Chapter 43
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
RACHEL
I love how Wyatt looks at me, that hungry glow in his eyes as his gaze roves over me, darting everywhere, like he can’t decide what to concentrate on first. I arch my chest out, showing off because I know that’s what he wants, and it makes me feel good.
He appreciates me like no one else. Sees my value where the people who created me see nothing.
I can’t wait to go home with him because only there do I feel like myself.
A whole, real person that others want to be around, the people who believe in me.
Like Paige. And even Nate. The girls I worked with at Mitchell’s, like Kelcey and Tara.
They’re back in school by now, and Mitchell’s is closed for the season. I’ll miss them.
But why am I thinking about all of them when I’ve got the Captain Wyatt McKinney in between my legs? I’m silly. Excited, though, knowing that this man came all this way to claim me, and I let him.
Gladly.
He rises up, me still straddling him, his mouth finding mine in a delicious kiss.
I claw at the back of his T-shirt, needing it off, and he pulls away, tugging it off with one fluid motion.
I race my hands over all that exposed skin, pressing my palm against his thundering heart and savoring the feeling.
I’ve missed him so much.
We kiss and kiss while he reaches around me and unhooks my bra with deft fingers, the cups springing away from my breasts, cool air streaking across my nipples.
He discards the bra with impatient hands, ducking his head and drawing a nipple into his mouth while I clutch the back of his head, holding him to me.
We linger over each other, but we’re also impatient. His jeans are a major block, but we somehow get them off, along with his boxer briefs, and my gaze goes to the long red scar on his leg where the break happened.
“It’s ugly, huh?” His voice is flat. I wonder if he hates the physical reminder that he’ll carry with him for the rest of his life.
I don’t.
“No.” I shake my head, tentatively tracing the scar, praying I don’t hurt him.
But he doesn’t react at all. Just lies there and lets me touch him, his gaze still full of heat.
Like he can’t get enough of me. “You survived something that could’ve been much, much worse.
That’s what this scar reminds me of. That you’re alive. And you’re here. With me.”
We don’t talk anymore after that. We’re nothing but grasping hands and gasping breaths. Soft whimpers and low groans. His fingers push my panties aside and slide in between my thighs, testing me, stroking me, and I arch into his touch, desperate for more.
“So fucking wet,” he whispers, and I nod frantically, wishing he’d touch my clit. And when he does, I bite down hard on my lower lip, making it hurt, moving with his busy fingers as he strokes me into oblivion. “I’ve missed this pussy.”
“This pussy has missed you too.” I moan when he circles my clit again and again. “Really bad.”
He chuckles, and I laugh, and it’s the most glorious sound. The two of us, mostly naked, laughing together. Loving together.
Wyatt rolls on a condom while I get rid of my panties, and when I settle myself back on his lap, his cock brushes against me, velvety hard and huge.
I readjust myself, sinking onto his thick length, my body tingling when he groans, and once I’ve got him fully inside of me, I don’t move.
Instead, I savor the connection, the fullness, the rightness of it all.
He reaches for me at the same time I bend down, his mouth seeking mine in the softest, sweetest kiss.
Slowly we start to move, searching for our rhythm, finding it fast. The push and pull as I ride him, the friction that sparks deep in our connected bodies, push me closer and closer to orgasm, and I cling to him when his hips buck frantically, my arms around his neck and shoulders, my face pressed against the strong column of his throat.
He clutches me tight, like he’s never going to let me go, and with one final thrust, he stiffens, his orgasm taking over and bringing me along for the ride.
I’m moaning, my name falling from his lips, and when it’s over, when we collapse onto the mattress and roll over on our sides so we’re looking at each other, I reach for his face.
Streak my fingers over his new beard, noting how dark it is. How ruggedly handsome he looks with it.
“Want me to shave it off?” His forehead gleams with the faintest sheen of sweat, our breath coming fast. My heart still pumps wildly, and I wonder how many condoms he brought. Hopefully more than just one because I want to do it again. Immediately.
“No.” I shake my head, rubbing the scruff on his chin. “I love it. Curious to know what it might feel like against my thighs.”
He grins. Literally grins like he just won the lottery or someone told him the funniest joke. “I can manage that for you. Be right back.”
He climbs off the bed faster than I expected, and my gaze lingers on his backside, admiring the firm curve of his ass.
He’s got a good one. He’s got a good everything, and I roll over so I’m on my back, stretching my arms out and groaning with pleasure.
He pops out of the bathroom almost immediately, pausing to watch me from the end of the bed as naked as the day he was born. “You all right?”
“I’ve never been better.” And that is the absolute truth.
Wyatt rejoins me in bed, tugging the covers over our bodies, gathering me up in his arms. I’m flush against his chest, the hair there tickling my skin, and I slide my arms around his neck, drawing his head down so his mouth is even with mine. “I love you.”
He kisses me, his lips lingering, tongue teasing. “I love you too, Rachel. So fucking much. You don’t even know.”
“I think I do.” We keep kissing until I pull away. “What are your plans for Thanksgiving?”
“Why are you asking me that now?” He kisses me again, and I let him. “We’ll have it at my parents like usual.”
“I was invited to Thanksgiving dinner with Scarlett. And Tate.” I hesitate, unsure how he’ll receive my suggestion. “I sort of want to invite Paige to go with me. Go with us.”
“You want me to go?”
“You and Dottie and Paige. She will die when I ask her. I know it would make her happy.” I stroke his chest, right over his heart. Hopeful he’ll agree with me.
“You should ask her. I’m sure she’ll say yes.”
“Will you say yes? Do you mind going to Los Angeles for Thanksgiving?”
“Where you are, I am. And if you want me there, if they want me there, I’ll go. Dottie too.” His mouth settles over mine, silencing me for a bit, even though I still have so much to say.
Oh well. It can all wait until the morning. After all . . .
I’ve got other, more important things to do.