Wicked & Wildflower (Pacific Shores, #2)

by Sarah A. Bailey

She may look at me like I’m a risk, but I know for sure she’s a challenge, one I’ll gladly accept.

She’s decided we’ll never be more than this: longing looks and daydreams.

Grief kind of feels like a bullet wound that never fully heals. Sometimes, it’s just a scar, and then other days, you wake up and feel like it tore right through you again, this gaping hole in the center of your chest sucking the life right out of you. You’re never entirely sure which days you’re going to find yourself bleeding out and which days you’ll feel patched up, but I’m always certain that on the anniversary of the loss, that hole is bigger than ever.

She may be mine for show, but I’m hers for real.

“Dahlia,” he rasps, eyes meeting mine. “I speak three fucking languages—three—and when I tell you that there is not one word in any of them to describe the way you look right now. You’re beyond beauty. You’re beyond comparison to anything in this plane of existence. You’re something beyond comprehension. Unreal.”

“Your body is my new religion, baby.” I wrap both arms around her legs, gripping her inner knees. “Now, spread those thighs and baptize me.”

“And that’s the last time I hear you say the word ‘God’ tonight, understood? You need to call out for someone, Wildflower? You say my fucking name.”

“Would you beg?” “Beg?” He huffs a laugh. “I’d fucking crawl.”

“Estas tan mojada. Tan estrecha. Eres perfecta, cariño,” he rasps against my lips. “Todo lo que siempre he querido. Te necesito para siempre. Dime que eres mía. Por favor. Mía, cariño. Sé mía.”

“Everett.” She wraps her arms around my neck, kissing me harder. “You know that’s permanent, right?” I feel her smile softly against my mouth. “I love you permanently.”