Chapter 45
Forty-Five
Tessa
Fourteen days of waking up in Ray's house, my house, and getting shit done.
The fence line on the north pasture didn't fix itself, so I fixed it.
The gutters didn't clean themselves, so I climbed the damn ladder and did it myself.
The paperwork Ray left behind didn't organize itself into something that made sense while I was gone.
So I spent three nights at the kitchen table with a six pack of Hargrove beer and a calculator until it did.
I was doing it.
Work at the clinic had become my anchor.
My hands were steady when they needed to be—holding a frightened dog still for vaccinations, reading the subtle tension in a horse's shoulder, speaking in that low voice that made animals trust me even when they were hurting.
Brooke welcomed me back without fanfare, like she expected I was coming back.
Wyatt kept his word, exactly like I'd known he would.
No hovering. No showing up unannounced with excuses about "just checking in." He answered when I texted. He gave me space when I didn't. Three nights ago, when I asked him over for dinner, he'd shown up with wine and stayed in his lane in my kitchen, letting me lead.
When he left that night, he kissed me at the door, slow and deliberate, his hand firm at the back of my neck, and then he'd driven home without asking to stay.
I wanted him to stay.
But I hadn't been ready to ask.
Tonight was different.
Tonight, standing in my bathroom after a long shift at the clinic, I wasn't second-guessing myself.
I knew what I wanted. I spent two weeks rebuilding my life on my own terms, proving to myself that I could stand on my own two feet, and now I wanted Wyatt in my bed.
Not because I was lonely or scared or looking for someone to make me feel whole.
Because I wanted him. Because he made me feel like myself, only better. Because choosing him didn't mean losing myself anymore.
I pulled out my phone and typed the message without hesitation.
Me: Come over tonight.
Not a question. A statement.
His reply came within seconds.
Wyatt: Everything okay?
I smiled at the screen, shaking my head. Of course, that was his first thought.
Me: Everything's fine. I want to see you. Come over.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
Wyatt: I’ll be there in twenty.
I set the phone down and looked at myself in the mirror. Hair still damp from the quick shower I'd taken after washing the smell of antiseptic and animals off my skin. No makeup. Jeans that fit well and a soft flannel shirt, I left unbuttoned enough to be interesting.
I looked like myself. Strong and a little rough around the edges. Exactly how I felt.
When Wyatt's headlights swept across the front windows, my stomach tightened with anticipation, not anxiety.
I met him at the door, pulling it open before he could knock.
He stood on the porch, hands in his pockets, and his gaze did that thing it always did, moving over me, reading me, making sure I was okay. But this time, when his eyes met mine, something shifted in his expression. Like he could see exactly what I was thinking.
"Hey," he said, voice low and a little rough.
"Hey, yourself," I answered, and stepped back to let him in.
Wyatt crossed the threshold, and I caught the scent of him, cedar and cold air, soap and something underneath that was just him. He showered too. Changed into a clean shirt. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, and his hair looked like he'd run his hands through it a few times on the drive over.
God, I wanted him.
He turned to face me, starting to ask if I was okay, but I didn't let him finish.
I stepped into his space, reached up, and pulled his mouth down to mine.
Wyatt made a surprised sound against my lips, his hands moving to grip my hips, but he didn't hesitate. He kissed me back like he'd been thinking about it just as much as I had, his mouth hot and certain, his fingers tightening on my waist.
When I finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
"I don't want you to go home tonight," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "I want you to stay. In my bed. With me."
Wyatt's gaze darkened, his pupils blown wide. "Tessa.”
"I'm not asking for permission," I interrupted, my voice steady. "I'm telling you what I want. And if you want it too, then stop looking at me like I might break and kiss me again."
Something flashed in his eyes, heat and hunger and something almost like relief.
"I'm not worried you'll break," Wyatt said, his voice dropping lower. "I'm trying to make sure I don't mess this up."
I slid my hands up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the soft cotton, feeling his heart beating fast under my palms. "You won't mess it up. I know what I want, Wyatt. I've known for days. I just needed to be sure I was doing this for the right reasons."
"And are you?" His hands flexed on my hips.
"Yeah." I met his gaze without flinching. "I'm doing this because I want you. Because I've been thinking about your hands on me and your mouth on me and what it would feel like to let myself have something good without overthinking it to death."
Wyatt's breath left him in a rush. "Jesus, Tessa."
"So stop being careful with me," I said, rising up on my toes so my mouth was almost against his. "I'm not fragile. I'm healing, and there's a difference."
His hands slid from my hips to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him, and I could feel every hard line of his body against mine.
"Tell me if you need me to stop," he said against my mouth. "Any time. Any reason?"
"I will," I promised. "But I won't need to."
I kissed him again, harder this time, letting my teeth catch his bottom lip. Wyatt groaned, low in his throat, and his control slipped just enough that I felt it, the want he'd been keeping leashed, the desire he'd been holding back out of respect for my boundaries.
I wanted all of it.
My hands found the buttons of his shirt, and this time they didn't shake. I worked them open with steady fingers, revealing his chest inch by inch. Tan skin. Defined muscle. That scar near his collarbone I'd noticed before and wanted to trace with my tongue.
Wyatt watched me, his breathing rough, his hands still on my back but not moving, letting me set the pace.
I pushed his shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
"Your turn," I said, my voice lower now, husky with want.
Wyatt's eyes flashed. His hands came to the buttons of my flannel, and he held my gaze as he undid them, one by one, slow and deliberate. When he pushed the fabric off my shoulders, I wasn't wearing anything underneath, and his sharp inhale was the best sound I'd heard in weeks.
"Tessa." My name was rough in his mouth, almost reverent.
"Bedroom. Now."
I took his hand and led him down the hallway, no hesitation, no second-guessing. My bedroom was exactly as I'd left it this morning, bed made, lamp on the nightstand casting warm light across the quilts Ray's mother stitched decades ago.
I turned to face Wyatt and reached for the button of my jeans.
His hand caught mine. "Let me."
It wasn't a request, not exactly, but it wasn't a demand either. It was an offer, and I took it.
"Okay," I breathed.
Wyatt's fingers made quick work of the button, the zipper, and then he was sliding the denim down my hips, taking my underwear with it, kneeling as he went, his hands warm and sure on my thighs. When the jeans pooled at my feet, I stepped out of them, standing in front of him in nothing.
He looked up at me from his knees, and the expression on his face made the heat pool low in my belly.
"You're so damn beautiful," he said, his voice rough.
I reached down and threaded my fingers through his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan. "Get up here. Now."
Wyatt rose, his hands skimming up my sides, and I reached for his belt. This time, he didn't stop me. I got it undone, popped the button of his jeans, and slid the zipper down slowly, my knuckles brushing against the hard length of him straining against his boxers.
His breath hissed out. "Tessa.”
"Off," I said, hooking my fingers in his waistband.
He pushed both jeans and boxers down in one motion, kicking them aside, and then we were both naked, standing in my bedroom. My gaze dropped, taking in all of him, broad shoulders, defined chest, the trail of dark hair leading down to where he was hard and ready for me.
The wanting was so sharp it almost hurt. Wyatt's eyes flashed dark, and he moved, backing me up until my legs hit the mattress. I sat, then scooted back, and he followed me down, covering my body with his.
The first full press of skin on skin made us both gasp.
"Christ," Wyatt muttered against my neck. "You feel so good."
His mouth found mine, kissing me deep and hungry while his hand slid down my body. There was nothing between us, and his hand was sliding up the inside of my thigh, slow and deliberate.
"Tell me what you want," he murmured against my lips.
"Touch me," I breathed. "I want your hands on me."
His fingers found me, slick and ready, and I gasped at the contact. Wyatt groaned low in his throat. "God, Tessa. You're so wet."
"For you," I managed, my hips rocking into his hand. "All for you."
He worked me with sure, steady strokes, his thumb circling where I needed it most while his fingers slid inside me. The pleasure built fast and sharp, stealing my breath.
"That's it," Wyatt said roughly, watching my face. "Let me see you."
I gripped his shoulders, my nails digging in as the tension coiled tighter. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
"Never," he promised, and increased the pressure, the rhythm, until I was gasping his name and arching off the bed.
The orgasm hit me hard, waves of pleasure rolling through me, and Wyatt worked me through it, his mouth on my neck, murmuring words I couldn't quite hear over the rushing in my ears.