Page 118 of Wyatt

You’re okay. We’re okay.

He puts his other hand on my hip and guides my body up and down, up and down, a slow rhythm that gradually gets faster and faster until I’m riding him hard.

I’m not sure I can take more.

But I know I’ll always, always want more with Wyatt.

The backs of my eyelids burn red.

Sunlight. A lot of it.

Oh my God, how late did I sleep?

Opening my eyes, I sit up with a start. The shutters are closed, but ardent sunshine pours through the slats anyway, coating Wyatt’s bedroom in a golden glow I can only describe as autumn coziness at its best.

Glancing at his side of the bed, I see that he’s gone. The door is closed. Was he called into work?

Shit, what if I got a call for work? I didn’t think to set an alarm since it’s the weekend, but I don’t need to when I’m staying at my parents’ house because Dad is around. He’ll wake me up if someone needs me.

I grab my phone from the nightstand and flip it over. My stomach somersaults when I see that it’sten o’clock.

When was the last time I slept this late?

When was the last time I was up so late? Yes, I got sleep, but it was broken sleep. I had no idea you could be so turned on that it wakes you up in the dead of night. That’s never happened to me before.

Then again, I’ve never slept with Wyatt Rivers before.

I sit up and the sheets fall, catching on my breasts. I feel a slight burning sensation there. Looking down, I see red marks on my chest, my boobs, even my stomach.

Beard burn.

Wyatt kissed me literally everywhere last night, and Lord, does it show. Between him coming all over me and now the beard burn, there’s not an inch of my body Wyatt hasn’t left his mark on.

The thought makes me weirdly emotional. It also turns me on in a big, big way.

Glancing at my screen, I’m relieved to see I haven’t missed any calls or important texts. I did get an email from myadviser at Ithaca University, however, which I should probably read?—

“Mornin’.”

I look up, and my heart falls a hundred stories when I see Wyatt standing in the doorway. He’s wearing a pair of broken-in Wranglers, and…that’s it.

Not a shirt. No hat. Not even a sock.

His bare torso is a sight to behold. Whorls of dark blond hair cover his barrel of a chest, narrowing to a happy trail that disappears into his jeans. His thick abdominal muscles slope into sculpted hips that form a very distracting V shape.

And his arms. My God, this man’sarms. His biceps bulge, putting his tattoos on prominent display. Thick veins run down the inside of his elbows and spread out along forearms the size of Wiffle bats.

He’s also got a raging case of bedhead. His thick hair is rumpled, sticking up every which way in a kind of ragged golden halo that’s somehow both adorableandsexy.

But it’s the mugs of steaming coffee he holds in his hands that really make my pulse skip a beat. The velvety smell fills the room, and for several seconds I can only stare, phone falling from my hand onto the bed with a softthunk.

One side of his mouth kicks up in a smirk as he strides into the room.

“Lose your voice from yellin’ my name so much last night?”

Laughter bubbles up inside me, and I resist the urge to grab him by the throat and have my way with him right here, right now.

“If memory serves, you were the one yelling mine.”

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