It’s all too much and before I can stop myself, I’m calling out his name and falling over the edge.

He pounds into me a few more times, letting me run out my orgasm until he flips me over and pulls out of me.

Surprised because he hasn’t come yet, I’m about to protest until he swipes his fingers up my slit.

“Taste yourself,” he says before bringing his fingers to my mouth and sliding them past my lips.

Eyes wide, I suck on his fingers, watching him the entire time as he leans in closer and starts pumping his cock.

“See what I get to fucking taste? So goddamn good.”

Then he brings his hand back between my legs, swipes again, but this time, he sticks his fingers in his mouth, doing the tasting this time.

He licks, sucks, and then groans right before leaning forward and coming all over my chest.

Pump after pump, his warm semen coats me and I love every goddamn second of watching him come undone.

“Fuck,” he shouts as he finishes, and then takes a deep breath, his eyes finding mine.

They’re feral.

They’re almost unhinged.

And then with one finger, he scoops up some of his cum and then brings it to my lips.

I part and he watches me suck him dry.

The headiness in his expression, it speaks promises for so much more.

Clearing his throat, he says, “Stay there, I’ll clean you up.”

Then he leans forward, places a kiss on my lips, and takes off toward the bathroom.

In disbelief, I drape my arm over my eyes.

God…and that’s…that’s what sex is supposed to be.

Don’t look at him.

Do not look at him.

I glance over at Wilder, who’s leaning back on the couch, his arms draped casually across the back of it, one ankle crossed over his leg, looking like a freaking king. I can’t help the smile that passes over my lips, because oh my God, he’s so sexy.

This morning, after he played with me, it felt so raw, it felt so freaking good, and the only reason I’m not back in the cabin with him, exploring some more, is because we were beckoned to our therapy session.

When Wilder glances in my direction as well, he smirks and then pulls on that lip ring of his while his eyes scan down to my breasts, which are currently on display thanks to my low-cut shirt.

Sanders clears his throat, drawing both of our attention to where he’s sitting, perched up on his chair with a baseball glove and a baseball.

“Uh, care to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” I say with a shake of my head. How I wish I was sitting so much closer to Wilder.

“Nothing’s going on?” Sanders asks. “Why don’t I believe that?”