Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
WENDY
“This whipped-cream thing can go both ways, you know.” I wink.
Wallace’s face tenses. “Oh, yeah? How do you mean?”
I sit up on the couch, motioning him to me. He obeys, eyes flashing with fire as I unbutton and unzip his denim. My hands slide beneath the waistband of his black boxer briefs, already tented in the front with anticipation.
“Mmm, you’re a big boy,” I purr, admiring his long, thick cock.
“You like it?”
“Dunno, yet,” I say with a wicked smile. “Have to taste it first.” I swirl it in more of the cool cream as he groans. My tongue flicks out, licking his tip, and he looks like his knees are about to buckle. “Hold still,” I scold, gripping the backs of his strong thighs.
I take my time teasing and licking his shaft. Enjoying the mix of cold cream and hot need as I suck him in and out of my mouth, dissolving him with each stroke.
His shaking hand slides to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my locks as desire overcomes him, and he presses me insistently into him, hips moving. Every pass of my tongue and mouth tightens my throat, slickens the throb between my legs until I can barely take it.
“You taste so good,” I whisper, staring up at him through thick lashes.
“Need you, Wendy,” he says like a plea. “Need to feel you from the inside out.”
My breath hitches as he hands me a packet, hand shaking. “Want to make you feel good more than anything.”
I tear open the packet, place the plastic over his tip, hands trembling with desire as I slide it down over his girth. So large. Not sure how I’ll take him.
“Come here, Sweets,” he says, with a flick of his hand that gets me off the couch.
“Don’t need this,” he grumbles, pulling my sweater over my head.
We stand naked, appreciating each other for a long moment. My fingers come up, trace the angles of his chiseled planes.
I don’t get it. How a man so hard and athletic could want something pudgy and soft like me. But his eyes say it all, simmering and burning as they wash over every inch of me. Like he’s memorizing me.
Moisture pools in his eyes. The fire paints his face gold as he rasps, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Wendy. Too fucking good for me. But I’m too selfish to let you go.”
With one powerful burst, he pulls me from the ground, and my legs instinctively wrap around his waist. My arms thread around his neck, our gazes locked as he slides into me, slowly, sensually.
“You feel so good,” he pants, closing his eyes for a second. Turning his head to the side as tension mounts between us.
Then, he pulls back, slides a little deeper. I gasp at the feel of his heat, the stretch, the need that urges him on as I whisper against his ear. Push and pull, filling and emptying me out until there’s nothing left but the pulse of our need. Like we’re one heart hammering together.
His pace quickens, hips pounding into mine until I don’t know how I’ll walk straight tomorrow. I could care less. Walking’s overrated anyway. I grip his neck, mouth covering his as our breaths mingle, bodies unraveling together.
I’m shaking and trembling, seconds from breaking around him, when he pulls back, eyes pooling. “Just for the record, Sweet Potato, I love you.” And then, he slams into me hard, giving and taking as I fall apart all over again, and he shudders against me with every wave of release.
Morning hums with the generator and the smell of coffee. I burrow deeper into the blankets that smell of cedar and sandalwood—of him. My mind wanders back to last night, still not fully able to absorb everything that happened.
Did he really say he loved me? Or did I dream that part?
He pads into the room shirtless in a pair of flannel pants slung low on his hips. The bed tips when he sits down. “Morning.”
“Morning, Slapshot,” I echo, stretching.
A sheepish grin captures his lips, warm eyes washing over my face. “Happy Thanksgiving, Sweets.” His hand comes up, finger stroking my jawline.
“Guess we didn’t freeze after all,” I tease.
“Nope, but you did de-thaw a heart,” he grumbles with a grimace. “Hope you don’t regret it in the daylight.”
“I think we’ll figure it out,” I say, grabbing his hand and kissing his fingertips one by one.
“You know, I meant what I said last night, though that’s the kind of thing you’re not supposed to confess in the heat of the moment.”
I hesitate, mouth half open.
“I love you, Wendy. Have since the first night we met.”
His words slam into me. So much about the way he’s acted, finally lining up, falling into place.
“I love you, too, Wallace.” I say, warmth spilling through my chest with my words.
He smiles, cupping my cheek. “What comes next?”
“Let’s make this the best Thanksgiving yet,” I say in my no-nonsense, sunshiny voice.
“Already done that,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss me.
Outside, snow still falls, soft now instead of raging. Inside, warmth hums between us—the quiet kind that lasts.