“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.

Incredibly bad.

Because whereas he has some semblance of self-control, I know I’d have none. Nope, the minute I had a chance, I’d be running my finger over every ab, circling his nipples, slipping my hand under the waistband of his shorts…

It would not be good.

“Um, that’s okay. This works. Unless you’re uncomfortable.”

“Nah, I’m quite comfortable,” he says, splaying his hand across my stomach, one of his fingers just grazing the underside of my breast.

“Yup.” I gulp. “Me too.”

“Good.” He sighs and then says, “Well, good night, Pips.”

I wet my lips and try to even out my breathing. “Night, Wilder.”

Chapter Nineteen

WILDER