Chapter 21 #2
He groans, low and feral. "You feel even better than I remember."
"Harder," I gasp.
"Fuck," he mutters, then gives me what I want, pounding into me with a new intensity.
It's rough and dirty. It's everything we were and everything we could have been if he hadn't left or maybe if I had taken his calls.
He braces on one arm. His other hand slides between us, finding my swollen clit with precision.
I cry out, my breasts squishing into his chest as waves of endorphins slam into me. My entire body goes taut, shuddering against his.
A bead of his sweat drips on my cheek. He licks it, watching me unravel, and scolds, "You don't take gifts back, sugar."
Guilt hits me, but it mixes with anger. I stutter, "Y-you l-left."
He grits his teeth, thrusting harder, barely hanging on, and lowers his face an inch from mine. "You didn't take my calls and avoided me every time I came back to town. But that's over now. I'm taking my gift back forever."
I blink hard, trembling with adrenaline.
His jaw clenches. His hips stutter. Then he buries his cock deeper, keeping his stare on mine, and his low, guttural moan shakes along with his hard frame before he collapses over me.
Our ragged breaths compete with the ticking clock and the beating of our hearts. Neither of us moves, tangled in each other, coated in sweat and years of unfinished business.
I clear my throat. "Wyatt—"
"Don't," he warns, rolling off me and pulling me onto his chest.
I curl into his warmth.
He strokes my ass as the silence stretches.
The little Christmas tree blinks red and green, and reality hits me.
What have we done?
A tidal wave of emotions floods my soul. I stare at the cheap tree, trying to ignore the tear sliding down my cheek.
"Still hate me?" he asks softly, the words coming out rough with a hint of fear.
I take a moment to try to figure out why this is so hard, then finally whisper, "No. That's not the problem."
He runs his hand up my spine as he turns his head and buries his nose in my hair. He inhales deeply, asking, "Then what is?"
I look up to his handsome face.
His dark eyes search mine, his cockiness evaporating. He takes his finger and wipes my wet cheek.
More tears fall. I accuse, "You left me, Wyatt, without even a proper goodbye. You broke something in me I never knew could break."
He nods slowly. "If I could go back and beat the shit out of that kid, I would. But I can't, Willow."
I quietly study his stubble and the new scar on his chin.
He offers, "In fairness, I didn't see any other way."
"I could have gone with you," I remind him.
He scoffs. "And given up everything you worked for?"
"I could have transferred, and you know it."
He sighs. "And what would I have told your father? I'm in love with your daughter but have nothing to offer her?"
"That wasn't the truth," I protest.
"It was. I thought I'd make something of myself and come back for you, but all I did was lose you."
The heater kicks on, breaking the silence that's settled in the room in the wake of his words. It pushes a wave of soap, pine, sweat, and arousal around us.
He laces our fingers together, asserting, "I meant it about my gift."
My stomach flips. I bite on my lip, pinning my eyebrows together.
He rises and lifts the covers, ordering, "Slide under."
Not knowing what else to do, I obey.
He slips in next to me, and demands, "Turn over."
I glance at him, my lips twitching with amusement. "You want to cuddle?"
"Yep. And I want to wake up beside you and pretend, for a few hours, that I didn't mess this up beyond repair."
The hairs on my arms rise. I bite my tongue, afraid of what might come out of my mouth.
"You're supposed to say it's not beyond repair," he states in a flat tone, his gaze narrowing on mine.
Guilt, hope, regret, and fear all plague me. I kiss him on the lips and quickly turn onto my side, pushing my back into him.
He sighs into my hair, tugging me closer and holding me tighter. He kisses my cheek, then the back of my neck.
I close my eyes and pretend that none of this ever broke, wishing it were easy to move forward without any worries.
But I know what Wyatt's capable of. I've experienced how easily he can break me, and there's no way to forget it.
He strokes my jaw, kisses behind my ear, and says, "You're not keeping my gift from me anymore, sugar."
I close my eyes and inhale his scent. I eventually fall into a deep sleep where I dream of a world where Wyatt and I live happily ever after, and the last seven years never happened.
I don't know how long I'm asleep before his hot breath hits my ear as he coos, "Wake up, sugar."
I blink a few times. The dingy room and the green and red blinking lights on the tree come into view.
I'm at the motel.
With Wyatt.
I freeze, except for my rapidly thrumming pulse.
He flips me onto my back, caging his hard frame over mine. His stern expression looks as tough as his voice sounds. "You almost missed it."
I swallow hard. "Missed what?"
The corners of his mouth curve up. "This." He closes the gap and kisses me with fervor.
I pull him closer, kissing him back, unable to stop it if I tried.
He finally retreats, breathing hard, and mumbles, "Happy New Year, sugar." He shifts me onto my side, wraps his body around mine, and returns to kissing my neck.
I reach for his wrist, lift his hand to my lips for a kiss, then snuggle closer, pretending again that everything is perfect between us.