Page 130 of Tempting Wyatt
“Wyatt, please,” she begs, her first coherent plea since we started.
“Please what, angel?”
“Inside,” she pants, “I need you inside.”
I’m still dressed, so I spread her thighs and stand. “Stay spread for me, baby.”
She nods, and I see the submission in her eyes. She’d do anything I asked right now. Anything at all.
I have some rope in the mudroom. If I had the patience, I’d go grab it. Oh well. There’s always later.
Because seeing her like this, I can’t tear myself away. It’s a struggle to get undressed quickly enough to get back to her.
Once I do, her eyes wild eyes rake over my entire body.
“Damn, rancher.” She bites her lower lip. “No notes. You are utterly perfect.”
I don’t know exactly what no notes means, but I stroke my fully erect dick and move toward her.
“It’s going to be a tight fit, sweet girl,” I warn her as I prop on the bed on my knees and grab a condom from my night table. The box isn’t even open, which I am regretting a whole lot right now as I tear the cardboard with my teeth like a feral animal.
Ivy grins up at me. “We’re not even going to talk about how happy I am that that box wasn’t opened.”
Rolling the latex over my length, I meet her stare. “It’s been a while, baby. Maybe take it easy on me.”
Her entire face brightens as I lean in to kiss her. “I’ll be gentle.”
“Liar,” I whisper. Our lips meet just as I reach the juncture between her thighs. The second I slide into her body, I feel her scorching heat, the push of her tight muscles telling me this might cause her some pain if I’m not careful.
Easing inside Ivy for the first time feels like coming home. The enormity of the moment isn’t lost on me. My heart pounds like never before, beating so hard in my chest the sound should fill the room.
Willow was probably right—Ivy was supposed to be someone else’s happily ever after.
A suit-wearing slick prick somewhere will never find his soulmate now because I have her. Too bad for that motherfucker, because I have no intentions of ever letting her go.
There is nothing else, no one else. Just me and her in this moment.
She came here to escape, to get away from a humiliating encounter that hurt her, uprooted her. Tossed into the wind like dandelion seeds on the breeze, she landed here. I’m so fucking grateful she did that I almost start thanking God or the universe or whoever is responsible on a roar as I drive into her heat over and over.
Her pussy squeezes me in pulsing waves, each thrust pulling me closer to the edge of a cliff I can never come back from. As our bodies find a rhythm and begin moving in sync, I have to fight the urge to say every thought in my head aloud.
Plant your roots here. Never leave.
This bed, this house, this ranch.
Me.
Small soft hands land on my face and pull me toward hers. “I’m close, Wyatt,” she breathes, and I lock in on her, adjusting my angle and slowing my pace to get her there.
“Come for me, angel. Come on my fucking cock. Make a mess, baby.”
We come together, her crying out and convulsing, bucking like a wild bronc as I roar like a lion above her.
Using the headboard to hold half my weight above her so I don’t crush her, I memorize her face, her hair, her shoulders and firm breasts as she recovers from her violent orgasm.
The memory will have to suffice, because when she’s gone, it’s all I’ll have left.
It won’t be enough.
