Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Emily
“Well, well, well. Looks like my son finally saw some sense, huh?” Owen’s voice is smug, cutting through the quiet of the yard as I round the front of Wyatt’s truck.
Before I can even think of a comeback, Wyatt’s arm finds my waist, pulling me flush against his side with a possessive tug. He snorts, shaking his head at his father, but I can’t fight the smile that erupts anyway.
The air on the ranch feels different today, lighter, despite the heady, warm evening. It’s almost nine p.m. by the time we make it back home from Oregon.
We make our way up the porch steps, where Owen is waiting. I break from Wyatt’s side and fall into Owen’s waiting embrace. He holds me warmly like a silent welcome back into the fold.
“Good to have you back, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
“Feels good to be home,” I say, and for the first time, the word home doesn’t feel like a foreign concept.
“Uhh—did you guys kiss or something?” Alex asks, standing by the screen door with one eyebrow raised in pure, ten-year-old suspicion.
I snort out a laugh as Wyatt steps up behind me, his presence a solid wall of heat.
“Yeah, bud,” Wyatt teases, leaning down to plant a lingering kiss on my temple. “I kissed her a lot.”
My cheeks flame, and I can’t fight the giggle as Alex’s eyes go wide.
“Eeeew! That’s gross. Wait until I tell Jimmy!” he shouts, already turning to scurry back into the house.
“Yeah, you tell Jimmy to tell his dad to keep his eyes on his own truck!” Wyatt calls after him.
I elbow him hard in the ribs, laughing. “Wyatt! Will you stop?! You’re terrible.”
“No,” he rasps as Owen disappears inside to give us a moment. “I just love the way you say my name.”
I look at him, my heart doing that frantic little dance it only does for him. I want to climb him like a tree right here under the Montana stars. Exactly like I kept doing last night. Instead, I grab my overnight bag, trying to find some shred of composure.
“Where are you going, Callahan?” he asks, his brow raised in confusion.
“To put my stuff in my room.”
“Your room?” He steps into my space, his eyes darkening with a sudden, intense hunger. “I think you mean our room.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yes, woman. The room you’re going to share with me from now on. The one where you’re going to spend every night begging me not to stop.”
The heat between my legs turns volcanic with his possessiveness. “Oh, is that a fact?”
“It is. And I think it should start right now.” His hand slides to the nape of my neck, thumb tracing the sensitive skin there.
“Wyatt…” I breathe.
“See? There you are, begging me already.” His lips hover an inch from mine. I feel the heat of his breath against them.
“You’re such a brat.” I laugh, though my breath is hitching. “You always have been.”
“Well, maybe I just need taming.” He leans in, lips brushing my ear, voice filthy with promise.
“Now, you’re going to lie on my bed and let me eat you until your knees give out.
I’m going to fill you up just like I did last night…
and I’m going to do it again and again until every man on this ranch knows exactly whose mark is on those thighs. ”
Sweet Jesus, what have I unleashed?
I’m getting wetter by the second, but an inconvenient flicker of the past crosses my mind of the way he tried to push me away.
“You were basically handing me to Mike the other night,” I remind him.
His expression softens, a shadow of regret crossing his face. “Because I’m a fucking idiot who couldn’t see what was right in front of him. Now, get up those stairs.” He spins me around and plants a large, solid hand hard on my ass.
I let out a yelp that turns into a giggle as I bolt for the stairs.
We’re up there in seconds.
Wyatt closes the door and turns the bolt with a sharp click that shuts out the rest of the world.
I sit hard on the edge of the mattress, my pulse drumming in my ears.
He stalks over, his face is nothing short of devilish as he wedges his legs between mine before lowering his hot, heavy body over mine.
He pushes me back, keeping his body close to mine as he does.
“Wyatt,” I tease, biting my lip as his stubble scrapes the sensitive skin of my neck. I’m practically squirming. “I had no idea you had this side to you.”
“There’s a lot I haven’t let you see, Emily.” He grins wickedly, swiping his shirt over his head in one clean motion. Every bulging muscle contorts as he sheds the fabric. “A lot you don’t know. Like the fact that my favorite thing in this world is eating your pussy. "
A shiver runs down my spine. He pushes my lilac dress up around my hips, his hands large and calloused against my skin.
Dear God.
This is it.
I’ve actually died and found heaven.
Last night I was crying into a bottle of cheap screw-top Chardonnay. Tonight, I have a six-foot-two, rippling cowboy between my legs who looks like he wants to devour me whole.
Has the universe finally decided I’ve paid my dues?
He kicks off his boots, the heavy thud against the floorboards the only sound in the room before he kneels on the mattress.
He studies me, his gaze is dark and claiming, tracking the rise and fall of my breasts.
His fingers hook into the lace waistband of my thong, and he teases the fabric down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
I can feel my pulse hammering in my throat in a frantic rhythm of pure anticipation as they clear my ankles, and he drops them wickedly to the floor.
He parts my knees with a gentle pressure that leaves me completely exposed to him.
“Fuuuuck,” he rumbles, the word vibrating deep in his chest as he bites down on his bottom lip.
He swipes his thumb down the seam of my pussy and brings his thumb to my entrance, pressing in slowly, pumping a couple of times to test my readiness.
I’m propped up on my elbows, trying to watch, but the sensation is too much. My head tips back involuntarily, eyes fluttering shut as the first wave of heat hits me.
I feel the lilac straps of my dress slip off my shoulders, the cool air hitting my skin just before he drops to the edge of the bed.
“You’re fucking beautiful like this, Emily,” he rasps, his voice thick with a hunger he’s spent months trying to starve.
I can feel the heat of his breath against my inner thigh like he’s warning me of what’s coming. Before I can find my voice, his fingers part me, and his tongue licks languidly against my clit with a deliberate stroke that has me gasping for air.
“I’m going to take my sweet time on you,” he mutters against my skin. “I’ve endured weeks of wanting this. Weeks of watching you and imagining exactly how you’d taste.”
His pace picks up, his tongue flickering with a metronomic precision that has me seeing stars.
He’s phenomenal at this, entirely devoted to the task.
My hands find his thick hair, fingers tangling in the strands as I tug him closer, hips bucking into his face as he finds the exact nerve endings that make my world tilt.
“Oh god, Wyatt…right there. Please.” I’m breathless, my voice is strained as I try to remember his family is down the stairs.
“Come for me, baby,” he growls, his hands gripping my thighs tighter. “You’ve waited long enough.”
He circles my clit with a ruthless rhythm, and I feel the pressure start to build and tighten behind my navel.
I’m clutching at the sheets now, knuckles white, the blood rushing to my core until the tension snaps. My orgasm takes me completely with a violent release that has me clamping my legs around his face as I shudder.
He grunts in deep satisfaction, absorbing the tremors of my body.
I’m shaking, twitching, and officially blissed out as the last of the tremors recede.
Wyatt doesn’t pull away immediately. He lingers, letting me catch my breath. When he looks up, his eyes are heavy with a hunger that hasn’t been satisfied. It looks as though it’s only served to provoke him.
He crawls up the bed with a slow-motion movement that has my heart hammering against my ribs all over again. He doesn’t say a word as he strips out of his jeans. His powerful silhouette is illuminated by the moonlight radiating through the window.
“Turn around,” he urges in a gravelly command that vibrates right through me. “I want to watch you take it.”
He gives a nod toward the heavy mahogany dresser and the wide mirror bolted above it.
My breath catches all over again, a fresh wave of heat blooming between my thighs as I do exactly what I’m told. I’d fully intended on returning the favor—Lord knows I’ve spent months imagining the weight of his cock in my hands, the taste of him on my tongue—but tonight, Wyatt is intent on giving.
And I’m more than prepared to let him take the lead.
I turn to face the bed, sinking onto my elbows and arching my back until the lilac fabric of my dress is bunched around my waist again.
Wyatt moves behind me, his large hands find my hips and grip them firmly. He pulls me back, centering me, and hitches my weight up until we’re level.
I look up, my eyes finding his in the reflection of the glass. He looks wrecked with a possessiveness that almost hurts to look at.
We lock eyes in the mirror for one heart-stopping second before he slides into me.
There’s no resistance. I’m so fucking wet for him that he sinks deep in one effortless, devastatingly perfect glide. I let out a broken sound, my fingers digging into the quilt as he moves. Every thrust is a reminder of the two months we wasted pretending this wasn’t inevitable.
In the mirror, I watch the way his tan skin contrasts against mine, the way his muscles ripple with every surge, and the way he refuses to break eye contact.
There is absolutely no running from it anymore. Wyatt Miller owns every inch of me.
The rhythm picks up, headboard knocking a steady, frantic beat against the wall that we’re both too far gone to care about.
I’m chasing the edge again, my vision blurring as Wyatt leans forward pressing his chest into my back, his mouth hot against my shoulder.
“Look how fucking good you look taking my cock, Emily,” he grunts against my skin, his hands grip my hips so tightly I know there will be fingerprints there by morning, but I don’t care. I want the mark.
He drives his own pleasure with a ruthless power that has my breath hitching in broken sobs.
“Wyatt…oh god. I’m coming. I’m coming again.”
The second wave of pleasure is even more violent than the first. It’s a hot rush that leaves me trembling and helpless against him.
“Fuck,” he grunts, his own control finally surrendering.
The pulse of him is still vibrating between my legs as we finally collapse against the bed, gasping for air. I’m lost for words, this man has well and truly dumbfounded me.
I catch him smirking at me as I finally stand to shed the remains of my dress. The dress that has been thoroughly ravaged and is now damp with the evidence of our release.
“What?” I ask, biting my lip as the silk pools on the floor.
I feel his eyes giving my body a searing once-over, igniting a rush of gooseflesh up my arms and across my nipples.
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing before he finally finds his voice. “Baby, don’t take this the wrong way, but…your tits are phenomenal.” He pauses, his gaze lingering. “I have to ask…are they…?”
He’s seated at the edge of the bed, stripped down and looking like a god even with his hair a mess.
I sway my hips toward him until my chest is right in his line of vision, looping my arms around those broad, tensed shoulders. “Fake?”
His throat works again as he takes in the fullness of them before his eyes finally snap back to mine.
“Yeah, Cowboy,” I whisper, a playful grin tugging at my mouth. “These and that car in the driveway are my two biggest impulse spends.” I giggle as I sit myself in his lap, feeling his bulge against my wetness.
His eyes darken until they’re almost completely black, his voice a savage growl. “Money well fucking spent.”