Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Emily
The last of the boxes is packed and stacked neatly by the old fireplace. The clearance truck will be here in the morning to collect the final remnants of my father’s things. The rest is destined for the local charity store or the dump.
It feels surreal, as if the final chapter of our lives has been closed and reduced to an empty house, a pile of cardboard, and a lone mattress on the living room floor.
Most of my own belongings have been given away or dumped.
I don’t have much to my name, but even so, there isn’t much room to keep it at the Millers.
I guess I’m sticking to the new start brand.
All that felt worth keeping was a small box of photos, my dad’s reading glasses, and a few useless mementos.
Once I hand over the keys tomorrow, I’ll head back to the ranch with no idea how long I’m actually going to stay.
The past couple of months have felt surreal, like one life has ended but the next doesn’t quite know which road to take.
I love taking care of Alex and having the freedom to work on the ranch projects, but I can’t shake the feeling that it all has an expiration date.
With the way Wyatt was around me last night, that date might be coming sooner than I’d hoped.
I feel like an intruder in his life. I’ve knocked his routine and his pace off kilter, and I have a sinking feeling he wants it all back the way it was before I arrived.
I’m utterly exhausted from packing this entire house up by myself.
Setting down the roll of packing tape, I pad barefoot across the polished oak floor to the kitchen and grab the bottle of wine I picked up at the store this morning, alongside three rolls of industrial tape, catching more than a few judgmental stares due to my nine a.m. Chardonnay purchase.
I screw off the lid and pour a generous amount into a glass tumbler that didn’t quite make the cut for the charity collection.
I sink into Dad's old armchair next to the window, listening to the lonely whistle of the breeze. I tip my head back slightly, so it rests against the leather.
Closing my eyes, I bring another bitter sip of wine to my lips. I’m enjoying the sensation of it hitting my bloodstream when a low rumbling cuts through the quiet. I tell myself it’s probably a neighbor, but the sound of the engine grows closer with a heavy and familiar sound.
As I open my eyes, a flash of headlights sweeps across the living room wall in front of me, which tells me the vehicle has turned onto the driveway. The sound of tires crunching on gravel intensifies until it’s right outside.
I sit up, setting the wine down on the floor, and lean toward the window, pulling the old drapes back enough to get a view.
Oh. My. God.
I know that truck.
It’s Wyatt’s.
What the hell is he doing here at…I check my watch—9 p.m.
I stand, pulling my silk robe tight and re-tying the belt with trembling fingers, racing to the front door before I can even process what’s happening. I walk barefoot across the stiff coir welcome mat and out onto the decking of the porch.
Wyatt is stepping out of the truck. He’s dressed in dark denim and a beige utility shirt with the sleeves rolled high, revealing the heavy muscle of his forearms. He’s wearing his black Stetson, its brim casting shadows beneath the streetlights, and the intensity in his eyes steals the air right out of my lungs.
He’s not smiling. He’s not even blinking. He looks like a man possessed.
My brows knit together. “Wyatt? What are you doing here?”
He’s already striding toward me like he’s on a mission, his boots thudding hard against the wood.
He takes the porch steps two at a time, and before my brain can comprehend the distance closing, he’s in my space.
One hand hooks firmly around the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair, while the other cradles my jaw.
Then, his lips are on mine.
The kiss is electric. It’s a violent, beautiful collision of months of suppressed hunger. It’s desperate and rough, tasting of the cold night air and a need that’s been burning behind his ribs for far too long.
For a second, I’m lost in the sheer shock of it, my hands hovering midair before I finally melt my own tongue against his, fingers clutching the rough cotton of his shirt. He tastes incredible. My veins are on fire right now.
I pull back an inch, my breath hitching as I search his molten brown eyes. They’re darkened even more so with a mix of fury and longing.
“Wyatt?” I whisper, my voice shaking out of control.
“I’m sick of watching you do everything alone, Em,” he rasps, his forehead dropping against mine. His voice reaches a rumble so low that I’ve never heard before. “I’m sick of pretending I don’t want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole damn life.”
My lips tremble at the revelation. “Wyatt…I—I thought you hated me.”
He looks me dead in the eye. “Emily Callahan, I have loved you since the day you left that ranch twenty-three fucking years ago.”
I let out an incredulous laugh, a tear escaping my eye as I bring my hands to the rough stubble of his jaw, pulling his lips back to mine.
He backs me toward the open front door, and I’m already tugging his shirt open, refusing to break the kiss for even a second.
He kicks the door shut with the heel of a heavy boot and tosses his hat to the floor.
Before I can catch my breath, he has me pinned to the wall, his lips trailing a path of fire down my throat.
“Wyatt, I can’t believe you came all this way,” I moan.
“Shhh, baby. I haven’t slept in weeks. I haven’t thought of anything else but you. Sleeping across the hall from you every night, wishing you were in my bed…watching you every goddamn day, it’s been fucking torture,” he grits out breathlessly, his hands moving to his belt.
His tongue slides against mine in a hungry, frantic rhythm as my silk robe slips down off my shoulders.
The straps of my nightdress aren’t far behind.
The sheer force of his want sends the fabric sliding down, exposing my breasts to the cool air of the room.
He looks down and practically growls with a primal sound that vibrates through my entire body.
“Fuck, baby. I’ve been aching to touch you.”
“Touch me? Wyatt, you better fuck me. Right now.”
He pauses for a fraction of a second, his breathing ragged. “Baby, I left in such a hurry I didn’t plan for this. Are you…?”
The way he calls me baby sends a shiver down my spine. I nod frantically, my hands guiding him back to me. “I’m on birth control.”
It’s true. Mostly.
The pack is sitting on my bedside table back at the ranch because, let’s face it, I’m not exactly getting much action to be meticulous. But I can catch up tomorrow. There’s no way in hell we’re not doing this.
Not tonight. Not after all this time.
I make quick work of his buttons, my fingers trembling as I struggle to pull the shirt over the heavy swell of his biceps.
I’ve seen Wyatt shirtless before, but knowing I finally have the right to touch him, to really feel the heat of his skin, makes the ache between my thighs turn into a heavy, pulsing throb.
I eventually wrench the shirt off and toss it to the floor. My fingers trail down the smattering of dark hair that disappears into the waistband of his boxers, my touch light but claiming.
My robe pools at my feet, quickly followed by the silk nightdress. I realize with a jolt of heat that I hadn’t worn anything underneath.
The cool air of the empty living room hits my skin, but I hardly feel it. Though I’m acutely aware that I am standing completely naked in my father’s old house, stripped of everything but the man holding me.
Wyatt looks down at me, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. His eyes are savoring every inch of me, from the curve of my hips to the flush on my chest.
“Fuck me, Emily,” he rasps with a primal growl. “You have no idea how hot you are right now. I’ve seen you in my head like this every night for two months, and it didn’t even come close to the real thing.”
He reaches out, his large, calloused hands sliding around my waist to pull me flush against him. The scratch of his denim against my bare skin feels amazing. He lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrap around his waist by instinct, and he carries me toward the bare mattress on the floor.
He lowers me carefully, and as I crawl back against the worn fabric, a sudden wave of self-consciousness hits me. I press my knees together, feeling exposed in the center of the empty room.
But Wyatt doesn’t let me hide. His dark and steady eyes never leave mine as he pushes down his jeans and underwear.
I can’t help it. My gaze drops. The sheer size of him, thick and already glistening at the tip with anticipation, sends a jolt of pure heat straight to my core.
I bite my lip, my breath hitching in my throat as he wraps a hand around his arousal, his gaze locked on mine. The way he’s looking at me right now, all my inhibitions are about to fly right out of that window.
“Spread your legs for me, baby,” he commands, his voice full of panty-melting authority.
He pumps himself with his fist a couple of times before I obey, my pulse fluttering frantically as he drops to his knees between my thighs. He lets out a sound that’s not quite a growl but almost a whimper as he leans in close.
“This pussy…it’s been on my mind since the second you stepped back onto that porch,” he rasps, his hot breath fanning against my damp skin. “I’ve wanted nothing more than to taste you. To know you’re mine.”
My entire body is tingling. The thought of Wyatt dreaming about me in that way makes my stomach flutter.
He uses his large, calloused fingers to spread my lips open, exposing me completely to his gaze.
My head hits the mattress, eyes rolling back as his tongue sweeps over me in one smooth, heavy stroke from my entrance to my clit. The sensation is overwhelming, like a lightning bolt of pleasure that makes my hips buck instinctively against him.
“Oh god, Wyatt,” I moan, the sound tearing from my throat as sensation ripples through me.
“Fuck. I’ve ached to hear you moan my name like that.”
His tongue never slows, even as he moves up to flick my clit with languid, agonizing precision. He slides a finger inside me, pumping it in a perfect rhythm that hits exactly where I need it.
“Do it again, baby. Let me hear it.”
Little does he know, I’ve also been dreaming of him making me scream his name. The fact that it’s happening right now is nothing short of otherworldly.
“Oh—Wyatt. Please. Keep going, I’m going to—”
I’m on the precipice, muscles coiling, fingers digging into his shoulders. But suddenly, he lifts his head, breaking the contact as I’m about to snap. I whine at the sudden loss of his mouth against my pussy.
“No, baby,” he growls, his voice thick with want.
He moves up the mattress, his large body hovering over mine, pinning me down with his weight. “I want the first one when I’m inside you. I want to feel every bit of it.”
He positions himself at my entrance, the heat of him searing against me.
He looks down at where he’s about to be inside me, his eyes heavy with a feral sort of hunger.
“And then I’m going to fill you up so much, you’re going to be dripping my cum for days.
You’re never going to forget who you belong to. ”
I can’t even breathe. I’ve never seen this side of him. This raw, unfiltered dominance. It’s intoxicating. I wonder what finally broke the seal on his iron-clad resolve against us.
But I have to shove that thought aside. I can’t focus on the why right now. Not when he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in his universe and he’s seconds away from making me come.
“Wyatt, please,” I sob, arching my back, skin screaming for the friction. “Now. I need you now.”
With a feral grunt, he thrusts into me slowly, his cock stretching me and filling me so completely that I feel like I can’t possibly take an inch more. He’s so big. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite like him.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he says as he slides in, but he keeps going, seating himself deep until there’s no air left between us.
My nails bite into the hard muscle of his shoulders, and my legs instinctively lock around his waist, desperate to keep that pressure right where it is.
I let out a broken cry as he hits the spot. That perfect, deep ache that only he seems to know how to reach.
He doesn’t pull back immediately. He stays there for a heartbeat, buried to the hilt, his chest heaving against my breasts.
His lips find the sensitive part of my neck, his hot breath sending ripples of gooseflesh across my skin.
“Fuck, Emily,” he whispers with a raw sound. “The feeling of being bare inside you…it’s everything. It’s exactly how I’ve pictured it every damn day.”
“Oh, god. Oh god, Wyatt, you feel incredible.” I have to bite down on my lip because I’m in heaven. My entire body is humming with need.
He moves in more quickly with heavy, deliberate strokes that pull nearly all the way out before slamming back in. The friction is blinding.
The mattress beneath us shifts against the oak floor, the only sound in the house other than our hitched breaths is the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin.
Every thrust feels like he’s claiming me. Every time he sinks into me, he’s erasing the twenty-three years of loneliness.
“You’re mine, Em,” he rasps, his hand moving to lace through my fingers, pinning my arm above my head as he picks up the pace. “Please tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours, Wyatt. I’ve always been yours,” I cry out, my voice breaking as I’m completely overwhelmed by the sheer power of him.
His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, and more desperate.
I can feel everything beginning to wind tighter and tighter in my gut. I’m right on the edge, pleasure building so sharp it almost hurts.
I gasp, a fast intake of breath as the first tremors of my orgasm build.
“That’s it, baby,” Wyatt rasps against my ear, his voice thick with triumph. “Come for me. Scream my name. Let everyone know exactly who you belong to.”
“Oh god…Wyatt!” I scream his name into the empty house as the orgasm tears through me with a violent, convulsing wave of euphoria that makes my vision go dark.
I’m shaking, my internal muscles clamping down on him in a frantic pulse.
“Goddamn it, Emily. You’re fucking everything,” he grunts.
He gives one final, deep surge, burying himself deep, as he snaps. I feel the hot, heavy pulse of his release deep inside me, filling me up just like he promised.
He groans, his forehead dropping into the crook of my neck, his entire body trembling with the force of it as he pours everything he’s been holding back for twenty-three years into me.
He’s panting hard.
I’m barely hanging on.
His deep brown eyes hold mine. “You’re never walking away from me ever again, Emily.”
I couldn’t if I tried.