11. WYATT
CHAPTER 11
WYATT
“Hands on the rails, Larissa,” I gruffly demand, my nose nuzzled in the crook of her neck.
The smells of honey and a hint of burgers lingering from her shift assault my senses. I breathe her in like I’m trying to absorb her. Every second with her isn’t enough.
“Turn around and put your hands on the rails.” I nudge her toward the cart.
Her eyelids flutter, and the blush on her cheeks deepens. There’s no sign of her wanting to run away again.
She’s obviously too turned on to leave without exploring this thing between us—this familiar yet very new thing.
When she does what I say, her hands clutched around the back of the golf cart, my grin spreads.
“What, um—what are you doing?” The deep echo of her gulp drifts between us.
The glow of the setting sun emerges from surrounding trees and falls on our shoulders. The soft orange hue cast over her curious eyes turns her irises into the color of autumn—a mix of rust and dark caramel.
With my lips skating across her ear, I whisper, “I’m making good on my promise for a mind-blowing five minutes.”
She shudders against me.
Smirking, I slide my hand down the front of her work polo. I bunch the material up and away from the waistband of her sinful slacks—who knew slacks could be so sexy?
I twist the button loose and unzip her pants, then sink my hand inside.
“All night, I dreamt of doing this,” I confess, and my body fucking trembles with need.
“Really?”
“I dreamt of fucking you with my tongue, my fingers, my cock—I couldn’t stop touching you. I never want to stop.” I bury my nose into the crook of her neck again and toy with the edge of her panties. I nip at her neck and inch my fingers lower and lower, earning myself gasp after gasp.
“Touch me. Take me. Fuck me, Wyatt.” Her words are breathy and rushed, like she only requires my touch to survive and nothing else.
“Gladly,” I growl and skim her sensitive flesh with the tips of my fingers. Her arousal instantly coats each one, and I grow lightheaded.
She’s so fucking wet for me.
I’m just about to sink my finger inside her when she bucks her hips against me, and one of her hands flies to the back of my head.
“Wait!” Her loud pants fill the quiet space, rising above the soft winds currently picking up. “We’re outside and… someone might… see us.”
“No one will see us,” I promise. “It’s just you and me, Larissa. You and me.”
Her back relaxes against my chest again, and her fingers tease the strands of my short hair.
“Now, hand back on the rail. I didn’t say you could remove it,” I say in a low, commanding tone.
She hums with obvious approval—she still likes it when I’m bossy, and it drives me so damn wild.
The anticipation of her coming undone for me for the first time in years is almost too much to take. The rush of it courses through me like a drug, sharpening all my senses.
I thrust a finger inside her, pressing my cock against her ass, and my abs clench with agonizing lust.
I circle my finger inside her, swirling her wetness until it drips into my palm, and I dig my feet harder into the ground to hold myself steady. “God, you really love my touch, don’t you?” I rasp. “You missed it, didn’t you?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” She nods, and her knuckles turn white as she clings to the cart.
I use my free hand to spread her legs farther, and her head falls forward. Is she watching how I finger fuck her? Does she like the show?
I dip my head to find her eyes are, in fact, open, and she quickly grows wetter, now soaking my hand and her panties.
“You like what you see?” I ask darkly, my hard-on raging against her round ass.
Judging from her incoherent, high-pitched sounds, the answer is yes.
“I can do better.” With my hand still buried between her thighs, I use the other to slip her pants down to her knees. This way, she has a better view.
If I had more time—and we weren’t in the open—I’d drop to my knees and replace my fingers with my tongue.
But I’m not in a position to cram five years’ worth of pent-up frustration into a few stolen minutes.
“Right there,” Larissa moans, and her legs tremble, slow at first.
The more I work her toward her release, the faster her body quivers, and her moans climb to higher and higher decibels.
“Come when I’m ready for you,” I say, not prepared for this moment to end. “Come when I say so.”
She shakes her head. “I need to come now, Wyatt. Now .”
“Not yet, pretty girl.” I use my thumb to circle her clit, and she gasps.
She writhes against my hand, relentlessly riding my fingers and chasing her ecstasy.
“I need it,” she begs, and her body slumps against me. “I have to come.”
I grip her hip and hold her right where I want her—at my mercy. She throws her head onto my shoulder and bites her lip.
With a nip at her earlobe, I say, “Come now. Come for me, Larissa.”
Her body shudders as she spills onto my hand, her release sputtering in blissful waves of pleasure against my palm. She continues thrusting her hips forward, clearly basking in each sensation, while I revel in her.
She comes with a high-pitched, feminine squeal I haven’t heard in years. She never makes this sound unless she comes, and I’ve fucking missed it.
I’ve missed her so damn much.
“I want more,” she stammers. “More, Wyatt.”
Larissa backs into me, pleading with her body for me to give her what she wants—what she clearly needs as much as I do.
I quickly glance around to make sure we’re still alone and that her drawn-out mewls haven’t alerted anyone or any creature. A ball-busting squirrel would just about kill me right now. Confirming we’re still alone, I unbuckle my belt, undo my pants, and slide them down to my knees with swift, urgent motions.
In front of me, Larissa keeps her hands on the cart, her bare ass perched in the air just for me.
I lick my lips as my dick bobs with desperation, but my brain brings my urges to a screeching, careening, frustrating halt. “Shit,” I hiss, my breathing ragged. “I don’t have a condom with me.”
“What?” She blinks over her shoulder like she doesn’t understand me.
“This isn’t exactly what I anticipated happening today, so I didn’t come prepared.” I curse again and idly rub the head of my dick, which craves release.
Her eyes land between my legs. “I’m game if you are.”
I lift a brow.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she points out and rests her chin on her shoulder in an almost bashful manner. It’s so contradictory to the unabated way she just unleashed her filthy moans seconds ago.
This look is much like the one she wore the night we gave each other our virginities.
My chest stirs as my overwhelming arousal for her consumes me. “I’m tested regularly,” I manage.
“Same.” She wiggles her ass, and it effectively ends this conversation. The decision is made.
I swallow the distance between us in one step, position myself at her entrance, and delve inside her with ease, her wetness instantly drenching me from head to balls.
“Wyatt, yes,” she whispers, her head lolling to the side as I circle my hips and nestle myself deeper into her. “Fuck!”
My smirk is immediate. She tends to only curse during sex—another quirk I’m glad she’s kept.
“Don’t tease me,” she warns over her shoulder. “This is not the time to tease me. Give me everything you’ve got before we get caught out here. We’re already pushing our luck, and besides, I don’t want you to hold back.”
I groan, especially when a shadow of challenge darkens her expression.
“Fuck me already, Wyatt.”
“So bossy, pretty girl,” I muse. “I thought that was my MO.”
She opens her mouth, but I cut her off with a sharp strike of my hips forward. Her inhale chimes into the cool air, the sun now fully hidden behind the trees.
With the evening sky upon us, it truly feels like we’re the only two people within miles.
I take her over and over, and she meets me halfway, pushing back into me with each rock of my hips forward.
She arches for me.
Moans for me.
Gives herself to me.
And in turn, she undoes me. Sweat trickles down the sides of my cheeks as I crash into her, my fingers digging into her flesh. Each of her ass cheeks shimmies in my hold with every thrust.
“You take my cock so well.”
My impending climax surges through me and burns through every muscle and nerve.
My skin pricks with pleasure.
Larissa squeezes me so tightly when her own climax hits, and that’s what wrecks me. I barely pull out in time to shoot my load across the leaves at my feet.
I ride it out to the end, pumping into my hand until every last drop leaves my tip.
My head is fuzzy, but Larissa’s sharp yelp cuts through the mush. It’s not her orgasm squeal, either.
“The cart!” She yanks on my arm, and I whip my head toward the cart. The damn thing stumbles into the ditch with a quiet crinkling sound.