27. Press Play
27
PRESS PLAY
WYATT
W e don’t make it home.
It turns out that we barely make it to my truck in the parking lot because I have to stop every few seconds to kiss her.
Step. Kiss. Step. Kiss. Step.
I push her against the cool metal of my truck, cupping my hand around the back of her head so she doesn’t bang her head.
I’m feeling pretty damn cocky about my master plan right now. I can’t believe that actually worked. I need to buy Saoirse a new fiddle. No, a whole collection of fiddles. No—what I really need to do is to stop thinking about fiddles when I’ve got this woman in my arms, kissing me like I’m oxygen.
All we do is kiss, but I don’t mind that it doesn’t lead to anything else. I could spend days just kissing her.
“Fuck, I can’t stop kissing you,” I mumble against her lips, the heat of the summer night draping over us. It’s hot out, and that’s only making me think about getting her out of that cotton dress and feeling her warm skin pressed against my body.
I want to make her sweat .
I slowly trace my tongue on her bottom lip, and then swipe my thumb along the underside of her breast. She releases this needy moan into my mouth that I want to replay over and over again for the rest of my life.
I can’t believe I’m finally kissing Dakota Cutler, and she’s kissing me back.
I could breathe in her prickly pear margarita taste all night until I suffocate and die a happy man, but I need to keep my shit together. Take this slow, tease her, so she wants more. She tugs on my hair, and it’s like that move is tied directly to my dick because it jerks to attention. My body is on fire, every nerve ending screams for more as I press into her. She feels incredible against me—so perfect that the thought of stopping, even to drive us home, feels like torture.
I pull out every technique in my arsenal to make it the best goddamn kiss of her life. I nip her lip. Suck her tongue. Flick the roof of her mouth. Her tight body feels so good pressed against me, and all I can think about is taking her home, but to take her home, I have to stop kissing her. I don’t want to do that, so I just keep sucking and biting, and hell, even licking up her neck.
“Wyatt,” she moans. Damn, I love hearing her say my name like that. “I can’t believe I’m kissing you. When did you become such a good kisser?”
“I’ve always been a good kisser, so it’s too bad you’re just now finding that out,” I say, nipping her lip again.
“You should’ve kissed me sooner,” she moans against my mouth.
I smile against her, teeth bumping. “Believe me, I tried, but you weren’t ready for me then.”
She tugs me forward by my belt loops, pulling me as close as possible. “It’s because we were always just friends. I didn’t think of you that way.”
I bite her bottom lip at that. “Call me your ‘friend’ one more time, and I’ll drag you back to your bedroom, hook those pretty legs over my shoulders, and show you just how friendly I can be.”
Her mouth drops, and for the first time, I think I’ve left her speechless, but then she says, “Then, it’s really too bad we’re not closer to a bedroom.”
That does it.
I go in for another bruising kiss and quickly get lost in the sensation of her. The feeling of her on my lips. She’s devouring my taste the same way I’m devouring her, and the only thing I’m thinking about is how badly I’ve wanted this for years, and how the real thing is so much better than I ever imagined.
“Get in the truck,” I say. “I want to take you home and see what’s under that dress.”
Her lips part. Good. Let that sink in. I lift two fingers to pop her lips closed.
“Black lace panties,” she finishes, chest heaving.
“Oh, yeah?” A corner of my mouth hooks up. “Did you wear those for me?”
“No, I wore them for me ,” she retorts with an arch of her brow.
“I guess I’m not surprised,” I murmur. “You’ve always loved wearing the pants in your relationships.”
She raises a casual shoulder. “What can I say? I look good in chaps.”
“Damn right, you do.” I dip my hat in agreement, and I love that her confidence is coming back out when she’s been so down on herself. “You can wear the pants as long as I get to take them off.”
That makes her shut right up.
She digs her fingers into the rim of my jeans, pulling me closer until my dick is throbbing right over her center. “I didn’t know you could be like this, Patterson.”
“Wyatt,” I correct in a low voice, kissing the soft skin behind her ear. “You call me Wyatt from now on. No more of this teammate’s last name bullshit, alright? I’m not your fucking friend. Not when all I’m thinking about is getting you out of that dress.”
I drag my hand down the cotton over her stomach, lower and lower, and then ever so carefully, I brush my knuckle right down her center, just hard enough to leave her aching, but soft enough to leave her wanting more.
She gasps.
I suck in that noise like air.
“Let’s go home.” I lean in, gripping her hips. “I want to get you nice and—”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, cracking through the moment. I pinch my eyes shut at the interruption.
Pre-Vienna Wyatt never would’ve considered looking at his phone while kissing the woman of his dreams, but now that I have a daughter, I need to check. I wrench myself free from her addicting lips.
“Do you mind?” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It might be my parents.”
“You don’t even need to ask. You’re a father first,” she says, and that makes me want to kiss her all night.
I find that a lot of people who don’t have kids understand the pop-up problems with parenthood, but they can’t help but get irritated sometimes, and I don’t blame them. I get irritated too. Dakota doesn’t seem annoyed in the slightest, though, and there’s genuine concern shining in her dark eyes.
After pulling out my phone, I look at the screen, and when I read the message, it feels like someone dunked my body in ice water. Everything in me stops. Panic clenches in my chest as my thoughts turn to my baby girl.
“It’s from my mom,” I say.
“What’s wrong?” She cups my jaw, and I lean into her comfort.
As much as I want to kiss her up against my truck all night, I can’t. My girl needs her daddy, and I’m a father always. “It’s Vi. She’s got a fever, so I need to get home. Do you mind if we press pause on this?”
“Pause? No.” She loops her hand through mine. The one that’s always callused from all the riding. “Press play ’cause I’m coming with you.”