Page 32 of How to Say I Do
Wyatt’s eyes went wide, and he gasped my name as his heat erupted over my hand.
He sank against me, hiding his face in my neck as he gasped. Our hands found each other, and I kissed his forehead and looped my leg around his thigh.
I smelled sun and sand in Wyatt’s hair and kissed him again. I felt his heart beat and the heat of his skin. I felt his lips move across my shoulder. I thought of starlight and ocean waves and cowboy hats. I thought of him saying “Howdy” to me, and thought that it was impossible, absolutely impossible, for us to have ended up here, just like this, but here we were. Here we were.
That night seemed to last a year, like we had found a way to pause time and stay in each other’s arms.
We kissed like we’d invented it. I imagined I could learn everything about Wyatt’s soul by the velvety indulgent way he moved his lips against mine. He was honey-paced and selfless, wholehearted and patient. We rolled in the waves of his sheets. Cotton bunched around our hips and tangled at our knees. He freed me with kisses, diving down my body to extricate a thigh.
Wyatt’s hands were rough and calloused from sun and wind and hard work, but his caresses felt like silk. He explored my hidden places, his fingers stroking down and up my legs and rounding over my ass and then across the expanse of my back. He kissed each place he touched as if he were learning me through every physical sense he could harness: touch, taste, smell. Adoring gaze.
I was mush. The most I was capable of was to card my hands through his hair, or laugh when his fingers or his kiss wandered near a ticklish place. I’d feel his smile against my ribs or on the back of my thigh, and then another kiss landed on my skin.
Thighs gliding, sheets being tugged away. My hands sliding behind his neck, him finding my hips and holding me to him as he seized me in our thousandth kiss.
I rolled on top of Wyatt. We were completely naked and shameless, without even a sheet left to curl around our ankles. Against the pale bed, Wyatt looked carved straight from the sun. Those broad shoulders, the strong, thick lines of his muscles. The taper of his chest down to his waist, and the way his obliques and his belly moved shyly when my hands moved over his body.
His cock was hard and firm and curled tight to his belly. He’d been hard for an hour, all throughout his explorations of me, all of his kisses and his caresses. I bit my lip and framed the base of his cock in my hands. “I’ve never done this before.”
Wyatt panted. His eyes were wide, and his fingers clawed into the mattress. His thighs were quaking. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said valiantly. “Only what you want to. Only what you’re comfortable with.”
I had a better angle here on top of his lap to stroke. It was clearer, too, how to twist my hand and which way to tug, and I wasn’t getting turned around at the shock of stroking a cock that wasn’t my own. He gasped when I found the spot beneath his cock head where, if I rubbed in firm circles, his eyes fluttered and his breath stopped and his jaw dropped. “Noël—”
Only what I want to.
I wanted everything.
I knee-walked down the mattress, moving Wyatt’s ankles apart until I made space between his legs. One of his legs shot straight out like he’d been electrified.
I wrapped my lips around his cock and sank down, sucking in as far as I could go.
It was my first time. I wasn’t great. I tried, though. Soulful, luscious sucks, my fist wrapped around his base, my lips bumping my fingers as I slurped. His hips rocked up, tiny thrusts that he tried to still, but couldn’t entirely stop. I rode them like waves, bobbing on him, sucking deeper on each swell and groan that I pulled out of him.
Listening to the sounds coming out of Wyatt, you’d never know I wasn’t less than the very best. He was an incoherent mess, babbling and scraping at the sheets and crying out my name. The heat blazing off of him, the salt tang of his skin and his sweat and his precome— I was in heaven, knowing that I was doing this to him.
His head shot back on a cry, and I had a half-second to pull away before he erupted.
Wyatt needed a minute to come back afterward, breathing deeply as he clung to the pillow above his head. “Noël,” he kept whispering. I didn’t think anyone had ever said my name so beautifully.
Then we were kissing again, him rising up to cradle my face as I looped my arms around his neck. He groaned, and then he rolled me down to the bed.
And then he kept rolling me, guiding me to my belly as he kissed my shoulder and ran his fingers down my spine. His lips followed, landing on each and every one of my vertebra until his palms bracketed my slender hips and he made a home between my legs. I watched over my shoulder as Wyatt’s fingertips skimmed my legs. His lips were rightthereand—
His tongue moved down the cleft of my ass in a long, wet trail.
I buried my face in the mattress to hide my groan. My legs shot out, feet slapping against the mattress.
Firelight and ocean waves and shooting stars wound up my spine. It was so fucking exposing, and so fucking intimate. So fucking amazing, too. I hitched my knees, opening myself all the way for him.
Wyatt pulled my cheeks wider, sank his thumbs down to the edge of my asshole, and plunged the tip of his tongue inside me.
I wailed, biting cotton and pillow fluff, my eyes shut, my hips rocking, and my ass grinding against Wyatt’s face. His tongue slid in and out of me as his broad fingers teased at the edges of my hole.
Fuck, I wanted him inside me. His tongue, his fingers, even his dick. All of him. I wanted him to burn me up from the inside, take me, change me, and leave me breathless and tearing at sheets long destroyed.
“Do it. Finger me,Wyatt—”
No need to tell Wyatt twice. He worked his finger inside me at the same time he sucked a hickey onto my ass. I tightened, whimpered, and then bucked almost uncontrollably, fucking myself on Wyatt’s finger as I reached behind me and tried to pull his face deeper in my ass. “More—”
