14. Wyatt
Chapter 14
Wyatt
I shove my hands into my jacket pockets, making my way down the main street. The mission is simple: run some errands, ask about rentals for Ivy.
"Hey, Wyatt!" calls Jim from the hardware store. "Who's the new girl?"
"Friend from out of town," I reply, keeping it vague. He raises an eyebrow but doesn't pry. Jim knows when to back off.
"Any vacancies at your rental units?" I ask. A shake of his head, and I'm on to the next stop.
"Pretty little thing with you, huh?" Betty, the postmistress, says with a wink. I just chuckle, dropping off a package.
"Looking for a place for her," I say. "You heard of anything?"
"Sorry, hon. Rentals are tight these days."
"Thanks, Betty." I sigh and step back outside.
The crisp air bites at my cheeks as I walk. Folks nod and wave. They know me, respect me, but their curiosity about Ivy is like a buzzing fly—annoying, persistent.
"Got a visitor, Wyatt?" Ted, who runs the grocery, leans on his broom. “Heard she’s a pretty thing.”
"Yep," I answer, picking up a few supplies. "Know any spots she could rent?"
"Nothing 'round here," he replies, ringing me up.
"Appreciate it, Ted." I adjust the bag on my shoulder, heading out.
With each conversation, it's the same story. No luck. Not a single lead on a place for Ivy.
By the time I'm heading back to the coffee shop, the sun has dipped lower, casting long shadows across the streets. I push open the door to find her exactly where I left her, staring into her cup.
I slide into the booth across from her, and she looks up with those whiskey-brown eyes, all clouded with disappointment. No glint of success or hope. She shakes her head before I even ask.
"All right, then." I lean back, crossing my arms. "We'll figure it out."
"I’m sorry," she murmurs, a frown tugging at her lips. "I can hire a car service to take me back to the city or something. I don’t want to be a burden."
"Hey, don't worry about it." I lean forward, trying to catch her gaze. "There's no storm coming anytime soon. We've got time. And we don’t mind having you. At all." The reassurance sounds hollow even to my own ears. But her nod, tentative as it is, tells me she's at least willing to believe it for now.
"Thanks, Wyatt." Her voice is a soft exhale, relief mingling with frustration.
I glance out the window where the sun still hangs in the sky, fighting off the approach of evening. A drive might do us both some good—clear our heads, ease the tension that's been building since she walked into my life. And honestly, every second around her is a second spent fighting the urge to touch her again.
"Want to take a quick drive?" I ask, watching her closely. "I know a place."
She hesitates, biting her lip in a way that makes my hand itch to reach out and soothe the pink flesh with my thumb. Then she nods, pushing back her chair. "Sure. That sounds nice."
We're silent as we walk to the truck. I open her door, and she climbs in with a quiet "thank you" that sends a ripple through me. I start the engine, the rumble a familiar comfort, but my mind is far from ease.
The road stretches out before us, trees on either side blurring into a sea of green as we ascend the mountain. I can feel her beside me, her presence like a warm fire on a cold night, inviting yet dangerous. I place my hand on Ivy's thigh and give it a gentle squeeze. It's a test, one I'm not sure I want her to pass or fail. But she doesn't shrink away. Instead, her legs part just a fraction, inviting me in without saying a word.
"Nice view up here," I say, steering us toward an overlook I know. It's secluded, the perfect place to get lost in each other without prying eyes.
No. That’s not…this is about making her smile, not having my way with her.
"Yeah," she replies, her voice barely above a whisper, "it's beautiful."
"Up here," I tell her, nodding toward the winding path that leads to an overlook. The trees fall away as we climb higher, revealing the vast sky stretching over the mountain range.
As I park the truck, I turn to look at her. We’d painted her as this naive city girl, but she’s so much more than that. She's real, flesh and blood, and so damn intriguing. I want her—more than I've wanted anything in a long while.
"Wow," she breathes out. Her eyes widen, drinking in the view that stretches endlessly before us. She's stunning, sitting there with her hair tousled by the wind, a look of pure awe on her face.
I want more from this girl than just sex, which is new to me. I want to know her.
"What brought you out here, Ivy? How did you find your way to the middle of nowhere all by yourself?"
She turns to me, a coy smile playing on her lips. "You asking because you're curious, or are you stalling?" Her eyebrow arches, challenging me.
"Maybe a bit of both," I admit. "But if talking isn't what you had in mind..."
Her smile grows, and there's that dimple, deepening with her amusement. "Well, Wyatt Hart, right now I'm thinking taking our clothes off might be a lot more interesting than small talk."
My pulse thrums in my ears. She's fire and ice, and I'm ready to burn.
I squeeze her thigh, the warmth of her skin bleeding through the fabric, and my other hand finds the delicate curve of her neck. I pull her close, our lips crashing together in a hungry kiss. She rises up on her knees, and I can't help but press closer, feeling her body heat sear into mine.
"Wyatt..." The sound of my name on her lips is like a siren call, pushing me further. My hand slips beneath the waistband of her leggings, and I'm met with the slick heat of her desire. My fingers glide over her, and she's so wet, so ready. I slip two fingers inside her, curling just right, and she gasps against my mouth. Her body trembles, and I know I've found that sweet spot.
With every thrust, I rub my palm against her, seeking that bundle of nerves I know will unravel her. Her moans fill the truck, fogging up the windows, and I can't get enough.
Her hand grips my hard length through my jeans, and I buck into her touch. I need this—need her—like I haven't needed anything before. She pops the button free and tugs the zipper down, her intent clear as day.
"Let me," she murmurs, her breath hot on my skin as she leans toward my freed erection.
But I catch her chin, halting her descent. "Already had that pleasure," I rasp out, my voice laced with a promise. "Want you here." I gesture between us, where her heat calls to me.
"Greedy," she teases, a glint in her eyes that tells me she's all in.
"Only for you." My words are a growl, low and possessive.
I yank Ivy's leggings down her legs, the fabric bunching at her ankles before she kicks them off. She climbs onto my lap, so close I can feel the heat of her pussy. I fumble with the condom, hands shaking—not from nerves, but from pure, unadulterated need. I’ve barely got it rolled on when she’s lifting her hips, sinking down onto my cock.
"Fuck," escapes my lips, a prayer and curse woven into one. She is perfection, her body a haven that fits me like we're made for each other.
My hands find her ass, skin smooth beneath my calloused palms. I grip tightly and lift until only my tip is wrapped in her tight heat, then slam her back down on my cock. The truck rocks with our rhythm, my hips rising to meet her every thrust.
Her breath hitches, and I take it as an invitation, pulling her in close. Our lips crash together. There’s nothing pretty or practiced about this kiss—it's messy, hungry, a mingling of desperation and something that feels suspiciously like the beginning of more.
"More," she gasps against my mouth, and I oblige, lifting her again and again, chasing the heat that builds between us. It's raw, this connection, stripped of pretense, and I savor the honesty of it, the way she clings to me like I'm the answer to questions she's just begun to ask.
Goddamn, it's good. So damn good.
"Feel how you grip me, City Girl?" My voice is a low growl, barely above the sound of our ragged breaths. The truck's windows are fogged up. The world outside doesn't exist—it's just her and me and this moment that I wish could stretch on forever.
"Sweetheart..." I trail off, unable to form coherent thoughts as I keep kissing her, tasting the wildness of her mouth. My hand finds its way between us, fingers seeking out that sweet spot. "Need you to come for me."
Her response is a moan, a symphony to my ears. She rocks against me, eager, as my thumb circles her clit.
"Please," she whispers, and that's all the encouragement I need.
I press harder, move faster, desperate to watch her unravel. It's more than just lust; it's a craving to see her let go, to be the one who takes her there.
"Right there, Wyatt..."
Her plea is my undoing. I feel her clench around me. Her cry fills the cab, high and sweet, a sound I want to hear over and over. Her walls pulse, squeezing me tight, milking me, and I'm not far behind.
"Fuck, Ivy!"
I explode, vision dimming to nothing but her name etched in darkness at the edges.
Holt is gonna be so damn jealous.