sound came from him.

  I opened my mouth to say something else, although I had no damn clue what I would’ve said to follow that up, when Wilder suddenly moved so he was now right in front of me. He didn’t say anything as he reached up and cupped my cheek. He rubbed his thumb across my bottom lip, back and forth, his focus on my eyes. I wished I knew what he thought right now.

  “I’ve stayed away, didn’t touch you anymore after that first time… because I didn’t trust myself to be gentle.”

  I swallowed at his words. “But you do now?” I looked up at him, trying to read him, but he was like a fort.

  He didn’t verbally answer. He just shook his head slowly. “But I can’t stay away anymore, Zoey.”

  God, I was losing my mind.

  I’d been told that once Wilder was healed fully, I’d be taken somewhere far away, dropped off where I couldn’t find my way back to them. It all seemed so unrealistic, made no sense, and that’s what led me to believe I’d be killed. I’d always be able to find my way back to this town. Maybe not to them or where they lived, but close enough. But he seemed healed, had for a while now. Was it his hope to keep me here now?

  In this moment, as Wilder touched me, as I thought about all the times I sat by his bed and sang the same song my mother hummed to me when I was little, I felt this connection to him. I felt like I bonded with this dangerous man.

  My breaths became shallow, quick. We stayed silent, just looking at each other, and as much as I wanted him to say something else, anything, the silence stretched on.

  And then he exhaled and said, “I’ve thought about this so many times, Zoey.” Wilder’s voice was deep. He lowered his gaze to my lips, and a husky sound left him. “I swore I saw you with my eyes closed, in my dreams, knew you were there, even if I didn’t see you.”

  My heart jerked in my chest. He looked into my eyes again, the truth right there in his expression, laced in his words. It didn’t feel like we didn’t really know each other. It didn’t feel like our lives were crossed at this impasse, that I was thrust into his world without wanting to initially be here.

  “I’ve thought about kissing you so many fucking times it makes me hard.” He looked down at my lips, and I forced myself not to lick them. “I remember how you taste, how you feel, Zoey.” His voice broke on that last word.

  I wanted to give myself to him.

  And then he slid his hand to cup my nape and pulled me in close so his lips were on mine. God, I missed this. I felt myself melting into him. There was no hesitation, no surprise that we were crossing that line for good this time. It felt too good, too right, and that scared the shit out of me.

  I couldn’t help myself as I moaned against his mouth. He swiped his tongue out, ran it over my bottom lip, and the deep sound that left him had my nipples hardening and my pussy instantly becoming wet. The reaction he caused in my body was so fierce it was as if gasoline was poured on an open fire.

  I was combustible.

  I couldn’t help myself. I lifted my hands and curled my fingers into his bulging biceps, feeling how hard he was under my palms and fingers. I tilted my head to deepen the kiss then moved even closer, pressing my chest to his, feeling his hardness to my softness… and how aroused he was as it dug into my belly.

  Our tongues stroked along each other as if they had a mind of their own. It started out slow at first, but with each passing second, the passion grew until I wanted to feel him inside me.

  “Wilder,” I whispered, and a second later, this harsh growl left him as he hauled me onto his lap. I broke the kiss and panted, worried about his wound, opening my mouth to say just that, when he shook his head and leaned in to kiss me softly.

  “I’m fine. More than fine.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you even more.”

  He shifted slightly, lifted his hips so I could feel how hard he was, how hard I made him. “Does this feel like I’m still hurt?”

  I gasped, sucking in a breath as arousal shot through me like a hot poker. I slowly shook my head. “No,” I whispered.

  He grabbed my hips and pressed me down… right on his huge, hard cock.

  “Christ,” he said and lifted his hips again, grinding his stiffness against my denim-covered pussy. Another gasp left me, a shot of pleasure filling me. Wilder pulled back, and this flash of disappointment filled me that maybe he came to his senses, that he knew we probably shouldn’t be doing this. I was about to complain, but the deep-rooted sound that left him had all words stilling in my throat.

  I had my hands on his shoulders, the muscles under my touch flexing, tight. He clenched his jaw, and I felt his cock jerk again, as if it were trying to tear through the clothing, his arousal a living entity. I bit my lip to hold off on mewling in desire, in wanton need.

  “You don’t—” He shook his head, stopping me from finishing. I knew he wanted this—that was obvious—but he was stopping regardless, so maybe that didn’t matter?

  “Oh, I fucking want this, Zoey. I’ve never wanted anything as I want you.” He sounded like some kind of crazed animal.

  “Good,” I breathed out. “Me too.”

  He rested his forehead against mine, closed his eyes, and we shared the same air for a suspended moment. “As much as I should stop this, stop myself from wanting you, Zoey, because I’m so wrong for you,” he whispered, as if to himself, “I can’t. I claimed you as mine as soon as I heard you voice, felt your touch… knew you were meant to be mine. My angel.”

  My heart was thundering so hard. The fact that we were alone, everyone having left us, made this wildly more intimate. I thought about being with him so many times since I came here, but I wasn’t ashamed of that. It made me feel alive. Wilder made me feel alive in a way I never experienced before.

  He was the first person, the first experience and everything, that made me want to stay put, grow roots, and not leave. I stared into his eyes. He looked at me like I was everything he never thought he wanted. That had an effect on a girl, one so profound it nearly had me tearing up. No one had ever treated me the way Wilder did. No one talked to me, touched me, wanted me with such a finality that there was no doubt in my mind I was it for him.

  And I knew what I wanted, what he wanted. I didn’t want to wait to be with him because of the little details, because we’d really only met, because of the circumstances of why we’d been thrust together. Right now, none of that mattered, and if I was being honest, I didn’t think it really mattered at all.

  “Wilder.” I hadn’t meant to say his name out loud, hadn’t meant for it to be so whimsical or breathy—hell, so needy. “I need you. Be with me.” I swallowed roughly and forced myself to stare in his eyes.
“I’m tired of running, of fighting that I want something more.” I didn’t know why I was saying these words, admitting that I had, in fact, been running and it had nothing to do with “liking” the nomad life. Yeah, I liked it, but the truth was, staying put just showed me how lonely I really was, how I really had no one in my life.

  “You have me. You’ll always have me,” Wilder said as if reading my thoughts, or maybe I said them out loud. Either way, there was no denying he meant it.

  He groaned then, curled his hand around the back of my head, and I knew I wouldn’t deny either of us. He cupped my cheek with his other hand, his touch so soft and gentle despite the callouses on his fingers and the fact that I knew he saw himself as a bad man, a person who stole to stay alive.

  Maybe this was a bad idea, but in the end… it felt so right.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wilder

  God, I’d never felt like I was losing my mind, never felt so much excitement or need, so much anticipation in my whole fucking life.

  This was better than any heist, any job we’d ever done. The adrenaline I felt, the power and lust, the… everything, was so addicting, so intoxicating, I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was going crazy.

  She had been placed in my life in a fucked-up way, but this was all fate. This was fucking destiny. I assumed I fucked up any chance of ever being redeemed, that all my bullshit, all the illegal shit I’d done had crossed out any chance of ever being happy, of ever being with someone, of having the kind of thing Dom and Cullen did with their women.

  But then here was Zoey, and shit, I was even luckier than them. She saved my life in more ways than one.

  I wouldn’t let her go, even if it was the best option for her, for her life. She didn’t need to get involved with a family full of professional thieves. She didn’t need to have her life turned upside down because of me.

  But she already had, and she stayed by my side.