12. Sally
CHAPTER 12
Sally
COWBOYS MAKE BETTER LOVERS
Wyatt captures my laugh in his kiss.
His slow, soft, deliciously warm kiss that’s already so exquisite two seconds in that I have to close my eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation of being kissed by Wyatt fucking Rivers.
Holding me in place, he licks into my mouth. It’s a deep, indulgent, almost lazy sweep of tongue. A bolt of lust cracks me in half, the heaviness between my legs almost unbearable in its intensity.
He sucks my top lip into his mouth at the same time, urging me to open up to him.
For a second, I hesitate. I wasn’t lying when I said I forgot how to do this.
What if I’m slobbery? What if I’m too eager or not eager enough?
What if I just suck at kissing, plain and simple?
Wyatt, though, doesn’t seem to have any qualms about his ability. Or mine. He continues to kiss me deeply, patiently, like we have all the time in the world. Like he’s not afraid of spit, or slobber, or someone seeing us.
What if someone saw us? What excuse would we have then? Beck is long gone by now. Clearly, this kiss has nothing to do with him and everything— everything —to do with us. Me and Wyatt.
His beard scrapes against my chin and cheek. I love the feel of it, how intimately rough the contact is. Without thinking, I reach up and press my fingertips into the thick, wiry hair.
A low, dark rumble rolls through Wyatt’s chest. He likes that.
I do it again, running my fingertips over the hard ridge of his jawline, stopping to feather my pinkie along the top of his neck.
Another rumble. He’s good at telling me what he likes.
Wait, does Wyatt actually like kissing me?
Yes. The answer comes in a hard, decisive heartbeat. This kind of passion, of hunger, can’t be faked.
I’m determined not to fake anything either. I wait for my thoughts to rustle in that annoyingly familiar way of theirs—the second-guesses, the equivocations. The doubts.
Instead, my thoughts are shockingly…clear. Concise.
Confident.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m scared as hell I’m going to fuck up my friendship with Wyatt. But I’m not scared to kiss him. Not when he’s touching me like this, encouraging me to rise into his caress with his confidence. His silent assurance that everything is going to be just fine.
I stroke my tongue into his mouth. It’s a baby lick, just deep enough that I can taste a hint of the clean, earthy malt from his beer on his tongue.
Yet another rumble, this one accompanied by him stepping into me so that our bodies are flush. My coat is in the way though, so I let it fall to the ground and put my hand on his face, arching my back so that our hips melt together.
I am throbbing everywhere as Wyatt spreads his legs and captures mine between them. His kiss becomes hungrier, his teeth sinking into my bottom lip before he gives it a tug. Fireworks erupt across the back of my closed eyelids.
Suddenly, I’m the one making a noise, a high, embarrassingly breathy moan that I try to mute but can’t.
Wyatt chuckles, his hand finding my hip as he breaks the kiss to murmur into my neck, “Look at you, telling me what you like. Good job, Sunshine. Let your body keep talkin’ to me, yeah?”
If only my heart were as brave. There’s some irony here—the fact that I’m okay communicating what my body wants, but not what my heart, my soul, longs for.
I tell myself that’s okay. At this point, I’ll take what I can get. And I have to remember that I’m leaving. Even if Wyatt were open to falling in love—which he definitely isn’t—it’d be a dumb move on both our parts.
It is pretty sweet, though, to think Wyatt likes it when I make weird noises. Judging by the way he presses a scruffy kiss to my jaw, he likes it very much.
More . That’s all my body is saying right now as sparks erupt from the place where his nose nudges against the hollow beneath my ear. He inhales deeply, like he digs the way I smell.
Holy shit, am I actually getting this right? Does Wyatt actually think I’m sexy?
I grab his tie and yank his mouth back up to mine. He deepens the kiss right away, his tongue in my mouth, the fingers of the hand he has on my hip moving ever so slightly toward my ass.
I am a hot, hollowed-out mess, and I fucking love it.
Speaking of heat, it radiates off him in waves that smell like wintergreen and sandalwood. The contrast between the warmth at my front and the cold at my back makes me shiver.
“Aw, Sunshine, you are cold.”
“I’m not?—”
But Wyatt is already grabbing my hand. He’s lifting me up and tossing me on my back onto the front bench of his truck—the passenger door is still open—like I only weigh as much as the hay bales he throws around all day long. The seat is deep, and the windows are high up, meaning people won’t be able to see us unless they’re right beside the truck.
I yelp with delight. This time, I don’t try to keep in the sound as he climbs into the truck—climbs on top of me—and closes the door behind him. Instead, I put my hands on his hips and watch, tilting my head back, as he straddles my torso with his knees and straightens to shove the key into the ignition.
The truck comes to life with a throaty growl that makes the bench vibrate pleasantly against my back. Wyatt cranks a dial, and heat blasts through the vents. He even goes so far as to aim the pair of vents nearby at me.
“That better?”
“Yeah. Yes. Thank you.” My heart skips several beats as a wash of warmth moves over me.
Wyatt’s body and his kiss are hot as hell. But I think his concern for me—for others in general—might be the sexiest thing about him. He’s not afraid to show he cares tonight, and that display of vulnerability is the biggest turn on ever.
I watch Wyatt toss his hat aside. Then he shoulders out of his blazer, folding it neatly over the back of the seat.
He looks enormous in the moonlight, his shoulders and biceps straining against the crisp fabric of his blue button-up. Then he pushes a cassette tape into the tape deck—cassettes must be a Rivers thing, because every single one of the boys refuses to put even a CD player in their trucks—and I let out a bark of laughter when Sam Hunt comes on.
“Where the hell did you find Montevallo on cassette tape?” I reach for his tie again.
He falls over me, catching himself on the hands he plants on either side of my head. His hair falls into his face, and my stomach clenches at how it suddenly makes him look like an actual cowboy. One who’s been out working cattle all day, unkempt and scruffy and hungry .
“I got my sources.” His lips twitch as he leans in to kiss my neck.
A tingly rush spreads through my skin, the insistent beat between my legs spiking faster, hotter. I want him there.
It’s forward of me to go from kissing this man to inviting him to lie between my legs. Ordinarily, with any other guy, I’d stop him.
This is, after all, only our first date. And good girls don’t put out on the first date.
But being a good girl kind of sucks. And Wyatt said to let my body do the talking. I’m determined to listen.
It’s liberating, not having to worry about what he’ll think of me, whether or not he’ll ask me on a second date.
There are no rules with Wyatt, and it’s kind of the best thing ever. I’m able to be myself because he’s unabashedly himself right now. He’s not hiding how he feels or what he wants. And that makes me feel connected to him—safe with him—in a way I never do with other guys.
I let my leg fall through the slit in my dress. Wyatt, being the expert he is, reads me like a book. He lifts his knee, allowing my leg to fall outside of his. We do the same dance with my other leg, Wyatt kissing my neck all the while.
I am obsessed with neck kisses. Especially when he nicks me with his teeth. Scrapes me with his beard.
Then I’m spread-eagled, and Wyatt settles himself between my legs. Right where I want him.
He’s heavy, broad, and my hip flexors sing to accommodate him, making my dress ride up my thighs. Wyatt reaches down to clamp a hand around my bare leg, pushing my dress up even further.
I roll my hips in a mindless search for friction, letting out a moan of frustration. Notching my knee at his hip, Wyatt spreads me even wider while his mouth works its way up to mine.
All that separates us now are his jeans and my thong. I wonder if he can feel how wet I am. Would my eagerness turn him off? Or would it drive him wild?
He presses his lips to mine. Opens me up with a luxuriously unhurried stroke of his tongue. My toes curl into the soles of my hideously uncomfortable sandals, and I rise on a wave of lust that feels like liquid sunshine in my veins.
This.
This.
This is what I want—to be with a man who knows how to kiss. To be with Wyatt Rivers, his hands all over me.
I cannot believe I am making out with my best friend.
I must be dreaming. This is too good to be true. At any moment, I’ll wake up alone in my stiff twin bed, the alarm I set for five a.m. blaring.
But I don’t wake up. Wyatt doesn’t stop kissing me. So I decide to take advantage of the time I have with him and move my hands over his chest, his shoulders. I reach up and run my fingers through his hair, making him nip at my chin as he pins me to the seat with his hips, rocking against me in a slow, steady rhythm.
My clit pulses. Dear God, am I going to come from dry-humping alone? Even when guys have gone down on me in the past, I’m usually too anxious, too wrapped up in my thoughts, to orgasm. But here I am with Wyatt, ready to combust despite us both still having all our clothes on.
I think the danger of what we’re doing is only throwing fuel onto my fire. We could be caught. We could take it too far and regret everything tomorrow. I could show up to work in the morning with a hickey. Or at the very least, some epic beard burn. Wyatt has been paying a lot of attention to my neck.
This is all so wrong, and yet I want more .
We make out for one song. Another. Another and another, and soon, I have no idea how much time has passed. All I know is that my lips are throbbing, and so is my clit.
I need more. Now.
To my very great surprise, Wyatt is an absolute gentleman. His fingers work lazy circles over my bare leg, but his hand doesn’t move an inch further north. I’m constantly arching my back, rolling my hips, but he stays relatively still, slowly drinking me in with his mouth on mine.
I’m aching for sex. To be filled. Satisfied. Touched everywhere .
That transcendence Wyatt talked about? I’m not going to find it by playing it safe.
So I take a chance. I slip a hand around his torso and gather his shirt in my hand at the small of his back. I give the shirt a tug, pulling it out of his slacks. Flattening my palm on his bare skin, I press down, pushing him harder against my center.
At the same time, I grab his other hand in mine and guide it to my breast.
Wyatt growls—literally growls —biting down on my bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth.
Then he rears back, lifting his body off mine, and for a second I panic.
Shit, I took it too far.
But suddenly his hips punch forward, and I gasp when he hits me right in my center with a protrusion that wasn’t there a second ago.
My heart stumbles to a stop. He’s huge. Hard.
Wyatt Rivers is hard for me.
“Sunshine, I got three legs right now.” His breath his warm on my ear. “You keep this up, I ain’t gonna be able to stop.”
“What if I don’t want you to stop?” I’m panting, dizzy with desire .
He already feels so good . How amazing will it feel when he’s actually inside me?
“I’m not fucking you for the first time in the front seat of my truck.” But he still swipes his thumb over my nipple. “That shit’s for teenagers who can’t control themselves.”
Does that mean he actually wants to fuck me, just not right now?
Does that mean we’ll get to do this again?
Because I think I’m already addicted to fooling around with this man.
“What about thirty-year-olds who can’t control themselves?”
He laughs, pushing up onto his hands. I open my eyes to see him hovering over me, gaze glued to my face. “One of us has to be the adult in the room. Otherwise, it’s not gonna be any good.”
“What? The sex?”
“Well, yeah. Listen, no one wants to give you what you’re asking for more’n me.” His eyes stray to my body. “But I don’t think either of us planned on this happening tonight. Let’s take a beat, all right? I don’t want you havin’ any regrets in the morning.”
Biting my lip, I hook my first finger into the knot of his tie. I can touch him like this now.
Wyatt and I just became more than friends.
The realization doesn’t hit as hard as it should. I think I’m too keyed up. Too distracted by the beautiful man with the very large bulge who’s still on top of me.
“I don’t think anyone could ever regret kissing you.”
“I’m good”—his mouth quirks up on one side—“but I’m not that good.”
I touch my fingertip to his lips. “I call your bluff.”
“You are the expert now.” He nips at my finger. “You still wanna do this when you wake up tomorrow, then we’ll do it. But right now, I’m takin’ you back to your mama and daddy’s house.”
“I’m gonna want to do it, Wy.”
“Everybody wants to do it.” He straightens, sitting up on his knees. He holds out his hand. “But it’s not always the right thing. You said you wanted me to teach you. Consider this part of the lesson.”
I take his hand and he twines our fingers. He helps me sit up, and then he pulls down my dress, smoothing it over my legs. The tenderness of the gesture makes my chest hurt.
“Wy?”
He grunts when he falls onto the bench on the driver’s side. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For the raging case of blue balls.”
He lets out a big, booming laugh as he puts a hand on the gearshift. “Sugar, you got no idea the kinda hurt you’re puttin’ on me right now. I could chop wood with this thing.” He gestures to his lap.
I lick my lips. “You could always teach me how to take care of it.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Joke around like that.” His eyes are dark when they meet mine. “It’s like you want me to come in my pants.”
I bite my lip. “Whatever you say, Daddy.”
I expect him to laugh. Call me out on being a shameless dork. Instead, he blinks, nostrils flaring, and then his entire body jerks.
“Fuck,” he bites out, covering his crotch with his hand.
I stare at him. “Wait. Did you actually?—”
“Just come in my pants?” He grimaces. “Yes.”
My turn to blink. I’m not sure what to make of this. Is it a compliment that I made him lose it like that? Or did I just embarrass him?
I don’t know what to say. “I’m…sorry?”
“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. Not your fault I was so turned on.” He lets out a breath, and my heart takes a tumble when I see the corner of his mouth twitch. “Actually, it’s totally your fault. I wanna hate you for it?—”
“But you don’t.” I smile.
He grins. “Nah, Sunshine, I don’t.”
“Are you really not okay?”
“That’s just…never happened before.” He reaches for the gearshift. “I’ll be fine. But use nicknames with caution, would you?”
I scoff. “Rich, coming from you.”
“You sayin’ my nicknames turn you on?”
“Maybe,” I tease.
His eyes glimmer. “Good to know.”
I’m smiling so hard, my face hurts. “I really do want to thank you for being the best date I’ve had in…jeez”—I blow out a breath—“feels like forever.”
“You need to get out more, Dr. Powell.”
“Good thing you’re available, Mr. Rivers.”
“For you?” Changing hands on the wheel so that he’s holding it in his left, he puts his right hand on my thigh. “Always.”