The boys hang from Wilder’s grip like a jacket on a coat rack. Their dad exhales through his nose, tightening his lips in disappointment. The deep lines in his scowl lessen once he takes in my wet clothes, almost shrugging an apology that says,boys will be boys.It’s a sorry excuse, but sure, thirteen-year-old boys will be thirteen-year-old boys.
But when his eyes scroll to Wilder, they widen, and he puffs his chest full of air. Grabbing his boys by the front of their sweatshirt, he heaves them inside and sends them to their rooms.
“It’s just me,” he explains. The man in Building C keeps his chin up, even under Wilder’s hard stare. “Their mom passed away. And I know they act out, but they’re good kids.”
Wilder and Talent lost their mom nine years ago, and this is the catalyst that softens Wilder’s defensive demeanor. He was twenty-one when his mother passed away, but I can’t imagine losing a parent is easy at any age.
They’re in a club no one wants to be a part of.
Not even me.
“Keep a better eye on them,” Wilder says, losing the sharp edge in his tone.
Lydia and Talent retired to their room, but they’ve left a single candle lit on the kitchen bar for my arrival. In the otherwise dark apartment, the small flame burns bright, and the reflection of firelight licks the walls and gives me enough sight to put one foot in front of the other.
I pinch the flame between my fingers as we walk by.
My bedroom door is cracked, and Wilder pushes it completely open. The hinges whine, louder now than I ever notice during the day. Pressing my forehead between his shoulder blades, I grip his sweater at his sides, both hiding from the dark until he turns the light on, but also wondering why it feels like I’m sneaking a boy into my room while my parents are asleep.
My lips spread into a smile, and I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing as giddiness I’ve never felt before fills me with bubbling excitement. Wilder is older than Talent, I haven’t seen my parents in over three years, and I’m an adult. I don’t need to sneak anyone into my room.
But this feels like the best kind of trouble.
“You need to get out of these clothes.” He turns to face me and pushes the reflective vest off my shoulders.
Heat blooms inside of me, bringing sensation back to the tips of my fingers and toes. Warmth fills my stomach and blossoms through my chest, up my neck, to my face. I breathe in a slow, smooth breath, tasting him in the air again.
Wilder curls his fingers under the hem of my hoodie, brushing against my stomach.
“Your hands are freezing,” I say with a small laugh.
“Just a little.” He smiles down at me, and a surge of heat swells between my thighs.
He pulls the sweatshirt over my head, and my wet hair falls across my bare back. A new wave of goose bumps sails up and down my arms, and I’ve never felt this hot and cold all at once in my life. It’s a combination for a perfect storm. Wilder’s gray eyes turn the color of thunderclouds, and no one will ever convince me that lightning doesn’t strike when they fall to my lace-covered breasts.
“Come on.” Wilder steps into me, forcing me back until the back of my legs bump into the mattress and I sit.
I can’t do anything but watch as he pulls my shoes off, and then my socks. He tickles the bottom of my foot, slaying me with the curve of his lips. I curl my red-painted toes away from his touch, but he’s already reaching for the waistband around my leggings. I lie back and hold my breath as he pulls them over my hips and down my thighs. Wet cotton catches at my ankles, but he yanks them free with one final draw.
My nipples harden under my bra as my chest rises and falls with anticipation. Wilder follows the goose bumps up my legs, encircling his grip around my ankle and then smoothing his palm up my calf to the outside of my thigh.
He kneels on the bed between my knees, drinking in my near-nakedness. The heat building inside of me burns into an inferno, and I open my legs wider, grabbing onto the front of his sweater. If he doesn’t touch me, I’ll explode. If he doesn’t touch me, I’ll burn this place down just like he said.
“Camilla.” His voice pours gasoline on the blaze.
“Please,” I whisper.
He tilts my chin up with the tip of his finger, the thunderclouds in his eyes spinning into a tornado.
“But then I’d have nothing to give you for your birthday.” Wilder pulls the blanket from my bed over my body and tucks me in with a knowing grin. I’m speechless and can do nothing but stare in disbelief as he heads toward the door and says, “You asked for this.”
“Why do you drink coffee if you don’t like it?”
Leaning back against the kitchen counter across from me, Talent holds his mug like a bowl and blows on the steaming liquid inside. He’s careful not to spill any on his suit, which is as black as a tear in the galaxy. Only, Talent doesn’t vacuum and destroy everything that crosses his path. He simply brightens the light around himself in contrast.
“Because you do.” He winks an eye over the rim of his mug and takes a sip, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “How do you drink this shit without sugar?”
“It’s an acquired taste. Sugar was a luxury I wasn’t allowed.” I hold out the container of sugar cubes to him. Talent takes two, but I extend it out farther, knowing he’ll want more.
