Page 77 of The Hearts We Fumble
“Just like that, baby.” I press my forehead to hers, our breaths tangling. “You feel so fucking good.”
She leans in, her lips grazing my throat, her hot breath fanning over my skin. But it’s not enough. I needmoreof her.
“Take your jeans off.” My voice is rough and raw. “Climb on top of me.”
Her eyes flick to the windshield, then the darkened surroundings outside, as if someone could be watching. “Right here?”
“Yeah, baby.” I grin, giving her ass another squeeze. “Take them off and ride me.”
Her hesitation vanishes. She works quickly, shimmying out of her jeans and kicking them onto the floorboard. I push the seat back as far as it’ll go, spreading my legs and yanking my jeans down to my ankles, giving us the space we need.
Wyatt moves onto her knees, straddling me. My hands grip her hips as she hovers above me, and I reach between us, guiding my tip to her entrance.
She’s soaked.
A deep groan rumbles from my chest as I slowly ease inside her, feeling her stretch around me, taking me inch by inch.
“Right there, Wy,” I murmur, my fingers pressing into her hips as she rocks against me, adjusting to the fullness of me inside her.
She lets out a shaky breath, her hands bracing against my shoulders. When she finally sinks down fully, her body locking against mine, I swear I almost come right then.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” I grit out, pressing my lips to the hollow of her throat. “I’m not gonna last long.”
“Me either,” she whimpers, her nails digging into my skin.
I hold her tighter, guiding her movements as we find a rhythm, our bodies melting into each other. Her breathy moans fuel me, sending pleasure spiking through my veins, and when she clenches around me, I bury my face in the crook of her neck, groaning as we come undone together.
Tangled. Breathless. Completely lost in each other.
I don’t justwantWyatt.
Ineedher in ways I’ll never be able to explain.
Chapter Eighteen
Wyatt
“I was starting to wonder where my daughter disappeared to.” My mom grins from behind the bar as I slide onto a barstool at Twisted Tap.
“Says the woman who’s hardly ever home herself,” I tease, setting my purse on the counter.
She chuckles, shaking her head as she wipes down the bar. I pull a folded receipt from my pocket and slide it across the counter toward her.
Her eyes narrow as she picks it up. “What’s this?”
“A deposit,” I say simply.
She lets out a long sigh. “Wyatt—”
“Don’t start,” I warn. “I already told you, as long as I’m living at home, I’m paying rent.”
She presses her lips together, but I know she won’t argue. She never asks for help, never complains, but I see the long hours she works—the law firm during the day, the bar shifts at night. I’d hoped she’d use the extra money to cut back, maybe take a damn break for once, but she insists she likes staying busy.
She’s been doing it for years. Ever since my parents divorced, long before my dad passed away.
I always wished she’d find someone—someone who made her happy, someone to take care of her for a change. But she’s always been more focused on taking care of everyone else.
“Fair enough,” she murmurs, taking a sip from her Pepsi before setting it aside. She shifts her weight on her hip, giving me a knowing look. “So, how are things between you and Zane? Or are we still pretending this is a secret from the rest of the world?”
