Page 80 of Fear of Falling

I nodded, swallowing thickly.

“What would it take to convince you?”

Our bodies inched together, eliminating any space left between us.

“There’s a number of ways,” I whispered as I leaned forward so our lips brushed together. My plan to tease him a little flew out the window as Wyatt pressed his mouth against mine, deepening the kiss. Our lips moved in sync, and when his tongue teased the seam of my mouth, I eagerly reciprocated, letting our tongues entwine.

I was so lost in the haze of the kiss that I didn’t notice Wyatt’s hand moving upwards until I suddenly found myself straddling him. It was as though my body had a mind of its own, as I settled in his lap.

Feeling the hard length of him through my jeans, I rubbed against him, satisfied I wasn’t the only one turned on. The sound of Wyatt’s moans enticed me to grind down harder.

Is there anything sexier than hearing a man moan for you?

Wyatt’s hands gripped my ass, and at his encouragement, I circled my hips against him. My fingers ran through his hair, tugging at the base of his neck.

“I’m going to need you to stop, babe,” he murmured against my lips.

“Why?” I kissed the side of his mouth, moving along his jaw.

“I want you to be completely sure this is what you want.” As he spoke his hands still gripped my ass, moving me back and forth on his lap.

There’s nothing I want more than this. I want to feel every inch of him, inside and out.

For once I wasn’t going to let self-doubt creep in and ruin the moment.

Pulling back, I gently tugged his hair, our gazes leveled. I needed him to see I spoke the truth.

“I want this. Do you?” I heard the echo of insecurity in my voice, but I ignored it.

“Do you feel this?” Wyatt asked, as he flexed his hips upwards, making me gasp at his hardness. “This is what you do to me.”

The intensity in his eyes lit every inch of me on fire. “So yes, I want this.”

I barely let him get the words out before I kissed him again. He met me with the same amount of fervor, and my handsmoved from his hair to the bottom of his shirt, tugging it upwards.

As his shirt got stuck on his chin, I giggled. Laughing, Wyatt lifted his arms, helping me pull it the rest of the way off, before discarding it over the side of the couch. I leaned back on his thighs taking in the view.

Seeing him shirtless in person was a hundred times better than on the billboards around town. My fingers and mouth itched to caress every muscular ridge. Even sitting down, I could see his eight pack.

Hockey players really are in the best shape.

Wyatt’s eyes twinkled as I took in the sight, and I made a silent vow that I would know every inch of his body by night's end.

When his hands tugged at the bottom of my sweater, I hesitated for a second before raising my arms. It’d been a while since anyone saw me shirtless, let alone naked. In my last relationship, we’d only slept together twice, and it was alwayshim, him, him. The sex was mediocre at best, and I never once finished.

It took a lot to get me to the spot where I could even think about sleeping with someone else after my abusive ex—where I didn’t criticize everything about myself in the mirror, letting his words take control over me.

I fought against the urge to cover myself once he tugged my shirt off. Though all thoughts escaped me as Wyatt leaned forward and pressed his lips between the valley of my breasts. My breath hitched, and my nipples immediately hardened beneath my simple black bra.

When Wyatt tilted his head up to look at me, I almost groaned at the loss of his lips on me. His hair was mused from my fingers and his blue eyes looked a shade darker.

“You are stunning,” he whispered. I felt the heat rise into my cheeks at his words, but I forgot my self-consciousness as he peppered kisses along the tops of my breasts. The sensation of his thumbs brushing the skin at my hips sent goosebumps rushing across my skin.

“Can I?” His hands moved around to my back, his fingers playing with the clasp of my bra. The fact he asked for permission made me smile. At my nod, he flicked the clasp, his eyes following the straps as they slid down my arms.

As my bra fell to my lap, Wyatt stared at my breasts like it was Christmas morning. They weren’t big by any means—my ex once mentioned that I should get a boob job. Yet, right now, I didn’t feel an ounce of insecurity about them.

How could I, when Wyatt looked at them like they were the best thing he’s ever seen?

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