Chapter 14 - Elena
Wyatt’s grip on my hips tightens as he guides himself back, dropping onto the sofa before pulling me with him. Without breaking the kiss, I’m in his lap, straddling him like I can’t stand the thought of being apart.
I shouldn’t be doing this, I know that. But I can’t help it.
The way his lips feel is far too addicting, and I can’t get enough while the heat of his palms against my hips only further spreads the haze in my mind.
No part of me should be allowing this after everything. I’m supposed to hate him for forcing this situation on me instead of just letting me go, but instead, I’m chasing his lips with a kind of desperation I’ve never felt before.
I’ve known enough men like Wyatt thanks to my brothers and the company they keep, but none of them have set my nerves on fire like him. None has ever made me feel like I’m going crazy like this.
He had no right to act so possessively over me, especially with our marriage being based on nothing at all. Yet, something about that gleam in his eyes that screamed he isn’t willing to let anyone come between us affected me in a way it had no business to.
As much as I want to be in control of myself and my vices, I can’t bring myself to stop. I’ve been wanting this for far longer than I’ve been willing to admit.
Wyatt’s hands leave searing heat in their wake as he feels every inch of me, urging me as close as I can possibly get. His tongue swipes across my bottom lip, and it’s enough for me to part them.
The moment we meet halfway, he groans into the kiss, deepening it like his survival depends on this. The sound makes me more pliant as another wave of need passes through me, heading straight for my core.
Even if it’s the last thing I should be doing, I follow that burning instinct and roll my hips forward.
Wyatt grunts, grip on me tightening as he rasps against my mouth, “Christ, Elena…”
The sound of my name on his lips like that, gruff and breathless, only encourages me more.
I catch his lips again and shift on his lap, feeling the immediate way his body reacts beneath me. It stirs that lust I’ve been trying to keep at bay, but now, I know I can’t ignore it.
Testing my luck, I do it again, only for Wyatt to hold me still. He breaks the kiss, gaze meeting mine with a scalding look.
“Nuh-uh…we’re not doing that,” he murmurs, hands lowering as he keeps me in place. “You’re not making a mess of me yet.”
My brows pinch in confusion, but before I can do anything, his hand slips beneath my shirt, sliding upward slowly.
Wyatt lifts a knowing brow, tone lowering. “Not until I’ve unraveled you first.”
Another rush of excitement shoots through me, not willing to complain, thanks to the prospect.
The second his fingers brush against my breasts, sliding beneath my bralette, my breath catches. He notices, then carefully rolls my nipple until it peaks. He hums. “I’ll start with this.”
A small, defiant part of me doesn’t want to give in or admit any kind of defeat, but the sparks of pleasure running through me are enough to make me falter. I shiver faintly, leaning in to kiss him.
But Wyatt dodges it, instead leaving a trail of chaste kisses across my jaw and down my neck. He thumbs against my skin and chuckles at the way I scoff.
“Are you being a brat, Elena?” He asks against my neck.
“No,” I mumble, feeling as my lips pull in a dejected pout, just enough to make my displeasure obvious.
Wyatt nips at my pulse, eliciting a quiet gasp from me. He gently brushes his tongue over the spot, then gives my breast a teasing squeeze. “You sound bratty to me.”
I pull back at that, narrowing my eyes at him. “You’re teasing me on purpose.”
“I am,” he says with a rare grin, letting his opposite hand slide further up my shirt, caressing my waist. “Because you can’t always get what you want.”
“And what if it’s what you want too?”
“Oh, it definitely is. But that’s different,” he muses, withdrawing his fingers from my bralette before sliding further down. He watches my every reaction closely, still satisfied with himself as he creeps closer to my waistband. “Because this is about you, not me.”
A protest sits on the end of my tongue, but the second I feel him brushing against my lower stomach, it dies. I’m too focused on him and how near he is to what I want most.
Wyatt’s gaze doesn’t leave mine all the while he grips my waistband and slowly, deliberately pulls it down just enough to expose the lace underneath. As his eyes flick down, the twitch of his need against the back of my thigh doesn’t escape me. They darken at once, filled with unmistakable hunger.
Despite looking prepared to take what he wants, Wyatt hesitates. He keeps his hands on my hips, close, but not close enough, like he’s internally arguing with himself.
It’s tantalizing, but I need more. Far more.
“If this is about me, then give me what I want.”
At that, Wyatt doesn’t wait.
He pulls me closer while he dips his hand to the apex of my thighs, applying just enough pressure for me to feel him. At the same time, his lips find mine again, urgently despite how gentle his touch is.
With the first slow circle of his fingers against my heat through the fabric, my breath catches before I let go of a needy sound against his lips. At that, he hums and kisses me deeper. When he slides low enough to be greeted by my dampness, I feel as if something shifts in him.
Wyatt groans and lightly shifts the material aside before rubbing against me directly, making me cling to him more.
“Christ, Elena…” he utters in between kisses, lightly prodding against me before teasing my entrance. “Apparently, you like being denied.”
I want to argue, but when I feel his fingers carefully pressing deeper, my back arches just enough to give away how badly I want this.
I can’t deny it. Not when my body is nearly shaking for him.
“Please…” I murmur breathlessly against his mouth. “Please, don’t tease me.”
For a beat, Wyatt seems to struggle between the need to make me suffer just a little and the way my words sway him.
Then, a low sound slips from him, and he eases two fingers inside me.
The rush of heat and pleasure makes me moan, lashes fluttering closed.
Wyatt tenses slightly at the way I lean into him, forehead dropping to his shoulder, but I know it’s from his restraint crumbling more than anything else.
“That’s all it takes? A bit of friction?” He asks, vaguely teasing, but mostly hot with need as he gradually moves.
Muffling a groan against his shoulder, I can’t even pretend to fight it. After denying myself for so long, I feel more sensitive than usual, and he apparently knows exactly what he’s doing.
When that’s all the answer I can muster, Wyatt’s movements become more deliberate as he stirs up the lust in me beyond return.
Cursing under his breath, his free hand cups my cheek, and he adjusts me before kissing me hard. Deep and claiming.
So focused on the sensations coursing through me, I hardly notice I’m being moved until I register the couch cushions beneath my back, followed by a renewed urgency in the way he peels my clothes off.
It’s all a haze of aching need and the promise of relief as I blindly pull at his shirt, followed by his bottoms, unwilling to break the kiss any longer than necessary.
Now on the same playing field, needing each other mutually, we’re a frantic tangle of limbs, moving and guiding until I feel his bare skin on mine, lips gliding down my abdomen with a clear path in mind. But before he gets far enough, I cup his jaw and stop him.
Wyatt’s eyes flick up to mine in question, blinking through his own haze. “What’s wrong?”
“As much as I want you to keep going, I’m not waiting. I can’t.”
As the words settle in, and he realizes how serious I am, a fresh intent takes over his features, and he moves back up. His lips graze my skin on the way, teasing my breast again before hovering his mouth over mine. He fits perfectly between my thighs. “You’re sure?”
“I am,” I mumble, pulling him in as close as possible by the shoulders. Then I kiss him hard, beyond hungry for more of him.
At that, Wyatt groans, surrendering while his hands wander over me. When he parts my legs further, he wastes no time pressing against me.
Hyper aware of his touch and how close he is to giving us both what we want, my body thrums in anticipation.
Finally, he grips me a little tighter, then carefully slides inside me.
The first inch makes my breath catch, followed by the faintest ache indicating that I should’ve been more patient, but as soon as it melts into pleasure, I go almost limp in his grasp.
“Elena…” Wyatt rasps as he keeps going, careful not to hurt me as he overwhelms my senses all at once. His forehead presses to mine, eyes closed against the constriction. He groans, dropping his face to my neck. “Fuck…”
The first shallow thrust pulls a soft moan from me, then the next draws a more eager one. My fingers dig into his back for support, and the mere idea of any space lingering between us suddenly seems like a terrible one.
I want to say I’ve experienced this kind of intensity before, or that the way he stretches me is nothing new. But this is different. So, very different.
As he develops a steady rhythm, there’s no room for any teasing or goading. Instead, we’re too immersed in the moment to think about anything other than this. Other than sheer, perfectly raw pleasure.
Every thrust of his hips pushes me deeper into a delirious state fueled by my need for him and for release. Closer to the line neither of us was supposed to cross.
But feeling him like this, and tasting the ecstasy that comes from the way he puts his all into it, leaves me unable to care. I’m afraid I won’t be able to let go.
With a subtle shift of my thigh, able to deepen his thrusts, Wyatt gives me his all. His every sound stirs my desire for him, helping to push me even closer to the end.
When I squeeze around him, losing myself completely, he hums. “Let me feel it. Let me feel how close you are.”
Mind turning to mush at his velvety tone, I whimper and arch into him, nails digging into his skin now.
He grunts in response, quickening his pace.
Before long, everything from his deep movements to his overwhelming presence consumes me, making me see sparks behind my eyelids. My moans pitch higher, encouraging him, while the tether inside me pulls and pulls until it can’t take anymore.
At the precipice, it snaps, and I clench around him the moment my sounds cut off, almost like I’m suspended in anticipation. Then, I fall apart completely.
With a groan, I release, blinded by immediate euphoria while I cling to him with trembling fingers.
The plain of muscle that makes up his back tightens in response, and his rhythm falters, unable to fully recover. He muffles his sounds against my neck before pulling out and finishing between us.
It’s all a blur for a moment. I can only feel the rapid flutter of my heart, the warmth of satisfaction, and the reassuring weight of him against me. It takes immense will to even open my eyes, far too comfortable in that lingering daze.
“Damn,” Wyatt mumbles in quiet disbelief, breath gently fanning against my skin. He swallows hard and keeps me close.
Too drunk on what just happened to consider the consequences or implications, I can only cover my face and stifle a laugh.
God, I’m screwed.