Chapter 31 #2
As if to prove a point to myself, I run a finger over the waistband of his boxer briefs, before leaning in until I’m less than an inch from his mouth and can whisper, “So you’re telling me you wouldn’t like my mouth wrapped around your cock, covering you in my spit until you came down my throat?”
His pupils blow wide and he inhales noisily. Even this close, I can see the effect my words have on him.
I slip my hand into his underwear, wrapping it around his hard shaft as I push his boxer briefs as far down his thighs as I can reach.
Wyatt Wilde is naked in my laundry room and I am here for it. I’m going to make the most of it, once I figure out where to start.
I barely get past option one—drop to the floor and taste him—before Wyatt places a hand at the back of my head and crushes his mouth against mine. The kiss is almost punishing as I stroke his cock lazily and in direct contrast to the urgency of his mouth against mine.
It doesn’t take long for my mind to short-circuit and my hand to still on him as I drown in the taste of his mouth; mint and a hint of something sweet.
All too soon, he pulls away, leaving me with a heaving chest as I stare at him with swollen lips and what I’m certain are lust-filled eyes.
Our labored breathing fills the quiet, and without breaking eye contact, Wyatt grips the sides of my G-string, pulling the material down and forcing me to lift my hips again.
I’m so wet and turned on by him that I’m sure I’m going to leave a mess on the counter when we’re done.
He steps back, dropping my panties to the floor as he stares between my legs, just like I did to him moments ago. I feel a chaotic energy buzz through me, my body desperate for his touch. He licks his lips like he’s looking at his favorite meal and can’t wait to dig in.
Instinctively, I widen my legs a little and lean back against the wall behind me, putting myself on full display for him. I want him to want me, to crave me, because that’s exactly how I feel about him. He’s been all I’ve thought about for weeks.
His cock bobs, and I wonder if I’d make it to my knees before he could stop me.
Wyatt steps forward, reaching for his wallet and digging out a condom. I watch as he tears the foil and rolls the latex onto his cock, taking away my chance with every inch he covers.
Maybe he doesn’t like blowjobs.
Be real, Maddie, what man doesn’t like them?
Maybe he thinks I’d be bad at them.
Moving back to stand between my legs, he says, “Stop pouting.” He runs his thumb over my bottom lip before dipping to kiss me. “You can take full advantage of me later, but for now, I need to be inside you.”
His words are enough to stop my mind from whirring and focus on the here and now.
He skates his fingers up my inner thigh and when he dives them into my pussy, I lose my mind, moving around on the counter with abandon.
Holy shit. I feel like every nerve ending in my body is on high alert.
I think I might die. Is that possible? Can you die from being so turned on?
God, how does he do this to me every time?
Fusing his mouth to mine, Wyatt drinks down my moans and steals my breath.
When his thumb slides over my clit, I rip my mouth away, crying out as my hips lift from the counter, trying to get closer to him or move away. I’m not entirely sure. All I know is that I need more, but it’s all too much at the same time.
Black dots appear on the edges of my vision, and I feel the spasms of my orgasm convulse my body as it slams into me.
My pussy walls clench around Wyatt’s fingers, but he doesn’t let it deter him.
Instead, he milks me for more, alternating between rubbing my clit and pressing against it as he continues to move his fingers inside me.
Suddenly, I feel a rush of liquid; it erupts from me, covering the counter and Wyatt as I gasp for air.
Well, that’s new.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Wyatt murmurs, the awe in his tone clear.
I collapse against him, but he wastes no time lining up his cock with my entrance and thrusting into me, setting off more tremors through my body. He takes from me what he needs, building another orgasm inside me as he does.
There’s an admirable precision to his thrusts, until he loses all control and the hold he has on my hips tightens and he fucks me with abandon. He looks magnificent as he relinquishes his restraint, throwing his head back and staring up at the ceiling as if looking at me will be too much.
“Fuck,” he growls, pounding into me.
“Wyatt,” I cry at the same time as my body grows heavy and hot with the build-up of my orgasm. I don’t think I can take any more.
Wyatt applies more pressure to my clit, and it’s the image of his face twisted in pleasure that sends me trembling over the edge, headfirst into my second orgasm in a matter of minutes.
He grunts out his own orgasm, his fingers flexing against my flesh and no doubt going to leave a bruise, before he collapses against me.
We stay like this for a few minutes, the sound of our harsh breathing filling the room as we try to catch our breath.
I couldn’t move even if I tried. Our gazes clash, something monumental building between us.
This feels different from the last two times, like something has changed between us. Something that perhaps shouldn’t have.
Wyatt is the first to move, stepping back and pulling out of me.
He removes the condom with a practiced ease, throwing it in the trash can in the corner of the room.
It’s like having a bucket of cold water thrown over me, reminding me of who we are, where we are and why having sex with him again was a bad idea.
God, what have we done?
This needs to stop. I should have been strong enough to tell him no the second he looked at me with those desire-filled blue eyes. Whatever this is, it’s not going anywhere. It can’t. We both know that.
I open my mouth to tell Wyatt just that, that this can’t happen again, no matter how much I enjoy it, but he holds up his hand, halting me as he steps into his boxer briefs.
“You don’t have to say it every time, Maddie.”
“Say what?” I ask, covering myself with a towel, as if he hasn’t already seen me naked.
He chuckles, shaking his head but not looking at me as he steps into his jeans. “That this was a mistake. That’s what you were going to say, right?”
I press my lips together. There’s no point in denying it because that’s exactly what I was going to say, so I nod. He slides his still wet T-shirt over his head.
“I can put that in the dryer.” I motion toward his T-shirt.
“Don’t worry about it; I’m heading straight home.”
I don’t reply; there’s nothing I can say. Instead, I watch him pull the material down his body before he stops and watches me for a moment. As if he’s waiting for me to stop him. I wish I could, but this is for the best.
When I can’t stand the weight of his stare anymore, I look down at my lap, his feet in my line of vision, until he walks away and out of the room. I hear the front door close behind him as he leaves, and I can’t help but wonder if letting him go was actually the mistake this time.