Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
SOPHIA
His lips are warm against mine, the kiss deepening with an intensity that steals my breath. Wyatt's arms tighten around me, pulling me closer on his lap as the fire crackles in the hearth, bathing us in flickering amber light.
Time seems to slow, the world narrowing to just this moment, just this man. His beard is softer than I expected against my skin, his mouth firm yet yielding as it moves against mine with growing urgency.
When we finally part, both breathing hard, his eyes have darkened to the deep green of pine forests in shadow, desire evident in his gaze.
"Sophia," he says, my name a rough whisper that sends shivers down my spine.
I touch his face, fingers tracing the line of his jaw through his beard. "I want this," I tell him, surprised by the steadiness in my voice despite the way my heart thunders in my chest. "I want you."
Something shifts in his expression—hunger tempered with tenderness. His hand rises to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my lower lip in a gesture so gentle it makes my heart ache.
"You're trembling," he observes, studying me with those perceptive eyes.
I laugh softly, nervously. "Is it that obvious?"
"Talk to me," he says, and the care in his voice gives me courage.
"I haven't... I've never..." I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "This would be my first time."
Understanding dawns in his eyes. "You're a virgin."
I nod, heat rushing to my face. "I focused on school, then my career. It never seemed like the right time or the right person."
Instead of the disappointment or hesitation I feared, his expression softens with something that looks remarkably like reverence.
"We can stop," he says, though I can feel how much he wants me in the slight tremor of his hand against my face. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
"I don't want to stop." I shift closer, eliminating what little space remains between us. "I've just never wanted anyone the way I want you."
His eyes darken at my words, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of color remains. "Are you sure?"
In answer, I kiss him again, pouring all my certainty, all my wanting into the press of my lips against his.
He stands in one fluid motion, lifting me with him as if I weigh nothing at all. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, my arms looping around his neck as he carries me toward the stairs. Each step jostles me against him, creating friction that pulls a soft gasp from my lips.
At the threshold of his bedroom, he pauses, looking down at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "Last chance to change your mind."
"Take me to bed, Wyatt," I whisper against his lips.
He lays me on his bed with a gentleness that belies the strength in his arms, then stands back, his eyes never leaving mine as his fingers work the buttons of his flannel.
The deliberate reveal of his body makes my mouth go dry—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, chest covered in dark hair that disappears beneath his jeans.
A roadmap of scars tells stories of a life lived outdoors, of risks taken and survived.
"You're beautiful," I whisper, the words inadequate for the magnificence of him.
A flush of color touches his cheekbones above his beard. "I'm old and weathered, sweetheart."
"You're perfect," I insist, reaching for him.
He comes to me willingly, stretching out beside me on the bed, propped on one elbow as he studies my face. "May I?" he asks, fingers hovering at the hem of my shirt.
I nod, lifting slightly to help as he draws the fabric up and over my head. His sharp intake of breath at the sight of me in my simple cotton bra sends a thrill of feminine power through me.
"Now who's beautiful?" he murmurs, trailing calloused fingertips along my collarbone, down the center of my chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
His touch is exquisitely careful as he explores me, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me arch into his hands. When he replaces fingers with lips, kissing a path from my neck to the swell of my breasts, I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him close.
The first touch of his mouth against my nipple, even through fabric, pulls a sound from me I've never made before—half gasp, half moan. He looks up at me, eyes dark with desire but still checking, still making sure.
"Don't stop," I whisper, and his answering smile is equal parts tender and wicked.
He takes his time with me, treating my body like a sacred text to be studied, memorized, revered. Each piece of clothing removed is accompanied by kisses and caresses to newly exposed skin, until I'm laid bare before him, trembling with need and want.
"Wyatt," I breathe, reaching for him, needing to feel his weight, his heat.
"Patience, sweetheart," he murmurs against my inner thigh, his beard creating the most exquisite friction against sensitive skin. "We've got all night."
When his mouth finally finds the center of me, the pleasure is so intense I cry out, fingers clutching at the sheets. He holds my hips steady with one large hand as he works me with lips and tongue, building a pressure inside me that feels impossible to contain.
"That's it," he encourages against me, the vibration of his words adding another layer of sensation. "Let go for me, Sophia. I want to see you come apart."
His words, combined with the relentless attention of his mouth, send me spiraling over the edge, pleasure crashing through me in waves that leave me gasping his name like a prayer.
While I'm still trembling with aftershocks, he rises above me, his expression fierce with desire yet achingly tender.
"Still want me?" he asks, voice rough with restraint.
"More than ever," I assure him, reaching up to trace the strong line of his jaw. "Please, Wyatt."
He nods once, then reaches for protection in his bedside drawer. I watch, fascinated, as he sheathes himself, the action oddly intimate.
When he settles between my thighs, the weight of him both foreign and right, he captures my face between his hands, forcing me to meet his gaze.
"I'll go slow," he promises, pressing his forehead to mine. "But there might be some pain. Tell me if it's too much."
I nod, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, anchoring myself to him.
The first press of him against me, into me, brings a burning stretch that makes me gasp. He freezes immediately.
"Okay?"
"Yes," I breathe, adjusting to the unfamiliar sensation. "Don't stop."
He continues with exquisite care, watching my face for any sign of distress, murmuring encouragement and praise as he slowly, so slowly joins our bodies completely.
There's a brief, sharp pain that makes me tense, my nails digging into his shoulders. He stills immediately, pressing tender kisses to my face, my lips, my eyelids.
"Breathe with me," he whispers, and I follow his lead, matching my breathing to his until the pain subsides, replaced by a fullness that's foreign but not unpleasant.
"Better?" he asks, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding still.
I nod, experimenting with a slight movement of my hips that makes us both gasp. "Move, please."
He begins slowly, with gentle rocking motions that gradually deepen, his eyes never leaving mine. What started as discomfort transforms into pleasure that builds with each careful thrust, each whispered word of praise.
"You feel incredible," he tells me, voice strained. "So perfect, so tight around me."
His words are as arousing as his movements, stoking the fire building inside me once more. When he shifts slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, pleasure sparks sharp and bright, making me cry out.
"There?" he asks, repeating the movement.
"Yes," I gasp, clutching at him. "Right there."
He maintains the rhythm, one large hand sliding between us to touch me where we're joined, adding another layer of sensation that has me spiraling toward release once more.
"Come for me again," he urges, his voice a rough command. "Want to feel you come around me."
His words, combined with the dual stimulation, push me over the edge. I shatter beneath him, pleasure more intense than before crashing through me in waves. He follows moments later, my name a broken sound on his lips as he buries his face against my neck.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, his weight partially supported on his forearms, his forehead pressed to mine as our breathing gradually slows. The connection between us feels monumental, transcending the physical act we've just shared.
When he finally eases away, it's only to gather me close against his side, my head pillowed on his chest where I can hear the strong, steady beat of his heart.
"You okay?" he asks, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
I nod, too overwhelmed for words at first. When I finally find my voice, it's soft with wonder. "That was... everything."
His arms tighten around me. "You're everything," he murmurs into my hair, the words so quiet I almost miss them.
But I hear them, and they settle deep in my chest, taking root in places I didn't know were empty until he started to fill them.
"I didn't expect this," he confesses after a while, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. "Any of it."
"Neither did I." I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "But I'm so glad it happened."
"No regrets?" he asks, and there's a vulnerability in the question that makes my heart ache.
"None," I assure him, raising my head to meet his gaze. "You?"
His answer is a kiss, deep and thorough, that leaves no room for doubt. "Only that we didn't do this sooner."
I laugh softly against his lips. "I think the timing was perfect."
We drift to sleep tangled together, his larger body curled protectively around mine, my head tucked beneath his chin as if we were designed to fit together this way.