Page 45 of Concealed

And with my go-ahead, he’s on me.

I’m flat on my back before I even process moving. His body is pressed along the length of mine, covering me from head to foot with his solid, comfortable weight before dipping his head to take me.

I can’t decide what to focus on while my senses explode.

His lips expertly taking control of my mouth, leaving me pliable and craving more.

The delicious scent of his skin.

His hand trailing up my side to cup one of my breasts, while his other hand fists in my hair.

The hot, hard heat of him pressing between my legs and making me gasp.

Holy. Shit.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?” he mutters into my neck, before sucking on the sensitive skin.

This is so different from anything I’ve ever experienced. With my first boyfriend, we were both young and naive, spending most of our time in the bedroom – or rather, the back of his car – fumbling.

With Matt, he didn’t give a shit about me or my pleasure. He either wanted a blowjob or what Alex and I not-so-affectionately call jackhammer sex that was more painful and uncomfortable than anything else.

At least it didn’t last long.

But Wyatt’s big body is like a security blanket, and I’ve never felt so small or so protected. He’s shielding me from anything that can hurt me outside of our bubble, and I love being in a private world with him.

Now that he has an all-access pass to my body, his hands are everywhere at once. His touch is somehow both overwhelming and not enough, teasing and tantalizing every erogenous zone on my body.

I want more, but I don’t even know of what.

My chest heaves like I just ran a marathon when I’ve barely moved. He nestles between my thighs and cups my ass, pulling my legs up to wrap around his waist.

When his hand snakes between us and rubs my clit through the thin material of my yoga pants, black pinpricks of light cloud my vision as heat tingles throughout my limbs.

Jesus.

His thumb relentlessly circles the most sensitive spot on my body while his cock grinds against my thigh. The hottest rumbling groans escape from deep inside his chest, and his pleasure ignites a desire so fierce that my core aches.

Something is missing inside me, and the need to be filled is primal.

I slide my hands under his shirt, soaking in his skin and marveling at the hard muscles of his back. This dude is powerful andsolid. It’s indescribable to have him shaking in my arms from wanting me so badly.

His cock is so hard, and I want to wrap my hands around it, but I can’t move. I’m way too scared to do something wrong, and letting him take the lead is much more natural.

“I can’t wait to feel how wet you are,” Wyatt growls into my neck, nipping the sensitive skin. “I want that pretty pussy squeezing my fingers.”

I’m moaning before he’s truly touched me, never realizing until right now how much I love it when a man says filthy things to me.

He’s working his hand down my pants, and it’s only seconds before his palm is between my legs. The heel of his hand rocks against my clit, and he’s maneuvering his fingers underneath the thin – and soaked – material of my thong.

When his fingers part my sensitive skin, a strangled moan is ripped from my throat. I’m already so sensitive that his touch is going to be unbearable on my bare skin.

My body trembles violently, and it takes everything in me to formulate a single word.

“Wyatt,” I cry.

But it’s the wrong kind of cry.

It’s a panicked, oh-shit-I’m-losing-control cry, and since I can’t get out of my head, it’s terrifying. How can he make me feel so much so fast? A guy has never made me orgasm – it’s always been something I’ve done with battery-operated boyfriends.

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