Page 25 of Final Down

“How would it work?” He quirks a brow and moves one of the chairs out to take a seat. I suddenly feel as if I’m auditioning for him, and it strikes me that I’ve never really had to interview for anything. Wyatt would push me to be and do whatever I want, even if it means selling his own soul, but I’m suddenly nervous now that he’s put me on the spot.

“Well,” I begin, pushing my tongue into my cheek. “I won’t need to be back in Arizona until August, for tryouts. And I’ve already checked the schedules for every Cyclones home game.I can take the first Saturday morning flight out and come back home on the following Monday mornings.”

Wyatt’s head tilts as his mouth quirks up on one side.

“You don’t want to fly that much.”

I shake my head quickly.

“No, I do. In fact, I can make four away games, too. And, well, the Arizona game is a no-brainer. And maybe, if I can get the squad to nationals, I can pair that trip with your Miami game, and then?—”

“Peyt.”

My mouth snaps shut when Wyatt stands and moves toward me with a playful smirk.

“Why are you trying to sell me on this? You’ve made up your mind. I mean, my gut instincts tell me you have a file full of details and itineraries stashed somewhere on that laptop.”

He gestures to my work bag resting on the kitchenette counter. I blink at it a few times and lift a shoulder.

“I like to be prepared before a presentation,” I say, a half second before Wyatt’s palms cup my shoulders. I relax under his touch as my head swivels back to face him.

“You don’t need to make a presentation. You want this. I understand, and I want it for you, too. We . . .” He moves one hand from my shoulder to tap a finger to his chest, then to mine. “We’ll make it work.”

I bite my lip and try not to cry. I’ve been a bit of an emotional mess the last few days, and when my husband says the perfect thing, it really hits that cluster of nerves around my heart.

“You’re not worried about what it might do? To us?”

I need to hear him say it.

“I’m not worried about us at all. Ever. In fact, of the thousands of things that I will worry about over my lifetime,uswill never be one of them. I know so.”

He takes my hand in his and presses it to his chest. His heart thumps under my palm. His body is warm, and the cotton of his T-shirt is still a little damp from his recent shower and wet hair. He smells like the desert rain . . . like home.

I lift my chin and step into him, his eyes dropping down and zeroing in on my mouth.

“How do you know?”

His lip ticks up, showing off his dimple, and my eyes flutter shut from the instant intoxication.

“Because I’m yours, and you . . .” He pauses as his right hand slides through the slit on the side of my dress and wraps around my ass, tugging me into him.

“You are mine.”

Wyatt drops to his knees, pushing my dress up my thighs and tugging my panties down my legs. I barely have time to gasp before his mouth covers my pussy, and my hands dive into his hair as I fight to hold myself steady and maintain my balance.

“What about dinner?” I pant.

“You are all I want to eat,” he says as his fingers dig into my ass and his tongue flicks my sensitive skin.

“Ohhhh-kayyyy,” I rasp, my voice quivering from his seductive assault.

Wyatt sucks me into his mouth and punishes my clit with his tongue until my legs nearly buckle, and before I fall to pieces, he slowly stands and brings my dress up and over my body along with him. Tossing the flimsy fabric to the floor, he lifts me and carries me to the back of the plush sofa that faces the stone fireplace and a wall of windows that looks out over the city. The sky outside is pink but quickly fading to purple, and the room is cast in a golden hue that makes Wyatt’s eyes almost glow a cerulean blue.

My legs wrap around him as he discards my lace bralette, tossing it on top of my dress. His palms meet at my spine as hearches me back enough to give his mouth access to my breasts, and he sucks my nipple so hard that it throbs when he lets go.

“Wyatt,” I hum his name, my need for him desperate as I unfurl my legs and part them wider.

I pull his shirt up over his head as he pulls his sweatpants down and fists his cock. The scratches along his sides from his workouts make him look rough, and I don’t think his abs have ever been so toned. I let my hands roam over the hard ridges and down to his hips as he strokes himself while his eyes seer into me.

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