Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
WYATT
Whitney’s eyes stay glued to mine when the hand wrapped around her hair moves to rest on the side of her head.
The second one follows suit. Whitney sucks in a long breath through her nose, preparing herself.
I did exactly what I told her I would. I fucked her face and relished in every sexy moan I drawled from her.
My thrusts were punishing, but she matched each and every stroke with the bob of her head.
She was desperate for it, just as desperate as I was.
My girl likes to be talked through it, so I did just that.
“So good.”
“You take it so well, honey.”
“You want it harder?”
“I bet you’re fucking soaked right now.”
My foul mouth worked her to the point of exhaustion. I buck against her mouth, letting my head tip back. Release crawled up my spine, begging to be cut loose. She’s hot, so fucking hot. Her mouth, her body, that fucking lingerie. God, even that dress she wore today. I can’t get enough.
“You remind me of a little dog.” I hum, “You know that? Always barking.” I click my teeth, “You’re not so smart with a cock stuffed down your throat though, are you?”
Her face reddens, but she hums, the vibrations wrapping around me in a sweet caress.
Her hollow and tear-stained cheeks, the sight of her grinding against the ground, the sloppy, wet sounds of her mouth wrapped around me, sends me straight over the edge.
She swallows every last drop. I grip her jaw, thumbing her bottom lip.
When I feel a trace of cum, I swipe it up and plunge it into her mouth.
She greedily laps it up, and I groan, “Hottest blow job of my life.”
When she pulls back fully, sitting on her thighs, I reach down, scooping her up.
“Really?” she asks, tilting her head. “I thought it was rather quick-” She shrieks when I throw her on the bed, lightly bouncing back up at the impact.
My cock has been out of her mouth for two seconds, and she’s already running it.
“Shut up, Whitney.” My knees hit the mattress, hands shooting out, yanking so hard on her corset that the hooks pop and it flies open. “Hey!” Her gasps flood my ears, making her tits bounce. It’s quickly quieted when my hands shoot up to grab them, rolling her pink nipples between my fingers.
“We’ll get you a new one.” I shrug, running my hands down from her breasts, over her curves, and wrapping around her ankles. I yank, sliding her towards the end of the bed. I flip her, angling her body so that she’s on all fours. My eyes flare when she immediately arches. “Maybe in red…”
“Asshole,” she mutters back, stuffing her face in the pillow at the top of my bed.
I still, words falling off when I catch sight of the ink trailing down her spine.
“That’s new,” I mutter, running my pointer finger down the length of it.
She shivers at my touch. It’s an intricate weave of flowers, and the dark ink etched against her tan skin was hotter than it should be. How did I not notice this before?
“Nice observation,” her smart-ass snips back.
I land a quick slap to her cheek, incapable of keeping my hands to myself.
I’m still dazed at the appearance of a new tattoo as I knead over the spot, soothing the already growing handprint.
The sight of Whitney spread out on my bed and begging to be fucked already has my dick hardening again.
She isn’t just Whitney anymore, either. She’s my wife. Even if it’s just temporary, she’s mine. I’ll take advantage of the label while I can.
I let my hands explore. She wiggles–ever the impatient woman.
I finally give in, but when my knee comes up to spread her legs, her ass drops, and she starts shamelessly grinding herself against my leg.
I still, hissing as the wetness from her cunt pools onto my thigh.
“Shit.” I mutter, glancing down at the sight of her naked form rutting against my bare skin.
“Are you gonna cum on my thigh, Whitney?”
She hums. I place my hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her farther into the mattress so that she’s arching higher, giving her room to ride higher and drop lower.
The more she does it, the wetter my skin gets, and her pace quickens.
It turns feverish, desperate even. The grip she has on my sheets tightens, and her body tenses with pleasure.
She’s close. I lean forward, spreading her ass apart and drop a line of spit onto hot skin, watching as it slowly drips down from her ass and to her slit.
She cries out when the hot substance runs over her, slickening her ride further.
It’s not long before her movements turn sloppy, and she’s exploding all over my leg.
Fuck, the sight is erotic. I’ve never been one to take pictures in the bedroom, but my hands twitches with the idea of having something to remember this moment by.
My cock twitches painfully, as if reminding me it’s at attention and tired of waiting.
I wanted to savor this, though. Savor everything about Whitney while she’ll let me.
When she asked me to kiss her, for a second, I thought she was fucking with me.
But when her face flushed and she tried to run from my room, I realized she wasn’t.
That moment told me Whitney wants me as bad as I want her, and I’m not letting that go anytime soon. “Are you tired, baby?” I ask, leaning down to kiss her lower back. “Have you had too much?” My breath brushes over her skin. “Or do you think you can handle a little more?”
“More. Please,” she whines, voice low and barely audible.
“You beggin’, Winnie?” My voice is as breathless as hers, and I realize I need to know. Need to hear it.
She inhales, hesitating, like she doesn’t want to admit it out loud. But when I push my hips, and my cock slides against her wet heat in a slow, languid swipe, she’s crying out, “Yes, Wyatt! Please.”
“Well,” I hum in approval, grabbing the sides of her hips for purchase.
“Since you asked so nicely.” I shove into her, balls deep in one swoop.
Her cry is electric, my name on her lips a chant and prayer.
I’m gentler when I pull out and push back in, giving her time to adjust. She grips me so tightly it aches.
Soon we’re meeting each other stroke for stroke.
We fit so perfectly together, it’s as if our bodies were made for this.
As if I was made to care for her in more ways than one.
I need Whitney–body, soul, and mind, but she needs me too.
I lean forward, pressing into her back. When my hand comes to wrap around her delicate neck, I tug so that we’re upright.
The position is deeper, and Whitney’s thighs begin to shake.
Her moans turn into gasps, and she clenches around me.
I bite her shoulder, forcing myself to focus on her and not finishing before I’m ready. “It’s too much!” she cries.
I run one hand up her thigh, pressing my thumb into her clit. The other goes to play with her nipples, pinching and squeezing. “What did I say earlier? You can take it for me, won’t you baby?”
She nods eagerly, somewhere between forgetting her name and begging for release.
The pressure in my back begins to rise. I go to pull out, but she squeezes around me tighter, hand lashing out to wrap around my head. Her fingers run through my hair, tugging. “Don’t.” Whitney bites out. “Don’t.”
I swallow, threading my fingers at the base of her scalp, brushing my lips over hers as I ask, “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” She nods eagerly, and then surprises me when she kisses me first. I drive up one last time, sharp and deliberate.
Whitney comes with a soft gasp, eyes locked on mine.
That pressure in my spine finally snaps, white hot and violent.
I come with a shudder, filling her up, and up, and up, until it’s dripping down both of our thighs.
Heat floods from her core, wave after wave until she’s slumped against my chest.
“Where do you think you’re going?” My voice makes Whitney jump, hands pausing on the clothes littering my bedroom floor. I left the room to use the bathroom, and she’s already trying to sneak out. She straightens, covering herself with crossed arms.
“I didn’t think you’d want me to sleep in here,” she says, unsure.
My brows raise, and I shake my head, nodding towards the top of the bed. “Nah, Winnie. Get back over there. I’m not done with you yet.”
Surprisingly, she listens. No debate or sass, she just crawls back into the bed, getting herself comfortable across the pillows lining the top. I turn my back to open one of the drawers, pulling out a black T-shirt. I make my way towards her and she rolls her eyes and sits up, seeing my intentions.
“I have my own clothes.” I sit in front of her on the bed, stretching the head of the shirt. She lifts her arms, and I drop the fabric over them. “I know,” I respond. “But you look really fucking good in mine.”
I grab one of her ankles, pulling it into my lap. My thumbs work gentle circles over the arch of her foot, easing the tension and drawing a soft gasp from her mouth. Her shoulders slump, and she tilts her head back. “Ugh—that might be better than the sex.”
I shoot her a glare, tugging up her foot and go to take a bite out of her big toe.
She shrieks, tugging her foot away, and my laugh booms in the air.
I pull it back to me, going back to working on her feet.
Slowly work up to her calves. Maybe I just want to touch her again.
But the knots in her muscles tells me she needs the touch as much as I do.
I study her features as my hands work, the way her body and face begin to relax.
I decide here and now that I like the sight of Whitney in my bed.
“You’re beautiful.” I let the compliment hang in the air between us.
Whitney tenses. “Not anymore.” It’s a breathless whisper. And the way it slips from her lips–unsure, pained, and insecure–wraps around my heart like a vice. She says it so quickly that it must have not even been a thought. Because she believes it, truly believes it. I hate that.
“Is that what you think?” I mumble, hands pausing on her skin, giving my full attention to her.
She nods. I scan her head to toe, mulling over her words.
Then, I reach forward to wrap my hands around the back of her knees and tug her toward me.
When she’s close enough, I rearrange our position so that she’s sitting in my lap with her thighs on either side of my hips.
I brush her long, unbound hair back, planting a tender kiss between her collarbone and shoulder.
“Every inch of you is beautiful, Whitney. And I don’t mean just your hips, your curves, or how perfectly you fit in my hands. ”
“It’s your eyes.” I whisper, running a finger across her brow.
“It’s your lips.” I capture them in a quick kiss.
“Like this?” I ask, drawing back and thumbing the small, velvet dot just above her lip.
“I love this beauty mark. The way it stretches when you smile.” A finger across her pink lips.
“The way your nose scrunches when you’re deep in thought.
” Another one down her nose. Emotion pools in her hazel eyes, but she doesn’t speak, only watches me.
I trail the back of my hand across the tops of her breasts, and down to her bare stomach, where my shirt is slid hallway up.
It’s not sexual, and it’s not meant to be.
I trace the thin, pale lines there. The reminders of everything she’s done, and everything that she is.
“And these? These scars? They’re breathtaking.
” I plant a kiss on each and every one I see.
“They’re you, and they’re Brinley.” When I come back to her face, and brush against her nose, I lay a gentle hand on her chin, hoping she sees and feels the truth in it. “I’d say that’s pretty damn beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Her bottom lip quivers, hot breath fanning across my chin. I wish I could pluck the growing tears from her eyes and burn them.
I clear my throat. “Why are you thanking me?”
“Because no one’s ever cared for me like you do.”
It enrages me that it’s true. That everyone in her life, her father, her mother, her ex, have done nothing but be a burden on this woman’s shoulders.
I promised myself I wouldn’t be that for her.
That I’ll be the last and only one to care for her.
I’d lay the world at her feet, and she didn’t even have to ask.