18. Wyatt
WYATT
When my vision finally cleared and I could see straight again, I lifted my forehead off Lark’s. I peered down at her beautiful, smiling face. Her neck was red and splotchy, her cheeks were a glorious shade of pink, and her breasts rubbed against me with every ragged breath she took.
I steadied my arms on either side of her head but didn’t pull my cock from her.
Not yet.
“That was— Are you okay?” As far as first times go, we’d crossed a lot of boundaries without having talked about it first. I was rough. Brutal, even.
Lark smiled up at me. “I’m fantastic. But I could use a snack.”
She laughed, and the worry eased from my shoulders. “I can manage that.” The thought of taking care of Lark, not just making her come but truly taking care of her, made my heart skip a beat. After how hard we just went, she deserved a little pampering. Tenderness.
Worry trickled in, knowing I wasn’t that guy. Her nails tickled at my back. Lark was warm and soft and perfect .
I stifled a groan when I slipped out of her. She was still half-dressed, her tits barely hidden under the lace of her bra, and her dress was open and rumpled at her sides. I pulled my hand through my hair. That didn’t go at all how I’d imagined it.
That’s a fucking lie.
It actually went exactly how I’d imagined it—taking Lark rough and hard. Punishing her for all the times I imagined what it would be like to feel her, taste it. Now that it had happened, I felt like a prick.
“I, uh... I’m just going to clean up.”
Lark pulled the sides of her dress closed. “Down the hall and on the right.”
I nodded and scooped up my jeans. I had been in the apartment a thousand times. In the bathroom, I disposed of the condom, washed up, and slipped my jeans back on. In my rush to stop Lark from bolting, I hadn’t even bothered with underwear or a shirt.
When I stepped back into the hallway, Lark was waiting, her dress still pulled together over her body. She offered a meek smile and slipped past me into the bathroom.
Though the apartment had been the home of nearly all the Sullivan kids at one point or another, it was Lark’s home now, so I didn’t know what to do with myself.
I didn’t want to leave, but staying felt like crossing yet another line.
My life was complicated enough without adding budding relationship to the mix.
I sighed, knowing we’d have to have the dreaded Does this change things? conversation.
I was awkward. And shirtless.
Annoyed at myself, I stalked to the kitchen. Lark was hungry, and making her some food was the least I could do. Unsurprisingly, Lark’s fridge and pantry were well stocked, so finding something to whip together was easy enough.
I eyeballed a nub of ginger root, pulled herbs from the pantry, started to boil water, and got to work.
When I heard Lark’s light footsteps behind me, I stared down at the cutting board and continued chopping.
“You stayed.”
I smirked at the scallion I was mincing. “Kicking me out?”
Her gentle laugh made my insides go tight. “Well, I would have deserved it after I ran out of your place.”
I risked a glance at her over my shoulder. Her dress was buttoned and her hair gently tousled. A light flush stained the delicate skin on her chest, and it hit me again how rough I had been with her.
I grunted and slipped my hand into the front pocket of my jeans. I pulled out the key she’d left at my place and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. “You left that.”
She walked up and smiled down at it before picking it up. “Thanks for returning it.” Lark dragged her fingertips down my triceps to my wrist before moving to put it away. Heat raced up my arm and through my chest at her touch.
I continued assembling and chopping and tried to focus on anything but the mass of complicated feelings that were running through my mind.
“Whatcha making me?” Lark gave me space but hopped up on the countertop to watch me cook.
“Ramen.” I used the chef’s knife in my hand to point at her. “The good kind.”
In my many years as a bachelor, I’d learned to make a pretty wicked dish with instant ramen, some aromatics, and an egg.
Larked eyed the ingredients I was lining up on the counter. “You know some people think cooking is a love language.”
I frowned at the water that was refusing to boil. “Love language?”
“Yeah... acts of service. Love languages. It’s how people give and receive love.” Lark talked with her hands, and it hit me just how cute she could be. “Let me see. There’s that, gifts, words of affirmation, physical touch—”
I pointed the spatula at her. “That one. That one’s mine.”
She rolled her eyes and tossed a slice of scallion at me. “Says every guy ever.”
I moved to stand between her knees and tipped her chin with my fingers so her eyes would meet mine. “I’m feeding you. It’s the least I can do after how rough I was with you.”
“You can call it whatever you want as long as it means you standing in my kitchen half-naked, cooking for me.”
I ran a hand across my bare abs. “Do you have a shirt I can borrow?”
She grinned. “Nope.”
I growled and nipped at her neck, causing an eruption of giggles that shot straight through me.
“And for the record, you weren’t too rough,” Lark added. “In fact I’m a little bummed you didn’t just rip this dress open.”
I raised an eyebrow at her teasing. “Is that so? I’ll remember that for next time.”
The muscles in her neck moved as she swallowed hard.
“So about that... next time.”
I shifted, focusing on finishing her food and not on the shift in the conversation.
“I wouldn’t mind that, but I think we need to talk about it a little. Ground rules?”
I nodded. “I agree.”
“Maybe we don’t say anything to Penny. I wouldn’t want her getting confused or having too many questions.”
I dumped the noodles into the water and continued working as she rambled on.
“Or the guys—they don’t need to know. And I feel like if Tootie knows, then the whole town is going to be talking, so maybe we just... keep this between us?”
It felt an awful lot like she wanted to hide whatever was developing between us. I should have been relieved. Thrilled. I couldn’t quite place why it didn’t sit right with me.
I checked the noodles and went to work on the broth. “If that’s what you want.”
“It’s for the best, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely.”
Lark stayed quiet but watched me cook. In a bowl I layered the noodles and a dark broth. I sliced the soft-boiled egg and smiled at myself.
Nailed it .
I slid the bowl toward Lark. “Fancy ramen.”
She beamed up at me, and for a second I wanted to tell her to screw her plan. If we were going to keep fucking, there was no way I wasn’t going to want to show her off in public, claim her as mine, and treat her like a fucking queen.
But she was right.
In Outtatowner that meant questions and unsolicited opinions and having to explain casual relationships to my seven-year-old.
Fuck that .
Right now, with the way my life was running off the rails, I’d take Lark in whatever capacity she was willing to give.
I opened the silverware drawer and plucked out a pair of wooden chopsticks.
Lark scrunched her nose at me. “How do you know where everything is?”
I grinned and leaned against the counter next to her as she began eating. “Lived here. All of us but Katie did at some point. It’s how I knew to tell you to avoid that green recliner.”
It was the first time I noticed it was missing from the living room.
“What’s the deal with that chair, anyway?” Lark took another bite, and the soft moan of appreciation was a shot to the gut.
“Lee lost his virginity in that chair, and then for a while it became his ‘lucky chair.’”
“Oh god.” Lark burst out laughing, and the happy sound rippled through me. “I moved it into the spare room, but now I think I should just burn it.”
The laughter between us died down, and awkwardness took its place. Satisfied that she was well fed, I cleared my throat. “I should get going. The guys will be back soon.”
Lark set the bowl to her side. “Yeah, good idea. See you tomorrow?”
I nodded and rubbed my hands down the front of my jeans, unsure of what to do with them.
I took one step away but then leaned back to drop a kiss on her cheek before heading straight for the door.