Chapter 33
Wyatt pushed up, settling next to her. Her chest rose and fell as she came back to herself.
He scattered kisses on her waist, the smooth skin over her ribcage, up to her clavicle, the hollow at the base of her neck. He breathed her in. His shampoo in her hair. Her skin underneath. Something that was only her.
He should move. Get her water. Pull the covers up. But the rightness of lying beside her now outweighed everything else.
“Wyatt.” Her hand tugged at the towel knotted at his waist.
The towel loosened and fell away and her hand closed around the aching hardness of his cock.
His breath escaped in a sharp rush.
She wrapped her fingers around him—slow and deliberate—and his hips jerked before he could stop them.
Her touch stripped everything down to nerve and need. “Jen—”
“Wyatt.” She turned her head, eyes finding his in the dim light. “I want you. Inside me.”
Heat surged through him so fast it made him light-headed. “You’ve been through hell—”
“That makes me even more sure.” Her hand tightened, drawing a low sound from his chest. “Very sure.” She slid her knuckles down the side of his face. “I want all of you.”
All of him.
The part of him that always stood between danger and the people he cared about stepped aside.
He shifted over her, caging her body with his as he reached for the nightstand.
He found the box in the drawer. His hands shook as he tore it open, rolling the condom on with movements that felt clumsy and desperate.
“Careful.” Her fingers brushed his jaw. “Your leg.”
He positioned himself between her thighs, keeping weight off his injured leg, and her hands came to his shoulders—grounding him the way he’d done for her.
“Jen. Your ribs. Tell me if—”
“I will.” She pressed a kiss to his lips, caught his lower lip gently between her teeth.
God.
“Stop worrying. I’m fine. More than fine.”
When he looked down, he found her eyes locked on his, certain and honest.
Tell me to stop. Tell me this is too much. Give me a reason to pull back before I can’t.
But she didn’t, only kissed the corner of his mouth, her head pressing against his. “Now, Wyatt.”
He lined himself up, soaking in the heat of her against him. His hand slid between them, palm cupping the soft weight of her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple.
She gasped, arching into him.
He stilled. “Okay?”
A soft laugh. “Yes. Don’t stop.”
He pushed in. Slow and controlled, gritting his teeth against the need to just take, just bury himself and forget everything except this.
Heat. Tight, slick—stealing every thought from his head.
He moved deeper. Inch by careful inch. His control fracturing with every second because she felt like nothing he’d ever—
Fuck.
“God, Wyatt…” Her head tipped, the long line of her throat exposed to him.
He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t do anything except breathe and hold himself still while his entire body screamed at him to move. She was so fucking tight, her body clasped around him, and when she shifted her hips—taking him deeper—a groan tore from his throat.
“Jen. Jesus. I—”
He didn’t finish, just dropped his forehead to hers and concentrated on not losing it right there.
He moved. Slow, careful strokes. Testing. Learning. Her hands slid from his shoulders to his face, framing his jaw, and he opened his eyes.
She was looking at him.
He couldn’t look away. Should have closed his eyes. Locked it down.
But Jen held him with her gaze, her hands gentle on his face, and for the first time, he wasn’t bracing for impact—he let it hit.
He thrust deeper, his control slipping not because he wanted to lose it, but because she made holding it pointless. Her body rose to meet his, hips lifting, and the breath she released against his mouth sent fever tearing through him.
“More,” she whispered. “I won’t break.”
A sound escaped her—low, desperate and utterly wrecked—and it burned through him like fire.
He lost the careful and drove deeper, rhythm overtaking restraint as she gasped against his mouth. Her legs came up, wrapping around his waist, careful of his injured thigh, binding him to her.
He was still aware of her bruises. Still angling his body to protect them. But his movements were less careful, and when her hand slid into his hair and pulled—
A sound ripped from him. Primal and unchecked.
He buried his face in her neck because he couldn’t let her see how deep she’d gotten, how far past the last line she already was.
She held him while he thrust into her, rhythm breaking apart, the thought burning through him with every movement.
I’m in over my head.
But he no longer cared.
He slid his hand under her back, pulling her up into him closer than should have been possible. His other hand found hers, fingers threading together above her head, anchoring him to the only thing left that felt real.
He couldn’t stop or slow down. His body had taken over, every ounce of control he’d held onto for hours shattering into nothing.
Her breathing changed—hitched and sharp—and her body clenched around him.
“That’s it.” His voice was a wrecked groan. “Come for me.”
Jen arched under him, body tensed around him as she cried out against his shoulder, her teeth digging into muscle.
Her eyes found his again—open, unguarded, completely his.
Wyatt hovered on the precipice.
The way she came apart around him, the sound of his name in her voice, the way she held him through it—
It broke him open.
He came with his face buried in her neck, her name pulled from him against her skin, and for those few seconds the world went white and silent and there was nothing else.
Just her. Everywhere.
The world came back in pieces. Weight. Warmth. The sound of her breathing beneath him.
He should move, pull back, do something other than lie there breathing like he’d run for days.
Her hands slid through his hair. So gentle this time. Soft.
Her breath was ragged, then slowly evened out.
Neither of them moved.
Seconds stretched. Maybe longer.
Eventually he adjusted, rolling to pull her with him. Her body came easily, tucking perfectly against his side. His arm came around her waist, hand splayed over her ribs. His other hand found hers, fingers locking together again—instinctive now.
A lock within him, sealed shut for years, had given way.
He held her tighter and stared at the ceiling, her warmth pressed along his side. His hand moved over her skin in tiny, unconscious circles.
She mumbled his name, then went quiet, sleep softening her against him.
Wyatt didn’t move.
He wasn’t going anywhere.