30. Wyatt #2
Her hands clasped nervously in front of her, fingers twisting together. Her cheeks burned crimson. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, and the delicate lace clung to every curve in a way that made my entire brain short-circuit.
She looked mortified.
"I thought it would be funny," she muttered, not quite meeting my eyes. "And then I put it on and realized it's actually terrifying."
I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't process anything except the sight of her standing there in red lace that matched the Serpents' jerseys hanging in my closet.
"…Sweetheart."
She winced. "Too much?"
I stepped toward her slowly. Deliberately. "You think I care what you're wearing?"
Her cheeks flushed deeper, breath quickening. "You don't?"
I smirked. "I'd take you in my jersey." Another step closer. "Or naked."
Her breath caught audibly.
I reached her in three strides, hands settling on her hips, fingers sliding over the lace at her waist. She tilted her head back to look at me, eyes wide and uncertain and so damn beautiful it physically hurt.
"Wyatt…"
I kissed her.
Hard.
Claiming.
She melted into me instantly, arms wrapping around my neck, body pressing against mine like she couldn't get close enough.
The takeout sat forgotten on the counter. The house stayed silent except for the soft sounds of her breathing, the quiet rustle of fabric, the low groan I couldn't quite suppress when her fingers slid into my hair.
I lifted her effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and I walked her backward toward the couch without breaking the kiss.
When I finally pulled back just enough to look at her, she was flushed and breathless and smiling. "So… not terrifying?"
I laughed—a low, rough sound that surprised even me. "Sweetheart, you could show up in a garbage bag and I'd still want you."
She bit her lip, eyes sparkling. "That's weirdly romantic."
"I'm weirdly romantic."
She laughed, and the sound filled the entire house.
I kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the way she sighed against my mouth. The way her hands traced the muscles in my shoulders. The way she trusted me completely, even when she was nervous.
When I set her down gently on the couch and settled over her, she looked up at me with so much warmth it nearly undid me.
"I love you," she whispered.
My chest tightened. "I love you too."
And when I kissed her again, dinner became the least important thing in the house.
The couch cushions groaned under our weight as I pressed her into them, my hands rough on her thighs.
She gasped when I bit down on her bottom lip, just hard enough to make her arch against me.
The lace of that damn lingerie scraped against my palms, and I wanted it gone—wanted everything gone between us.
Her fingers clawed at my shoulders, nails digging in through the fabric of my shirt. "Wyatt—"
I cut her off with another kiss, deeper this time, my tongue claiming hers. She moaned into my mouth, her body already trembling under mine. I could feel her heartbeat through her skin, fast and wild, matching the pulse pounding in my ears.
I tore my mouth away just long enough to growl against her throat, "You drive me fucking crazy."
She laughed breathlessly, but the sound turned into a gasp when I yanked the lace aside and my teeth grazed her collarbone.
Her back arched off the couch, pressing her chest against mine, and I took full advantage, my hand sliding up to palm her breast through the flimsy fabric.
Her nipple hardened under my touch, and she whimpered, her hips lifting to meet mine.
"Please," she begged, her voice raw.
"Please, what?"
"Please… Daddy."
I didn’t make her wait.
I hooked my fingers into the lace at her hips and ripped it clean off her. The sound of fabric tearing only made her breath hitch harder. My mouth crashed back onto hers as I shoved her thighs apart, my fingers finding her already wet and ready for me.
She cried out when I thrust two fingers inside her, my thumb pressing hard against her clit. Her nails raked down my back, her legs locking around my wrist like she never wanted me to stop.
I didn’t.
I worked her until she was panting, her body tightening around my fingers, her breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. "Wyatt, I—"
"I know," I growled, my voice rough against her ear. "Give it to me."
And she did.
Her body shuddered beneath mine, her release crashing over her in waves. I didn’t give her time to recover. I shoved my pants down just enough, gripped her hip, and drove into her in one hard thrust.
She screamed my name, her nails digging into my skin like she needed something to hold onto.
I gave her no mercy. I took her hard, each snap of my hips punishing, claiming, mine.
The couch creaked beneath us, the frame groaning in protest, but I didn’t care.
All that mattered was the way she clung to me, the way her body took everything I gave her, the way she whispered my name like a prayer.
I buried my face in her neck, my breath hot against her skin as I drove into her again and again, my control slipping with every thrust. She was everything—soft and strong, sweet and fierce, mine—and I wasn’t letting go. Not now. Not ever.
She came around me with a broken cry, her body clenching so tight I lost what little control I had left.
My release hit me like a blindside check—hard, inevitable, stealing my breath as I buried myself deep and let go.
Her nails dug into my shoulders, her legs locked around my waist, and I groaned against her throat, my hips stuttering through the last waves of it.
We stayed like that for a long moment—her trembling beneath me, me braced over her, both of us gasping like we’d just finished a shift change at double overtime.
The couch cushions were half off the frame, her hair was a mess, and I could still feel her pulse racing under my lips where I’d kissed her collarbone raw.
I finally lifted my head just enough to look at her.
She was flushed, swollen-mouthed, and so damn beautiful it hurt. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on the back of my neck, her breathing slowly steadying. A small, satisfied smile played on her lips.
"Hi," she murmured.
I huffed a laugh, pressing my forehead to hers. "Hi."
She shifted slightly beneath me, and I hissed at the oversensitive friction. Her smile turned knowing. "Sore?"
"Worth it."
She laughed, the sound warm and real, and something in my chest tightened. This—her—was everything I never knew I wanted. The way she fit against me, the way she looked at me like I was something good, the way she stayed even when she knew exactly what I was.
I kissed her slowly, savoring the way she sighed into it. Her hands cupped my face, her thumbs brushing over my cheekbones like she was memorizing me.
"You okay?" I asked against her lips.
She nodded, her smile softening. "Better than okay."
I pulled back just enough to study her—really study her. The way her eyes shone, the way her hair stuck to her damp skin, the way she bit her lip when she was thinking too hard.
"Stay," I said.
She blinked. "What?"
"Not just tonight." I brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. "Stay forever. Move in. Make this official."
Her breath hitched. For a second, I saw it—the flicker of uncertainty, the ghost of every reason this was a terrible idea. But then she exhaled, slow and sure, and nodded.
"Yes."
I kissed her again, deeper this time, pouring everything I couldn’t say into it. She kissed me back just as hard, her fingers tangling in my hair, her body arching against mine like she was trying to crawl inside my skin.
When we finally broke apart, she was breathless all over again. Her forehead rested against mine, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I love you."
I tightened my arms around her, holding her like I’d never let go. "I love you too."
And for the first time in years, I believed it. Believed her. Believed in something good.
The takeout sat cold on the counter. The news still scrolled across screens somewhere, the Harrington empire still burning. But none of that mattered.
Because right here, in this wrecked living room with this impossible girl in my arms, I’d already won.