Chapter 30 #2
“Why are you so eager to get me naked when we hate each other?”
He let out a small breath through his nose as he shook his head. “There’s a thin line between love and hate, baby.”
Twenty minutes later, I was down to my jeans, bra, and one sock, and I was definitely feeling the whiskey.
Wyatt had lost his shirt and boots, and I was trying very hard not to stare at his bare chest while he studied his cards with infuriating calm.
"You're bluffing," I said.
"Am I?"
"You do that thing with your jaw when you're bluffing,” I said as I watched him.
"What thing?"
"That thing." I gestured vaguely at his face. "The muscle twitches."
He grinned. "Show me yours, and I'll show you mine."
I laid down my cards. Two pair.
Wyatt's grin widened as he revealed a straight.
"Damn it," I muttered, and pulled off my remaining sock.
"That's it?" he asked. "Just the sock?"
I glared at him. "What did you expect?"
"I don't know." His eyes traveled over me slowly, deliberately. "Maybe something more interesting."
"You want interesting? Win another hand."
"Oh, I intend to."
The next hand I won, and Wyatt stood up to undo his belt with maddening slowness, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asked.
"Immensely," I lied, trying to ignore how dry my mouth had gone.
He pushed his jeans down and kicked them aside, standing there in just his boxer briefs, and I couldn't look away even though I knew I should.
He was all lean muscle and tan skin and that trail of dark hair that disappeared below his waistband. Every rational thought I ever had evaporated.
"Your deal," he said, and his voice had dropped lower.
I dealt with shaking hands.
I lost the next hand.
"Jeans," Wyatt said, and it wasn't a question.
I stood up, my pulse racing, and unbuttoned my jeans with far less grace than he had. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time, hot and intense, as I pushed the denim down my hips and stepped out of them.
When I looked up, the expression on his face made my stomach flip.
"Tessa," he said, and my name sounded rough in his mouth.
"What?"
"Come here."
It wasn't a command, exactly. More like a request. A plea.
I should've said no. Should've picked up my cards and kept playing. Should've kept the distance between us.
Instead, I walked over to where he sat on the hay bale, and he reached up and pulled me down onto his lap.
"We're not playing anymore," I said, but it came out breathless.
"No," he agreed. "We're not."
He kissed me then, deep and slow and thorough. I melted into him with a sigh. His hands slid up my sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts through my bra, and I gasped against his mouth.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured against my lips.
"No."
"Tessa,” he demanded.
"I don't want you to stop." I pulled back just enough to look at him. "I want you. I've wanted you since that kiss in the barn. Maybe before that. I don't know anymore."
Something fierce flared in his eyes. "You sure?"
"I'm sure." I kissed him again, harder this time. "I'm so sure."
He groaned and stood up, taking me with him, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically. He carried me over to the pile of saddle blankets in the corner and laid me down carefully, following me down to cover my body with his.
"I've thought about this," he said roughly, his mouth trailing down my throat. "Too much. Too often."
"Me too," I admitted, arching into him as his hand slid up my ribs.
He unhooked my bra with practiced ease and tossed it aside. Then his mouth was on my breast, and I stopped thinking entirely.
My hands found his shoulders, his back, sliding down to push at his boxers because I needed less fabric between us, needed more skin and heat and him.
He helped me get them off, then worked my underwear down my hips until we were both finally, completely naked.
For a moment, we just looked at each other, breathing hard, the storm raging outside but forgotten.
"You're so damn beautiful," Wyatt said, his hand cupping my face.
"Stop talking," I whispered, pulling him down. "Just kiss me."
He did, and it was nothing like the careful kiss in the barn before. This was raw and desperate and consuming, all teeth and tongue and the kind of hunger that had been building between us for weeks.
His hand slid between my legs, and I gasped at the contact.
"God, Tessa," he groaned. "You're so wet."
“That’s your fault," I managed, my hips rocking into his touch.
He worked me with his fingers, slow and deliberate, watching my face as I came apart. When I was close, trembling on the edge, he pulled his hand away.
I made a sound of protest, but he just kissed me and shifted his weight.
"Condom," he muttered against my mouth. "Please tell me you have one.”
"Jeans pocket," I gasped. "Left side."
He grabbed my jeans and fumbled through the pocket, pulling out the condom I'd been carrying since that first kiss, just in case.
"Optimistic," he said with a grin.
"Prepared," I corrected.
He rolled it on then settled between my thighs, the blunt head of him pressing against me.
"Look at me," he said.
I did, and the intensity in his eyes made my breath catch.
"Tell me if I need to stop."
"You won't."
He pushed inside slowly, inch by inch, and I had to close my eyes against the overwhelming sensation of fullness, of rightness, of finally.
"Jesus," he groaned when he was fully seated. "You feel—"
"I know," I breathed. "I know."
He started to move, slow and deep. I wrapped my legs around his waist to pull him deeper.
The storm raged overhead, rain hammered on the roof, thunder rolled across the sky, but all I could focus on was the slide of his body against mine, the sounds he made low in his throat, the way my name sounded when he gasped it.
"Harder," I demanded, my nails digging into his back.
He obliged, his hips snapped against mine with more force, and the pleasure built sharp and fast until I was gasping with every thrust.
"Touch yourself," he said roughly. "I want to feel you come around me."
I slid my hand between us, finding where we were joined, and circled my clit with shaking fingers.
"That's it," Wyatt encouraged, his voice strained. "God, you're so fucking perfect."
The orgasm hit me hard and suddenly, my inner muscles clamping down on him as I cried out. Wyatt groaned and thrust twice more before following me over, my name on his lips as he came.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us shaking and gasping for breath, the sweat cooling on our skin.
Finally, Wyatt rolled to the side, pulling me with him so I was tucked against his chest. He grabbed one of the saddle blankets and pulled it over us.
"That was,” I started.
"Yeah," he agreed.
"We shouldn't have.”
"Probably not."
"This doesn’t,” I stumbled over my words.
"I know." He kissed the top of my head. "It doesn't change anything. Doesn't solve anything. Doesn't make anything less complicated."
"Right."
But his hand was tracing patterns on my spine, and I was pressed against him like I belonged there, and the storm outside showed no signs of stopping.
"Tessa."
"Hmm?"
"I'm not sorry."
I tilted my head back to look at him. "No?"
"No." His eyes were serious. "I know I should be. But I'm not."
"Me neither."
He smiled then, soft and genuine, and kissed me again.
Outside, thunder rolled, and rain poured down, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this was going to complicate everything.
But right now, wrapped in Wyatt's arms with the taste of him still on my lips, I couldn't bring myself to care.