Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
WYATT
The bedroom was dark except for the light filtering through the curtains, painting everything in shades of gray and gold. Wyatt turned her to face him, and for a moment, they stood there. Breathing. Watching each other.
“You’re beautiful.” The words came out rough, honest. “Every time I see you, I lose track of my thoughts.”
A smile curved her lips—real, for the first time since the grocery store. “You hide it well.”
“Years of practice.” He reached for the hem of her shirt. Paused. “Can I?”
She nodded, and he peeled the fabric up and over her head. Dropped it to the floor. Let his gaze travel over the lace of her bra, the curve of her waist, the soft swell of her belly.
Perfect.
“Your turn.” Her hands found his buttons, working them open one by one. Her fingers grazed his skin with each one she freed, and he felt those touches everywhere. “Fair is fair.”
His shirt joined hers on the floor. Narla’s gaze traced his chest, his abs, the trail of dark hair that disappeared into his waistband. When she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the scar over his heart—an old wound, long healed—his breath stuttered.
“I’ve thought about this.” Her mouth traced a path across his chest. “Every night in that spare room. Knowing you were just down the hall.”
“I thought about it too.” He caught her chin, tilted her face up. “Every night. Every morning. Every time you walked past me smelling like beeswax and lavender.”
He kissed her again, slow and deep, and walked her backward until her knees hit the bed. She sat, then lay back, and he followed her down, bracing himself on his forearms to keep from crushing her.
“Wyatt.” Her legs parted, cradling his hips. “Please.”
“Not yet.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. Her jaw. The sensitive spot behind her ear that made her gasp. “I told you—I’m taking my time.”
He worked his way down her throat, tasting salt and sweetness, feeling her pulse hammer against his lips. When he reached the swell of her breasts above her bra, he nuzzled into the soft flesh and felt her arch beneath him.
“This needs to go.” He slid a hand beneath her, found the clasp. “I want to see you.”
The lace fell away, and for a moment, Wyatt stared. Dark nipples already peaked. Breasts that fit perfectly in his palms when he cupped them. Her breath caught as he swept his thumbs across her nipples, teasing, testing.
“Sensitive?”
“Yes—God, yes—”
He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth.
She cried out—sharp and needy—her fingers digging into his shoulders. He sucked gently, then harder, then soothed with his tongue while his hand worked her other breast. She writhed beneath him, her hips lifting in search of friction he wasn’t giving her yet.
“More.” Her voice was ragged. “Wyatt, please, I need more.”
“You’ll get more.” He kissed his way to her other breast, gave it the same attention. “When I’m ready to give it to you.”
His mouth continued its journey south. Over her ribs, feeling them expand with each breath. Across her belly, pausing to trace the soft curve with his lips. When he reached the waistband of her jeans, he looked up.
Her face was flushed, lips parted, eyes glazed with want. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Lift your hips.”
She obeyed, and he stripped the jeans down her legs. Her panties followed—simple cotton, practical, and somehow the sexiest thing he’d ever seen on a woman. She was bare beneath him, spread out on his bed, and his panther rumbled with satisfaction.
He pressed a kiss to her hipbone. “I want to remember every inch of you.”
He settled between her thighs, his shoulders spreading them wider, and heard her breath catch in anticipation. The scent of her arousal hit him—rich and musky and intoxicating—and his mouth watered.
“Wyatt—”
“Let me taste you.” He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. “Let me make you feel good.”
She didn’t get a chance to respond before his mouth found her.
The first lick was exploratory—learning her, mapping her, finding the spots that made her gasp. She was slick and swollen and so responsive that every touch drew a new sound from her throat. He circled her clit with his tongue, slow and teasing, and felt her thighs tremble.
“Oh God—”
He slid a finger inside her. Curled it. Found the spot that made her back arch off the bed.
“There—right there—”
He added a second finger and set a rhythm, his mouth working her clit while his hand drove her higher. She moaned, a constant stream of sound, her fingers tangled in his hair and pulling hard enough to sting.
“Wyatt—I’m going to—”
“Do it.” He pulled back just long enough to speak. “Come for me.”
He sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked.
She shattered.
Her whole body clenched as the orgasm ripped through her. She cried his name, her thighs squeezing his head, her pussy pulsing around his fingers. He worked her through it, gentling his touch as the tremors eased but not stopping entirely.
“I can’t—” She shook, oversensitive. “That was—”
“That was one.” He kissed his way back up her body, hovering over her. “I want to feel you do that again. Around my cock.”
Her gaze went dark with renewed hunger. “Then stop teasing and fuck me.”
Gladly.
He stood just long enough to strip off his jeans and boxers. Her gaze dropped to his cock—thick and hard and aching—and she licked her lips.
“You’re—”
“Yours.” He grabbed a condom from the nightstand, rolled it on with hands that shook. “All yours.”
He settled between her thighs again, the head of his cock notched at her entrance. She was so wet, he could feel it, slick heat promising everything he’d been denying himself.
“Look at me.” He tilted her chin up. “Stay with me.”
Her gaze locked on his.
He pushed inside.
Slow. Inch by torturous inch. Feeling her stretch around him, tight and hot and perfect. Her mouth fell open on a silent moan, her nails digging into his back, and it took every ounce of discipline he had not to slam home.
“More.” Her hips lifted, taking him deeper. “All of you.”
He gave her what she asked for.
One hard thrust, and he was buried to the hilt. She gasped, her walls clenching around him, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Just breathed. Adjusted. Felt the enormity of what they were finally doing.
Mine.
“Move.” Her voice was a command. “Please, Wyatt, move.”
He did.
Long, deep strokes that had her crying out with each thrust. He found his rhythm—rolling his hips to drag against her sensitive spots, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in.
She met him movement for movement, her body rising to his, her hands everywhere—his back, his ass, his shoulders, pulling him closer, deeper.
“Fuck, you feel good.” He groaned against her throat. “So tight. So wet. Made for me.”
“Harder.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, changing the angle. “I’m not fragile.”
He gave her harder.
The sound of skin against skin filled the room. He braced himself on one arm and slid his other hand between them, finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles. She keened, her whole body tightening, so close he could feel it.
“Come again.” He thrust deep, grinding against her. “Let me feel you.”
“Wyatt—I—”
She came with a scream.
Her pussy clamped down on him, pulsing and squeezing, and the sensation was so intense, his vision went white. He fucked her through it, chasing his own release, feeling it build at the base of his spine.
“Where—” He was barely coherent. “I want—”
“Inside.” She pulled him down, kissed him hard. “Come inside me.”
He buried himself to the hilt and let go.
The orgasm crashed through him—endless waves of pleasure that wiped his mind clean. He spilled into the condom, his cock pulsing, her name on his lips. She held him through it, her hands stroking down his back, her body still trembling with aftershocks.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then Wyatt pressed his face into the curve of her neck and just breathed her in.
After.
He disposed of the condom and returned to bed, pulling her against his side. Her head found its place on his chest. Her fingers traced patterns on his skin.
Her fingers found the scar on his side—claw marks from the feral years he’d told her about over dinner that night at his cabin. She traced them gently.
She pressed her lips to it. Soft and reverent.
In the dark of his cabin, in the room he’d never let anyone enter, Wyatt held his mate and let himself experience more than fear.
It was a start.