Chapter 45 #2
When I finally came down, panting and boneless, I opened my eyes to find him watching me with such raw hunger it sent another spike of heat through my core.
"I need you inside me," I said, reaching between us to wrap my hand around his length. He was hot and hard and velvet over steel. "Now, Wyatt."
His hips jerked into my grip, and he groaned. "Condom. Wallet."
I released him reluctantly while he reached for his jeans, fumbling in his back pocket. He came back with a foil packet, tore it open with his teeth, and I took it from him.
"Let me," I said.
I rolled it on slowly, stroking him as I did, watching his jaw clench and his eyes go dark. When I was done, I lay back and pulled him over me.
"Come here," I whispered.
Wyatt settled between my thighs, bracing himself on his forearms, his face inches from mine. The blunt head of him pressed against my entrance, and we both went still.
"You sure?" he asked, his voice strained.
"I've never been more sure of anything." I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him down. "I want all of you."
He pushed inside, slow and steady, and the stretch and fullness of him made my eyes roll back. God, it had been so long, and nothing had ever felt like this—like coming home and jumping off a cliff at the same time.
"Fuck," Wyatt groaned when he was fully seated. "Tessa. You feel—" He couldn't finish, just dropped his forehead to mine, breathing hard.
I rolled my hips experimentally, and we both gasped. He pulled out almost all the way, then thrust back in, deep and sure. I cried out, my hands clutching at his back.
"Like that?" he asked roughly.
"Yes. Just like that. Harder."
Wyatt set a rhythm that had me meeting him thrust for thrust, our bodies moving together like we'd been doing this for years instead of the first time in weeks. His mouth found mine, kissing me deep and dirty while he drove into me again and again.
The pleasure built fast, that coiling tension gathering low in my belly.
He slid his hand between us and circled my clit with his thumb while he thrust into me, and the dual sensation had me gasping.
"That's it, baby," Wyatt encouraged, his voice rough.
The orgasm slammed into me without warning, my inner muscles clamping down on him so hard he cursed. I cried out his name as the pleasure ripped through me, wave after wave.
"Jesus, Tessa.” Wyatt's rhythm stuttered, and then he was following me over.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us trembling and gasping for air. Finally, Wyatt rolled to the side, taking care of the condom before pulling me against his chest.
"That was—" I started, but couldn't find the words.
"Yeah," Wyatt agreed, his hand stroking down my spine. "It was."
I tilted my head up to look at him, and the expression on his face made my chest tight. "We're definitely doing that again."
His laugh was low and warm. "Give me twenty minutes."
"Deal."
It turned out he only needed fifteen.
The second time, I pushed him onto his back and climbed on top, taking my time as I sank down onto him inch by inch. Wyatt's hands gripped my hips, his eyes locked on where we were joined.
"Look at you," he said roughly. "Riding me like you’ve made me yours.”
"Maybe I have,” I said, rolling my hips in a slow circle that made him groan.
"Take what you want," he said. "I'm yours."
I braced my hands on his chest and started to move, finding a rhythm that had pleasure sparking up my spine with every roll of my hips.
Wyatt let me control the pace at first, watching me with dark, hungry eyes.
But when I started to move faster, chasing my release, his hands tightened on my hips, and he started thrusting up to meet me.
"That's it," I gasped. "Just like that. Don’t do anything different.”
One of his hands slid up to cup my breast, his thumb circling my nipple, and the added sensation had me crying out.
"You're so fucking perfect," Wyatt growled. "Look at you, take what you need from me. So strong. So beautiful. So fucking sexy bouncing on my cock."
His words pushed me higher, and when he slid his other hand between my legs, the heel of his palm pressed against my clit, and he squeezed his fingers into my pussy.
The sensation of his cock and fingers pushed me over the edge, and I shattered.
My inner muscles clenched around him as I came with a sharp cry, my body shaking with the force of it.
Wyatt followed moments later with a groan, his hips jerking up as he spilled inside me.
I collapsed onto his chest, both of us breathing hard and slick with sweat.
"Okay," I panted. "Now I'm satisfied."
Wyatt's laugh rumbled beneath my cheek. "Just satisfied? I must be losing my touch."
I lifted my head to glare at him. "Don't fish for compliments."
"Was that what I was doing?" His eyes sparkled with mischief.
"You know exactly what you were doing." I kissed him, slow and deep. "And for the record, you definitely haven't lost your touch."
"Good to know." He rolled us so I was on my back again, his body covering mine. "Because I'm not done with you yet."
Heat flared through me despite the fact that I'd just come twice. "Oh?"
"Third time's the charm," he said, his mouth trailing down my throat. "And this time, I'm taking my time."
He did.
By the time the sky started to darken outside my window, I was thoroughly satisfied, completely spent, and certain that I just had the best sex of my life.
When Wyatt's breathing finally steadied, his forehead pressed to mine, his body still covering me like a shield I didn't need but wanted anyway, he said my name like it was the only word that mattered.
"Tessa."
I opened my eyes and found him watching me with an expression I couldn't fully name. Something raw and open and almost undone.
"You okay?" I asked, and a smile tugged at my mouth because usually he was the one asking me that.
Wyatt huffed a laugh, breathless. "Yeah. More than okay." He shifted his weight, careful not to crush me, and brushed a strand of hair off my forehead. "You?"
"I'm perfect," I said, and meant it.
His thumb traced my jaw, slow and reverent. "You are."
I rolled my eyes, but the warmth in my chest didn't fade. "I mean, I feel perfect. Good. Really good."
"Good." Wyatt's voice dropped lower.
By the time the sun started creeping through the curtains, we were tangled together under the quilt, slick with sweat and completely spent.
Wyatt's arm was slung across my waist, his face buried in my neck, and I could feel his heartbeat against my back, steady and strong.
"You should stay for breakfast," I murmured, my voice rough from overuse.
Wyatt's lips brushed the curve of my shoulder. "Are you cooking?"
"I was thinking you could cook."
He laughed, low and warm against my skin. "Fair enough. I wore you out, the least I can do is feed you."
I smiled into the pillow, feeling lighter than I had in months. Maybe years.
This, lying here with him, knowing I'd chosen it freely, knowing I could choose it again or not choose it, and either way I'd still be whole, this felt like coming home to myself.
"Wyatt," I said quietly.
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
He stilled behind me. "For what?"
"For waiting. For not pushing. For letting me come to you when I was ready."
Wyatt's arm tightened around me, pulling me closer. "You don't have to thank me for that."
"I know," I said. "But I'm going to anyway."
He was quiet for a moment, his breath warm against my neck. Then, soft enough, I almost missed it, "I love you."
My heart stuttered.
It wasn't the first time he said it. He told me two weeks ago, standing in my apartment with my whole life in chaos around me. But hearing it now, in the aftermath of this, of choosing him, of choosing us, of choosing myself first and then him second, it landed differently.
It landed true.
I turned in his arms until I was facing him, my hand coming up to cup his jaw.
"I know," I whispered. "And I'm getting there."
Wyatt's eyes softened. "That's all I need."
I kissed him, slow and sweet and unhurried, and for the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to be truly wanted. To be loved without being diminished.
To be my own person and his but still completely whole.
When we finally dragged ourselves out of bed, Wyatt pulled on his jeans and wandered into my kitchen shirtless, rummaging through my fridge like he belonged here.
I watched him from the doorway, wearing nothing but his shirt from last night and a pair of underwear, my hair a disaster, and my body pleasantly sore in all the right places.
"You have eggs," he called over his shoulder. "And bacon. I can work with this."
"There's coffee too," I said, moving to the counter and starting the pot.
Wyatt glanced at me, his gaze tracking over the shirt I was wearing, and something heated in his expression. "You look good in my clothes."
"I look good in everything," I shot back, grinning.
He laughed. "True."
We moved around each other easily, falling into a rhythm that felt natural. He cooked. I poured coffee. We didn't talk much, but the quiet was punctuated only by the sizzle of bacon and the occasional brush of his hand against mine when we passed each other.
When breakfast was ready, we sat at the small kitchen table Ray had built decades ago, and I looked across at Wyatt—at this man who'd been patient when I needed patience, who'd given me space when I needed space, who'd shown up when I asked him to without making me feel weak for asking.
"What?" he asked, catching me staring.
"Nothing," I said. “It’s just, this is nice."
His mouth curved. "Yeah. It is."
We ate in comfortable silence, and when we were done, Wyatt helped me clean up without being asked. I went and reluctantly changed out of his shirt into my scrubs.
"I should probably head out," he said eventually, leaning against the counter, doing up the buttons on his shirt. "I need to head to the brewery.”
I nodded, even though part of me wanted him to stay. "I've got to get to work too.”
Wyatt reached for me, pulling me close, and I went willingly, my arms looping around his neck. "Last night," he said against my hair. "That was—"
"Perfect," I interrupted. "It was perfect."
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hand coming up to cup my face. "You're perfect."
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. "Stop."
"Never."
He kissed me one more time, slow and thorough, and then he pulled away with visible reluctance.
"I'll see you soon," he said.
"Yeah," I agreed. "You will."
I walked him to the door and watched as he climbed into his truck, gave me one last look through the windshield that made my stomach flip, and drove away.
When the dust settled on the driveway, I closed the door and leaned against it, a smile spreading across my face.
I'd done it.
I'd chosen something for myself. Something good. Something that didn't require me to shrink or apologize or explain.
And it felt damn good.
I pushed off the door and headed back to my bedroom, pulling on my socks and boots. I grabbed the truck keys off the hook.
But for a second, I stood in the middle of my house and let myself accept that it was mine.
The strength. The choice. The certainty that I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
And for the first time in a long time, I believed it.
“Thanks, Dad,” I whispered before I headed out.