Page 64 of Stealing His Cupcake
“Alright. In that case, we should probably take these off,” she tugs on my vest, “and go back to bed.”
“Actually, keep it on.”
Amy’s laugh comes to an abrupt halt when she realizes I’m being serious. “Oh. Hmm. Okay? Should I keep the gun too?”
This time, it’s me laughing. How is she so damn perfect? God, I love this woman! I love Amy. Fuck. Of course I do. How could I not? I love her, but what the fuck am I supposed to do with this revelation? I can’t tell her. Not now when we were just attacked because I was stupid. After I kill Nolan, then…maybe. Yeah, when she’s safe again and I’ve earned the right to say it.
“No guns in bed.” That’s just a recipe for a disaster. “I could give you a thigh knife holster, though. That would be so fucking hot.”
Giggling, Amy grabs the edges of my vest and tugs me into a kiss. “Okay. But only if you keep your gear on.”
I’ve never had sex wearing a bulletproof vest—who has?—but I bet it’ll get hot and uncomfortable fast. Still, I’m unable to refuse Amy anything. Setting my phone to alert me in case of another perimeter breach, I lightly swat Amy’s ass. “Lead the way, my lady.”
Chapter 46
Amy
Letmetellyouone thing. Bulletproof vest sex? Definitely not living up to the hype. The stupid thing is heavy, inflexible and suffocatingly hot, and not in a fun way. Wyatt and I—well, mostly me, since he’s in shape while I’m a couch potato—are drenched in sweat before we even get to the main part. After nearly toppling over when trying to put my mouth on Wyatt’s cock, I angrily yank the stupid thing off.
“This was not as fun as it sounded,” I grumble, finally free to lick the copious pre-cum from Wyatt’s tip.
“Yeah,” he reluctantly agrees. “You did look hot, though.”
Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I glare at him. “I was hot! I’m keeping the knife, though. If you suggest this again, I’ll stab you instead.”
His cock jerks so hard it nearly slaps my cheek. “Incredible,” I say, shaking my head. “Stabbing gets you horny?”
“Well, not actual stabbing,” Wyatt replies, wearing his usual grin. “That’s about as fun as the vests. But you threatening to stab me? Fuck, Amy. I’m about to explode and you haven’t even touched me yet.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re weird. You know that, right?”
“It’s one of my more endearing attributes.”
“Yeah, along with humility,” I tease, cutting Wyatt’s no doubt witty retort by taking his cock into my mouth. He inhales sharply, his hand finding a way into my hair. Leaning on his thighs, I can feel him tremble under me. Partly from arousal, since his cock is hard as steel in my mouth, but I believe it’s at least partly from stress. Or fear. Not for himself, but for me, for my life.
When he came back home, pulling me into his arms and holding me like his life depended on it, desperately making sure I was unharmed despite knowing there was no way I could have gotten hurt, my heart swelled with emotions too strong to name. Or maybe I was just too afraid to name them. After all, love might be the scariest word of all. What if Wyatt doesn’t feel the same? His actions suggest he might have deeper feelings for me, but what if he doesn’t? What if he’s become too jaded, the emotional part of him too broken to feel love? Or, worse, what if he can feel love but doesn’t feel it for me? What if me saying it destroys everything good we’ve been building here? Our relationship is still precarious, still too new and fragile to survive an impact of the L-bomb.
My musings are roughly interrupted by Wyatt’s cock hitting the back of my throat. “Stay with me, cupcake,” he commands, likely having noticed how distracted I am. “You’re safe.” I’m not sure if the fervent words are supposed to convince me or himself. “We’re safe.”
“Yes, we are,” I try to say but it comes out as a gargled mess.
Laughing, Wyatt teases, “What was that, cupcake? Couldn’t quite understand you.”
Since he keeps holding my head down, I can’t answer. Not with words, at least. I can do something else, though. Sucking him as deep as I can without gagging, I swallow around his shaft. Groaning, Wyatt arches against me. “Fuck, Amy. Yes. Keep doing that.”
I swallow again, then back up for air. Wyatt lets me up this time, his cock popping free from my mouth. I blow air on the tip, grinning when Wyattmurmurs something unintelligible. “What was that, husband? Couldn’t quite understand you.”
“Such a brat.” Tightening his grip on my hair, he guides me to lie down on my back. The knife he gave me for our little roleplay is strapped to my thigh over my pajama bottoms, so he has to remove it to undress me. It’s silly, but I kind of miss it. Wyatt either senses it or he really loves seeing me wear it, because once my embarrassingly soaked bottoms are off, he straps the knife right back onto my bare thigh. And okay, I admit it’s really hot.
As he dives between my legs, his tongue tracing the familiar shapes of my pussy on its way to my clit, I thread my fingers through his hair. Hair that is still perfect despite everything tonight, which is incredibly unfair. I’m sure I must look like a wild forest creature compared to him.
Kissing his way down my thigh, Wyatt nips at the strap. “Fuck, this is so hot. Do you want to hold it to my throat when I fuck you?”
Christ on a stick, this man is something else. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to cut you.”
“Cupcake, you can cut me anytime.”
“Darling, I think you should schedule an appointment with Miranda because clearly, I’m not the only one who needs therapy in this relationship. Now, will you please f-fuck me already?” I hate how I stumble on the f-word. Wyatt says it all the time. Everyone does. I don’t want to be that polite, well-behaved girl who can’t say “fuck” without blushing or stuttering anymore. I’m changing, something deep down inside me waking up. Breaking free. I don’t quite understand it, but being able to curse seems like a vital part of that process, so I’ve been trying. It’s surprisingly difficult.
