Chapter Twenty-Four
I can’t sleep. Or I can’t sleep anymore. It’s early, far too early to be awake, but my head’s working overtime, processing everything I told Pippa last night. I trail my fingers over the curve of her spine, dragging my comforter with me, exposing her silky skin.
“What are you doing?” Pippa groans sleepily, one eye peeking open to look at me.
Lowering my head, I press my lips to the spot between her shoulder blades. “Go back to sleep.”
“I didn’t know you were into somnophilia,” she says, rolling onto her back, lifting her arms above her head, bringing my attention to her pebbled nipples. I can’t resist. I drift down her body, sucking one between my teeth, biting lightly. Her back bows off the bed, her soft moans going straight to my cock.
“I’m not,” I murmur around the taut peak. “Or at least I wasn’t until you.”
“I’m a bad influence,” she whispers, her voice husky.
Glancing up, I lock onto her gray eyes as my breath ghosts over her skin. “The worst.”
She licks her lips, her hips grinding in small pulses that I’m not sure she’s aware she’s doing as arousal wakes her up. I kiss a path between her breasts, up to her collarbone, her neck, her jaw until I reach her mouth. I’m addicted to her, my lips wanting to savor the sweetness of her skin, the slight salty flavor after sex, each one I want to swallow…devour…relish.
“Wyatt,” she moans, pushing my shoulders to break the kiss. Her eyes search mine, and I nod, answering her unspoken question. “I’ll be right back.”
She rolls out from under me, lifting her overnight bag and taking it into the bathroom. I watch her go, closing the door behind her. Smacking my head against my pillow, I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes and silently groan.
I’m obsessed. Hooked on the worst possible indulgence I should never have known. And if I were a better man, a stronger man, I would stop.
I can’t. I’m also finding that the more time I spend with Pippa, the more I don’t want to stop. It’s selfish to keep her when I know I have nothing to offer her except broken pieces. Eventually, sneaking around will get boring. Eventually, she’ll realize she has her whole life in front of her without a man approaching forty, with mommy issues holding her back.
But she stayed. She held me, let me vent, didn’t judge me for my horrible thoughts about Fiona.
Glancing at the bathroom door, I try to get out of my head. Here’s this girl, this unbelievably sweet and sexy girl, in my bathroom, doing whatever she’s doing, and I’m here, wallowing like a loser.
Stretching over the bed, I open my nightstand, removing a condom and leaving it on the top. I’m closing the drawer when the door opens, the bathroom light basking Pippa in a warm glow. My heart lunges, pumping every ounce of blood I have in my body directly to my cock.
Standing in the doorway is my Christmas gift.
Red silk sits perfectly across her tits, a bow tied tightly, ready for me to tug off. A strip of fabric runs down her middle, the thin band covering her pussy. She leans her hip against the door frame, the prettiest gift I’ve ever seen, and I cannot wait to get my hands on it.
My mouth is dry as I shove off from my bed, my cock achingly hard, making it difficult to walk the short distance to reach her. Two fingers loop under the material, the satin feeling expensive as I follow the line downward. I watch as chills visibly rack her body, the back of my hand grazing her skin. Her breaths are uneven, shaking, until I let the material go just shy of between her legs.
“Is this just for me?” I ask, lifting the ribbons that dance against her stomach.
Pippa steps forward and wraps her arms around my neck. Bringing my head down so our lips touch, she whispers against them. “Unwrap me. I’m yours to use however you want. Take whatever you need.”
She groans as I plunge my tongue between her plump lips, doing exactly that. She’s found the key, unlocked the cage and freed the beast inside. The animal who wants to consume the girl dressed deliciously just for him.
I wrap my hand around her throat, fucking her mouth the way I’ll soon be fucking her pussy, my grip not allowing her to break away from me as I guide her from the door, across my room, and to my bed. My free hand comes back to the ribbon lining her stomach, wrapping around it and tugging. She shifts onto her tiptoes, her cries muffled by my tongue as the fabric slips between her, rubbing against her clit, and I drink them down. Her fingers claw into my shoulders, tearing lines down my arms until she grips my wrists.
“What are you waiting for?” she whispers. “Use me.”
She doesn’t understand what those words do to me. She doesn’t understand what she does to me as I release her, flipping her around and pushing her chest onto my mattress. She pants, widening her legs and raising her ass as I grab the condom and slide it down my hard cock.
“Don’t you want to undress me?” she taunts, wriggling her ass, the part of the fabric that runs between her cheeks so damn inviting. My hand comes down on her bare skin with a crack, and she jolts forward, moaning into the comforter.
“I can play with my gift however I want.” I palm the red and raised mark before moving, placing a finger at the base of her spine, following the silk down her crease until I feel it lying against her hole. She pushes against me, the movement so minor, yet it has the power to make my dick leak. “You like this?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she presses harder with a breathy moan. I place my other hand on her cheek, spreading it apart to look at her.
“You really want my cock in your ass, don’t you?”
“God, yes,” she pants, rolling her hips as she wantonly seeks for something I’m not ready to give her. Not yet, anyway.
I continue following the silk, my finger meeting her arousal that’s seeping into the material. The tip nudges under, her wetness coating it until I push it inside her, the sound of her mewling making my cock jump.
“Not tonight,” I murmur, pumping in and out. “One day.”
“Please, Wyatt,” she whines, bucking her hips against nothing, finding no friction, finding no release as I slowly and languidly fuck her pussy with my finger.
“Please, what?”
“I want you.”
“You have me,” I reply. A twisted sense of satisfaction coats my skin, as I know that’s not what she wants. A second finger joins the first, and she clenches around them. The hand that was on her ass cheek shifts to her hips, my hold bruising as I tease her, all the while dying to sink inside her perfect cunt and fuck her until she’s screaming my name.
“Not enough,” she grinds out as she moves her hips to a different angle, hoping for more.
“Say it,” I demand, the veins in my arms pulsing with so much lust it’s threatening to overpower me. “Tell me what you want.”
“Your cock,” she answers without missing a beat. “I need your cock inside me, Wyatt. Now.”
“Such a little slut for it, aren’t you?” I fist the base of my dick, tapping it to the bottom of her spine. “Don’t care where you take it—ass or pussy—as long as it’s inside you.”
She groans when I pull out a finger, moving to rub it against her clit. “Either, both, I don’t care. Just fuck me.”
My blood ignites with white-hot desire as I tug the material aside, thrusting my cock deep inside her pussy without warning, my hips meeting hers in one punishing pump. She cries out, my movements propelling her forward, her hands fisting the sheets. I look down, noticing her flushed, blissed-out expression, and any worry that I’m being too rough is gone.
I wrap a hand around the silk that decorates her spine, where the ribbons intersect, twisting together into the perfect knot that rests just below her shoulder blades, allowing me to tug Pippa up. Her chest lifts, her forearms pressing into the mattress. She closes her legs, lifting onto her tiptoes, the pressure of her tight pussy incredible as she grips me.
“Pull my hair,” she pants, tipping her head back, her hair cascading down her back. Gathering a handful in my fist, I yank it back, pulling her flush against my chest. I angle my head to her throat, nipping my way to her ear, running my tongue along the outer shell as I fuck her harder.
“More,” she chokes out, and I increase the grip on her hair. “Is that all you’ve got, Captain? ”
With a growl, I pull hard enough to snap her head back. “One day, I’m going to fuck the brat out of you.”
She moans, her pussy contracting around my cock as I drive into her punishingly. Animalistic sounds echo around my room, our fucking damn near pornographic. I look at my hand coiled tightly around her hair, the bright red fabric standing out against her creamy skin, my fingerprints already appearing on her hips. My dick is impossibly hard, my heart beating madly in my chest as I thrust into her from behind, each forward push connecting our bodies, skin to skin.
“I’m so close,” she breathes, sweat coating her back. “I want you to do something for me.”
“Anything,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Come on me.”
My hips stutter. “What?”
“Make me come, and when I’m done, paint me in yours. Mark me, cover me, own—”
She cries out, the end of her sentence dying as I push her back down, slamming into her, rough and hard and not at all nice.
I’ve met my match, a girl who gives as much as she takes and wants as much as I do.
It’s never been like this. This side of me is usually hidden away, never allowed out to play. Everyone sees the professional Wyatt, few see the real me out of the cockpit, but none have experienced this man.
This is the Wyatt I didn’t know until now was created just for her.
“Wyatt,” she moans, her body tensing before shuddering beneath me.
I won’t last much longer, and I pull out.
“Turn over,” I demand, tearing off the condom as she crawls up the bed and onto her back. She tugs at the ribbons as I fist the base of my cock, staving off my orgasm, watching her undo the bow, her tits spilling out so beautifully.
She bites on her lower lip, reaching a hand between her spread legs, rubbing her clit slowly as I rest a knee on the mattress, bracketed by hers on either side, and pump my length. It would be embarrassing how quickly I come if it wasn’t for the glazed, blissed-out look on Pippa's face, the small smile etched on her lips as hot, white ropes of cum cover her stomach, her chest, her neck.
My legs give out, and I land on top of her, smearing my release between us. I try to move, aware I’m crushing her, when she wraps her ankles around my thighs, keeping me in place. Catching my breath, I bury my head in the crook of her neck, breathing in the mixture of sweat and sex, my eyes becoming heavy.
Lazy, feather-light touches create blazes against my skin as she brushes them gently up and down my sides.
“What are you doing to me?” I pant into her skin, the question slipping from my lips without permission.
I don’t think she’s heard me until her lips graze my shoulder, and she whispers, “The same thing you’re doing to me.”