Chapter 11 Wyatt
ELEVEN
Wyatt
This wasn't just sex.
It had only been all of two days, and that was already abundantly clear to me. Haven had never wanted it to be casual…and now I was realizing, neither did I.
I wanted her in my bed. Riding my cock, saying my name, begging me for more.
But I also wanted her at my kitchen table.
In my shower.
Wearing my T-shirts around the house and my flannels when she got cold.
That second night…fuck, I didn't think it could be better than the first, but somehow, it was. She didn't hesitate to ask for what she wanted this time. Asked me to lick her pussy. Asked me to fill her up.
Asked me to bend her over and slap her hard, and she came screaming my name when I did that.
Right now, we were trying something new.
She was face-down on the bed, wrists crossed at the small of her back, and I was threading my belt through them—slow, making sure it wasn't too tight, checking twice. Haven had her cheek pressed to the pillow and she was watching me over her shoulder with those hazel eyes gone dark, her breath already short. It was sometime after two—we’d slept a while, then she'd woken me up with her mouth on my cock.
This was her punishment.
"Okay?" I said.
"Yes," she said. Immediately. No hesitation.
I ran my thumb under the leather to check the give. Enough room. I'd done a lot of things in my life I wasn't proud of but I wasn't going to be careless with her.
"You say stop, we stop," I said. "You say anything close to stop, we stop."
"Wyatt." Her voice had that edge—the one that meant she thought I was stalling. "I know."
"Humor me."
She let out a breath. "I'll say red. Like a stoplight. Can we please—"
I brought my palm down hard on her ass.
She gasped into the pillow.
"That's for rushing me," I said.
She made a sound that was not even a little bit a complaint.
I did it again, other side, and she arched up into it—couldn't help herself, hands pulling at the belt. It held. She made another sound, higher, and dropped her forehead back to the pillow.
"Good?" I said.
"So good," she breathed. "Please don't stop."
I smoothed my hand over where I'd hit, felt the warmth already rising in her skin, and she shivered. I leaned down and put my mouth where my hand had been and her fingers curled helplessly.
"Wyatt—"
"I've got you." I straightened up and ran my hands up the backs of her thighs, over her hips, thumbs pressing in just enough. She was already wet—I could see it, which did something to my ability to think clearly. "You have no idea what you look like right now."
"Tell me," she said into the pillow.
"Like you were made for this," I said. "Perfect ass, all marked up from my hand.
" I ran my thumb down the crease of her, slow, and she choked on a breath.
"And your pussy—" I pressed in just enough to feel her clench and pulled back.
"Christ, Haven. Pink and swollen and dripping.
You've been getting fucked for six hours and you're still this wet for me. "
She whimpered into the pillow.
"Still want more," I said. "Don't you?”
"Yes," she said. Barely sound at all.
"Greedy girl." I brought my hand down again with a sharp thwack and she cried out, hips jerking back toward me. "Been taking everything I give you all night and you still can't get enough.”
“I want this so bad,” she gasped.
“I can see that.” Another hard slap, soothing her after, rubbing my hand over it. She was whimpering, soft little gasps and moans. “Your used pussy won't stop clenching, Haven. Begging for my cock like you didn't just come all over it an hour ago."
"Please," she breathed. "Please, I need you inside me, I need—"
"Need what." Not a question. I wanted to hear her say it.
"You," she said. "Just you. Please, Wyatt—"
I lined up and pushed inside her in one long stroke and we both went still.
She was soaked. Swollen and clenching tight around me after everything, and the sound when I pulled back and drove in again made her moan into the pillow, open-mouthed and shameless.
"Don't muffle it," I said. "Nobody can hear you out here."
She turned her cheek to the pillow and the next sound came out unguarded—high and desperate and exactly what I wanted. Her hands pulled at the belt and went nowhere and I felt her feel that, felt her clench harder around me when the leather held.
I set a pace and she took it, hips rolling back to meet me, greedy even now, even after hours of this.
"You're gonna be sore tomorrow," I said. “Walkin’ around, thinkin’ about me inside you. Ain’t that right?”
“I love it,” she choked out. “Please, please give me more.”
I brought my hand down twice fast and she clenched so tight around me I had to stop and press my forehead to her shoulder and just breathe.
"Fuck," I gritted out. "You do that again and this is going to be over."
"Then make me come first."
I reached around and found her clit. She cried out as I worked her through it with my fingers, kept moving, felt her go apart in waves around me—clenching, shaking, rasping my name into the dark.
I followed her over with my hand pressed flat to her stomach, pulling her back against me, as deep as I could get.
Neither of us moved for a long moment.
Her breathing slowed. My heart was still going. I reached up and worked the belt loose and she made a soft sound when her hands came free.
I rubbed her wrists without thinking about it—checking, same as I'd checked before.
"Okay?" I said.
"Mm." She turned over, slow, and looked up at me. Hair everywhere, cheeks flushed, eyes heavy. "More than okay."
I looked down at her and felt it again—that thing I'd been trying not to name since she sat in my kitchen in my t-shirt asking about the za'atar.
I wasn't going to name it now either.
I lay down and she curled against my side like she'd been doing it for years, her head on my chest, and I put my arm around her and looked at the ceiling.
"Sleep," I said.
"I am sleeping."
"You're talking."
"I can do both." A pause. Her hand spread flat over my ribs. "Wyatt?"
"Mm."
"This is my favorite night I've ever had."
I stared at the ceiling.
"Go to sleep, Haven," I said.
But still, I pulled her closer.