Page 4 of Forging Legacy

“This is me,” I say, fishing in my pocket for my keys and unlocking the outer door to the building.

“I thought these apartments were all for athletes…” Fern looks around, then her eyes widen, and she claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh, duh. You came in with all the athlete guys.” She squeezes my arm like she’s checking for muscles. I’m happy to have her find them. “What sport are you? Swimmer?”

I laugh. “Hardly. No, I play soccer.” I tilt my head toward my apartment door and move to unlock it.

Fern follows me, babbling. “I should have known. Your book had a soccer ball on the cover. Sometimes, I’m so deep in my own business that I just don’t notice other people’s details. Which is probably a sign I wasn’t meant to be a bartender long-term.”

I set the book in question on the counter, along with my keys, while Fern looks around—I’m assuming for someplace to hang her coat. I’m not even sure what the most gentlemanly protocol is here. I’d grab her and kiss her right now, but that seems kind of overkill. I swallow but decide to just tell her, “You can put your stuff in my room if you want.”

I gesture down the hall to the open door where my cousins gave me crap a few hours earlier. She nods and heads in there. I follow, snapping on the light to reveal a space I’m pretty glad I keep neat. She takes in my king-sized bed with a black duvet, a dresser full of athletic clothes, and a small desk with a lamp and laptop. She notices the bookshelf and touches the books, smiling at the rows of cracked spines. I’ve always been a reader—lots of time on buses to and from away games.

Fern sets her coat on my desk with a clunk, and I figure she has all her stuff in her pockets since she doesn’t have a purse. My sister always has a huge purse that could double as a duffel bag.

I clear my throat. “I, uh, don’t do this very often.”

Fern bites her lip and nods. “Me neither.”

“We don’t have to do anything.” I scratch the back of my neck and pull off my hat, tossing it on the desk on top of her coat. “I’m happy to keep reading my book while you bring me San Pellegrino.”

Fern tosses her head back and guffaws. “God, even your soda is fancy.” She takes a step toward me and runs a finger from my shoulder to my elbow. I twitch under her touch, feeling ticklish and electrified. “I didn’t come here to pour drinks.”

“Good.” I lean forward and press my lips against hers.

Chapter4

Fern

Man,this feels good. Wyatt wraps his arms around me, hands splayed across my back and butt as he kisses me. His lips are just as soft as they looked, and I love the feel of them pressed against mine. I can feel the warmth of his body, the delicious strength of him, and a moan escapes my throat as we kiss.

Kissing, just seeking pleasure for the sake of it, is so foreign to me. I’m so used to working hard toward specific goals. It’s delicious, just standing here with my arms around him, exploring his mouth.

He seems to enjoy the sounds I’m making and releases his own deep moan. I pull back with a gasp, not expecting the vibrations that buzz through his chest at his sounds. Wyatt smiles at me wolfishly and then leans back in, biting my lower lip as he backs me up to the edge of his bed.

I sink onto the mattress, and he stands between my legs, running his hands through my hair, gazing down at me like I’m made of some precious material he doesn’t want to hurt. “Just checking in with you, Fern. Are you comfortable with this?”

I nod. He nods back, finger tracing my cheek. “Good, beautiful, because I’m ready to give you a happy new year.”

I start to laugh because it’s an adorably dorky thing to say, but then he sinks to his knees and presses a hand to my sternum. I’m flat on my back on the bed as he lifts the hem of my shirt. “God, your body is incredible,” he murmurs, planting kisses along the stomach I usually try to hide behind flowy or ruched tops. I don’t even have time to feel self-conscious about it because Wyatt licks and nips his way along my ribcage.

I move to take off my tank and while he watches, literally licking his lips. “Fern, I’ve been hard for you since the moment you pressed your chest in my face at the bar.” Wyatt seems surprised by the confession but also seems to recover quickly at the sight of my too-big boobs spilling out of last year’s bra. “Holy shit, look at you.”

I glance down to see what he sees, but my view is blocked by his head as Wyatt yanks off the bra and presses his mouth to my nipple. The wet heat of his tongue has me gasping, prickles of pleasure zooming through my body as he kneads and squeezes and licks, moaning and whispering praise the entire time. Why have I not made time for this sooner?

I place one hand on his shoulder, loving the subtle movements beneath his shirt. The more Wyatt suckles at me, pinching and teasing the more I squirm beneath the weight of his torso. I realize he’s working his way to the floor between my legs, and I crave pressure and friction against my center, but I can’t quite get it in this position. I grunt in frustration and Wyatt looks up from his work.

He draws one finger down the center of my body, teasing at my crotch. The denim of my jeans is too thick, and I need more. “God,” I curse, but I don’t know what to say next. Do I just … demand that he touch me?

“You need it bad, don’t you Fern?”

“Yes. Thank you. Please.” I don’t even know what I’m saying, but he laughs, and I feel his long fingers unbuttoning my pants. Before I can form any sort of response, my legs are in the air, my jeans and panties are ripped off, and my thighs are smooshed against Wyatt’s ears while his hands press the soft, sensitive skin of my upper legs closer to his head, like he’s trying to drown himself in my body.

And then he spreads me open and studies me, like I’m a page in one of his books–intently, like there’s nothing else in the room.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting … oh, wow.” I raise myself up on my forearms just in time to see Wyatt Moyer stare at my vulva like it’s the most incredible thing he ever laid eyes on. And then, with a sigh, he leans forward and licks me there. “Wyatt!” He freezes and looks up, eyes questioning. “I’m all … sweaty. I was just working for hours.”

“And?”

I bite my lip. “And, doesn’t it smell?”

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