Page 138 of Tempting Wyatt
Fixing my own plate and bringing over the platter of sausage once I drain the grease off it, I resolve to focus on the moment. I can give Ivy a hell of a lot of orgasms in the time we have left. Try my damnedest to convince her to stay.
“Is that peanut butter on your pancakes?”
Her question pulls me from my thoughts.
“It is. Weird, I know. I’ve just never cared much for syrup.”
Her brow scrunches. “I wanna try.”
I watch as she makes a little sandwich out of a pancake, a piece of nearly burned sausage, and peanut butter.
She takes a bite and moans. “Oh my God,” she mumbles around the food. “So good.”
I grin. “Guess I’ll have to try it then.”
She waits like I’m going to fix my own, but I lunge and steal a bite of hers.
“Hey!” Her adorable squeal rings in my ears.
“Mmm,” I murmur as I chew. “It is pretty good. And efficient. I like it.”
“Can we call it the Ivy Special?” she asks with a gleam in her hazel eyes.
I pretend to think it over. “Nope.”
She pouts. “Why not?”
I take my time, casually clearing everything in front of me to the side. “Because ever since you walked in here in only my shirt, professing your undying love for me, I’ve been thinking about having the Ivy Special for breakfast.”
Without another word, I lift her from her chair and pull her into my lap. Kissing her so deeply that I can taste the peanut butter on her lips, I growl into her mouth. She moans in response, not protesting a single bit when I lift her from my lap and lay her on the table before me.
If I only have a few days with this woman, I’m making every single one of them count.
Starting now.
“Your breakfast will get cold,” she whispers as I spread her legs wide before me.
“I’m looking at my breakfast.” I open her gently with my fingertips, then slide my tongue directly up her sweet, wet slit. “And it’s plenty hot, baby.”
She writhes like a woman possessed on the table, back arching and thrusting her perfect tits upward. I tear her—well,my—shirt open so I can see all of her, then resume flaying her open with my tongue.
When I plunge it inside her, she cries out. My name. Then a string of yeses and pleas for me to continue. When I press two fingers inside her tight heat while sucking her clit, she comes all over me, seizing against the wooden table so hard that it sounds like the headboard thumping did last night.
I need to be inside her. I can’t stop myself.
I stand so abruptly that my chair falls backward. My cock is in my hand before I have a rational thought about a condom.
“Fuck, angel. I need inside you.”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Please. Now.”
She grips my dick suddenly.
The overwhelming sensation threatens to knock me on my ass. I’m lightheaded but driving into her forcefully over and over. She’s sensitive and still pulsing and clenching from her recent orgasm, milking my dick with every thrust.
Her walls tighten just as I’m about to explode. I’ve got to pull out. I should. No birth control is guaranteed to work every time.
But, fuck me, I don’t want to. I want to fill her with me, day and night, until this house is full of miniature versions of us in every room.
