Page 70 of Synced to Us

I angle my head. “For a black tie event? How about…black?”

He snaps his fingers, the stunned look on his face morphing into his usual infectious grin. “See? This is why I needed you to come up here.”

I pull my lips in, unconvinced but unexpectedly flattered he wanted an excuse to see me in private.

Wyn doesn’t move. He tucks his hands into his pockets, his pecs undulating with the movement and his stare slipping to my chest and staying there.

I’m wearing a strapless number with a deep vee leaving the skin between my breasts bare. I’ve always been confident with my body, showing off my hard work and maintenance often, but Wyn’s attention amplifies hidden insecurities.

Somehow, I find my voice. “Is something wrong?”

Wyn works his jaw. His attention doesn’t stray. “How easy is it for you to get out of that dress?”

A startled What? almost reaches my lips, but my tongue traps the question as soon as Wyn stalks closer, palms the back of my neck, and presses his lips to mine.

Melting is inevitable. My body molds into his like it always does, fitting to his curves, making room for his bulges, and locking him in with my tongue. His mouth explores like he’s never kissed me before—or, it’s been too long. It feels like forever since our last one. I tangle my fingers in his hair and press closer, our lips sealed, fervor flashing through my limbs.

He finds the zipper at my lower back and eases it down, breaking our kiss enough to say, “Fuck. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” I say, searching for more of his mouth and desperately wanting him.

He obliges me when my dress pools at my ankles. Cupping the back of my thighs, he lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist. My thong is nothing but an afterthought as I rub myself against his belt, aching for his skin.

“Hang on, gorgeous,” he growls, his strides eating up the floorboards. “If you come when I can’t see it, I’ll never forgive you.”

In answer, I moan against his neck, sucking on his earlobe.

Wyn halts in the hallway, his jaw muscles tensing under my lips. “Shit. Shit.”

I lift my head in question.

With eyes heated and black with passion, he says, “I doubt you want to have sex in Mason and McKenna’s bed.”

“Uh. No.” The thought of using their bed is the biggest buzzkill I can think of.

“Or their couch,” Wyn adds. “Slash, my bed.”

“Do you think it’s time to get your own place?”

“So I can screw you whenever I want?” Wyn raises a brow. “Hell, yeah.”

I squeal when he smacks me against the wall, my legs tightening around his waist.

“Until then, hallway it is,” he says and goes back to devouring my mouth.

I pull at his hair, his strands fragrant with soap and cologne. I nip at his lower lip, then suck on it, my hips bucking.

With the wall as a brace, Wyn finds my center, pushing my underwear to the side and sinking his fingers in, one by one, by two, by three…

I moan.

“My favorite sound in the world,” he says, returning the favor by biting my lower lip and pulling until it snaps back.

With heavy lidded eyes, I watch my effect on him take over his expression.

Wyn removes his fingers and I mewl in protest, but he murmurs for me to hang on, and undoes his belt, then his pants. They snick to the ground, but I barely notice. I’m too busy clawing at him, angling myself to receive him, and begging for that stretched, endless pleasure that only comes from him.

Wyn doesn’t disappoint. Hooking the back of my knee, he kicks his pants out of the way and drives into me with so much force my head hits the wall. I cry out at the feel of him—a fullness I craved since the moment I left him at Grand Central. Wyn has both of my legs braced as I hold on to his shoulders, and his thrusts making me beg for more.

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