37 #2
A muscle jerks in his jaw as he stares at me. “Is this what you want to do tonight? Fight?”
“Who’s fighting?” A sly smile overtakes my face. “What if I want to dance?”
“What about your leg?” he rasps.
“I’ll find a cowboy to kiss it and make it all better.”
His eyes darken dangerously. Before he can say anything, I take my whiskey in one long slug. I breathe through the sting then slip out of the booth.
“Fuck,” he hisses as I lean down in front of him, giving him a tease of my cleavage. “Fallon, what—”
“If you want me, come and get me,” I sigh against his mouth. A taunt, a challenge.
With that, I leave Wyatt sitting there, his hands digging into the edge of the table, as if holding himself back. His blazing blue eyes are chips of ice as they follow me across the dance floor.
Halfway to the bar, I’m stopped by a cowboy in a suede vest. “Lookin’ for a dance, sweetheart?”
I lift my chin, examining his weathered face. “Actually, I am.”
The cowboy offers a hand, and I take it, keeping my face neutral as he pulls me onto the dance floor. His big hand closes around my waist, pulling me in close.
Too close.
Without looking at Wyatt’s face, I know. He’s watching us.
So is the entire bar. Our town knows us. Knows we hate each other with passion. But they’ve never seen this. The real us that exists under all the bullshit. The fear.The secrets.
Me and Wyatt.
The jukebox kicks into a fast fiddle song. The cowboy pulls into a spritely jig across the dance floor. Our boots crack the floor. A laugh, wild and joyful, erupts out of me. Our gait is awkward and stuttered with my limp, but I feel fan-fucking-tastic. Fuck the limp. I can still do anything.
“You got some good moves there, little darlin’.” The cowboy’s hand runs over my waist, tucking me closer.
My mouth twitches. “Not so bad yourself.”
He spins me again. The music’s a spell, and I let it take me under. Let it show me what my body, my heart, can do. I came back from hell and survived. I came home and survived. Maybe I can start a new life and survive.
When the cowboy releases me into a spin, I meet Wyatt’s gaze.
My lips curl into a smile.
Wyatt Montgomery is as handsome as he is furious.
He’s rising from the booth, fists clenched, to storm across the floor. Boots, bottles, floorboards rattle.
By the time the cowboy spins me back into his arms, there’s motion in my periphery.
“Move.”
We come to a halt on the dance floor. A new song fills the air. A slow Travis Tritt tune.
Wyatt stands in front of us. “You’re done now,” he growls. “You proved your point.”
I arch a brow. A slow blush rises to my cheeks. “Excuse me? I’m busy.”
His face is stone. “You ain’t busy. Not with him.”
I shouldn’t want to curl up and purr at his words, but I do.
The cowboy scoffs at Wyatt. “Find someone else. This one’s mine.”
I bristle at the words but force myself to stay calm, stay neutral.
Wyatt whips his head to the man, his eyes burning with violence. “What did you say?”
The cowboy throws him a mocking smile. “I said she’s mine.”
Wyatt takes a step forward, says coolly, “I’m from the south. When I say what did you say I’m not askin’ you to repeat, I’m askin’ if you’re good with Jesus, because you ’bout to meet him.”
“We’re just dancing,” the cowboy mutters, but the fight’s gone out of him.
“You’re dancin’ with my wife.” The words are a low growl in Wyatt’s throat. They crack through the bar, causing a ripple of commotion, knocking the breath from my lungs. I’m pretty sure my jaw has dropped.
Everyone’s jaws have dropped.
The bar shifts from eager for a fight to stunned. They know we’re married. Everyone in town knows.
I can’t stop it. The way my heart blooms in my chest.
Wyatt’s claimed me. In front of everyone. It’s the hottest thing in existence.
“Wife?” The cowboy lets me go and takes a step backward. “No problem, man.” He gives me a look. “Good luck with this one.”
I smirk, watching as he nearly trips over his own feet to get away from us. Then I turn to Wyatt. I make my face placid, icy. “Jealous?”
His jaw tightens. “Goddamn right I’m jealous. I wanted to rip his fucking throat out.”
I bite my lip. Wyatt Montgomery is incredibly sexy when he’s possessive.
His hand braces my waist, and I arch into his touch. “Outside,” he orders roughly.
“Make me,” I say, tilting my chin up.
A wicked grin tips his lips. My eyes widen. Before I can stop him, he catches me around the waist and tosses me over his shoulder.
“You asshole,” I growl, shoving at his arm.
In response, he gives me a hard slap on the ass. At the sharp snap of denim, the bar erupts into delighted hoots and hollers.
“Beef, save our table,” he says, nodding at our corner booth.
“Fuck yeah, Wyatt,” Beef cheers. “Takin’ it outside. I like to see it.”
“You’re dead, Wyatt.” I glare down at his backside, not minding the prime view of his Wrangler-clad ass.
With that, he marches outside and into the back alley. Gently, he slides me down his body and sets me on my feet. The night air is crisp and cool. Only the sound of the muted music from Nowhere cuts the silence.
He glares at me. “You got somethin’ to tell me instead of throwin’ a tantrum like that?”
I cross my arms. “Wasn’t a tantrum.” A sly smile tips my lips. “I wanted to see something.”
“What?” he growls. “See me go fuckin’ insane?
” He prowls forward, pinning me against the brick wall of the bar.
His hard erection strains against the inside of my thigh.
“I can’t fucking stand it,” he says thickly, eyes shuttering as if he’s in pain.
“The thought of someone else touchin’ you.
The thought of you and another man.” His hand grips my jaw. Squeezes. “No fuckin’ way, Fallon.”
My chest heaves. I shouldn’t love his primal side, but I do.
“You’re my wife, Fallon. I’m the only man who should be fucking you tonight and every night after.”
Feeling unhinged, I grab his shirt and yank him to my lips. I kiss him hard and sharp then pull back and bare my teeth. “Then fuck me.”
His blue eyes burn. It’s a dare, and he knows it.
“You want my possessive side?” Body rigid, he keeps his gaze on my face. “You want me to claim you right here? Right now?”
“Yes.” I gasp as he sticks his hand up my dress. He trails a callused finger over my panties then presses his fingers into the slick folds of my pussy. “Yes.”
“Christ, Fallon,” he murmurs, his features contorted in pain. His free hand roams my body, my curves. “Can’t stay away from you. Won’t.”
My legs nearly give out as two broad fingers slip inside me. I groan, head tipping back, throat bobbing.
I grip his shoulders, panting and soaked. My skin burns red-hot as he inserts another finger, hitting a tight ring of muscle. I gasp at the intense sensation.
“That’s my girl,” he praises. “My good girl.”
Unable to stand it any longer, my hands shoot to his belt buckle. “I need you inside me,” I order, voice low. “Now.”
Fast, frenetic, he slams me back against the wall. There’s the sound of his zipper, and then his jeans are roughly tugged down his hips. Our fingers collide in a rush to yank down my panties.
He bends down, wrapping an arm around my ass, lifting me, pinning me against the wall. I wrap my thighs around his waist, my arms around his neck. And then he’s in me, thrusting greedily. Our collective panting is the only soundtrack to the still night.
This is us. Me and Wyatt. Wild. Reckless.
“Madefor me,” he gasps, pumping his hips. “Fucking built to take all of me, aren’t you?”
“Yes, yes.” God help me, I’m not a woman who whimpers, but with Wyatt, I’m a puddle.
“Is this what you want? Me fucking that hungry little pussy raw?” He’s practically shaking as he grinds the words roughly into my ear.
My heart pumps so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
“I need your cock,” I say, threading my fingers through that head of golden-brown hair. “Need it hard.”
A growl of approval falls from his lips. His fingers knead my ass, gripping tight as he thrusts hard. I fall forward at our motion, biting the meat of his shoulder.
“No more games.” His voice is smoke and flame vibrating through me as I lean back in his arms. Our eyes lock, heat curling between us. “You.” Thrust. “Are.” Thrust. “My.” Thrust. “Wife.”
“Wyatt,” I breathe as my thighs tremor.
We’re on the verge of something dangerous.
His warm breath moves over my skin like silk. His eyes don’t stray from mine. “You’re mine, Trouble. You’re my girl.”
I cry out, his words boiling over something dark and cold inside of me.
It’s coming. The wave of realization, even as I fight against it. It’s him. It’s always been—and always will be—Wyatt Montgomery.
To fight the feelings, to chase them away just a little bit longer, I bury my face in his neck and inhale his beautiful scent. Man. Leather. Whiskey. It burns.
I burn.
But I can’t give in. Not yet.
But my body does. Wyatt thrusts hard, deep, and my entire body seizes. I release a deep moan as the orgasm hits. Wyatt’s moans mingle with mine. He pulses into me, gathering me deeper into his muscled frame.
Then, with one hand on my hip and the other in my hair, he sets me on my feet. Quickly, he zips his jeans and I readjust my dress.
Breathing heavily, Wyatt touches his brow to mine. “You okay?” he asks. Sweat dots his brow. “I didn’t hurt you?”
My hand holds his bicep. Steady. So steady and safe with Wyatt. Shaking my head, I pull back to look at him. “No. I’m—”
“Perfect.” His gaze inhabits mine, drinking me in.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “That.”
I stare at his rugged face in the moonlight, my insides twisted from all these stupid, lovely feelings. Then I grin. “You still owe me a dance.”