Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Gina
I wake to the steady sound of wind pressing against the cabin walls. For a moment, I’m caught between dream and reality—warm, safe, and cocooned in a world that smells faintly of cedar, smoke, and something rich and masculine.
It takes a second for my brain to process that the pillow under my cheek isn’t actually a pillow. It’s solid. Warm. And moving.
My eyes fly open.
Oh…I’m sprawled across Wyatt’s chest.
A magnificent tattoo stretches over his skin—an American flag unfurling across one side, an eagle mid-flight soaring over his heart. The ink ripples slightly with every breath he takes. I hold mine, tilting my head just enough to confirm what I already know.
I slept on Wyatt.
All night.
My first instinct is to bolt, but the second one—stronger, reckless, impossible to ignore—whispers stay. My fingers itch to trace the bold lines and colors. I’ve never been this close to a man like him. Solid. Steady. The kind you can lean on without falling.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I lift my hand and follow the curve of the eagle’s wing with a trembling finger. His skin is warm beneath my touch, the kind of heat that slides straight through my veins and settles low in my belly.
I shouldn’t.
But I do.
Wyatt stirs, his voice rough with sleep. “Morning, Red.”
I freeze mid-touch. “Morning, Wyatt.” I tip my head back until I meet those wolf-gray eyes. “Guess I owe you another thank-you.”
“Not necessary.” His voice rumbles through his chest, deep and gentle. “You already thanked me.”
“Well, I think it’s necessary.”
He gives me a faint squeeze, and that simple, unconscious gesture nearly undoes me. His strength doesn’t scare me—it wraps around me, makes me feel safe in a way I’ve never felt before.
Something inside me clicks into place. Maybe it’s insanity, or maybe it’s clarity, but I decide to take a risk.
I lean up and press a soft kiss to his mouth. His beard tickles my skin, rough and perfect, and the taste of him—sleep, warmth, a hint of whiskey from last night—makes my head spin.
He goes still beneath me, every muscle turning to stone. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice unsteady.
“Thanking you,” I whisper, my pulse tripping over itself.
I swing a leg over him, my heart pounding so hard it almost drowns out the storm outside. “I want you, Wyatt.”
His breath catches. “No.” He shakes his head, but the protest sounds thin, uncertain. “No, you don’t.”
“I do.” My voice comes out softer than I intend. “And I think you want me, too.”
“We shouldn’t do this,” he murmurs.
“Why not?” I search his face.
He licks his lips, his eyes flicking away. “Because I’m old enough to be your father.”
“How old are you?”
“Forty-five.”
I smile faintly. “Then it’s perfect. I’m twenty-nine.”
That earns me a low, reluctant laugh—the tension in the room hums between us, the air thick enough to touch. I reach for the hem of my shirt, my hands shaking just a little as I lift it away. His chest is solid heat beneath my palms, that flag and eagle shifting with each breath.
He watches me, his eyes dark, torn between control and surrender. “You don’t have to do this,” he says quietly.
“I know,” I breathe. “But I want to.”
I dip my head, brushing another soft kiss across his mouth. His hands hover near my hips, caught between pushing me away and pulling me closer. I can feel his restraint unraveling, one heartbeat at a time.
“Last chance, Red,” he warns, gravel-rough.
I meet his gaze, daring him. “Then stop me.”
The storm howls outside, and the world narrows down to the space between our hearts.
He lets out a groan as one hand grabs onto my hip and the other wraps around the back of my head, pulling me closer. I tease my nipples across his chest, grinding back and forth against his erection.
I lock eyes with him. "I want all of you. Every. Inch.”
He kisses me breathless while I take my hand, slide it into his pants, and wrap my palm around him.
"You're going to be the death of me," he groans.
The desire to have him inside is strong, but I want to taste him first. I slide down his chest, kissing my way to the top of his flannels.
I drag his pants down his legs, unleashing a red, swollen beast with a glistening tip.
I toss the pants, then swirl my tongue across the head, gently licking the slit.
His hips buck, and I want to drive him crazy as much as I want to please him.
I open my mouth, wrapping my lips around him.
I take my time rolling my tongue around and around, taking as much of him into my mouth as I can.
"You're killing me," he growls.
In one swift move, he drags me back onto his hips.
I spread my legs wide, sink down on him, and feel a fullness I've never experienced before.
Every fiber of me comes to life. I start rocking slowly, then look down to watch him glide in and out of me.
Pressure begins to build; I grab onto his shoulders, staring into his eyes.
"Where did you come from?" He asks.
I thrust harder, grinding myself into him in a frenzy. "Wyatt...." I cry. His head drops back; his hips fly up, and we explode together.
I've never felt anything like it.
And now that I have—once is definitely not going to be enough.