I reach for his butt and tug his cheek, lifting my hips to meet his thrust. "Yes!"
"Say please," he orders.
"Please!" I beg, adrenaline attacking me.
"Tell me to break you," he demands, his face beet red, his teeth gritted.
"Break me," I plead, my voice hoarse.
"Hold on, sugar," he warns, then thrusts so hard and fast inside me that it feels like he pushed through my stomach and into my throat.
I can't think or speak. For a brief moment it's painful, then a volcano of endorphins erupts, taking me so high, it's like an out-of-body experience.
I grip him tighter to me, turning into a rag doll under him, trembling as fiercely as an earthquake and unable to see anything but the blur of the Christmas lights.
I barely hear him shout, "That's it, sugar. Take it. Take all of it." He thrusts again, then grunts and grits out, "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop. Your fucking tight little body was made just for me. I'm right there!"
"Wyatt!" I breathe, drowning in my high.
He kisses me, stealing all the air I have left, then groans. He bellows, "Shit! I'm coming, baby. I can't stop it." His cock stretches me further, and I gasp.
Each thrust is wicked. They're hard, fast, and claim every inch of my body. And then he pumps fire inside me, like a hydrant out of control. He growls, "Jesus, Willow!" and buries his face into the curve of my neck.
Several minutes pass full of short, hot breaths, beating hearts, and tangled limbs.
He kisses my throat, makes his way to my jaw, then slides his tongue into my mouth.
I drown all over again, exhausted but happy.
He finally retreats and brushes the hair off my forehead. In a serious tone, he states, "My Christmas gift is never going to compete with yours."
I smile, then I laugh, and he laughs too. We stay in the cabin for several hours, kissing, cuddling, and enjoying every moment.
When we leave to return to the main house, one thing is even more clear.
Wyatt Houston was meant to be mine.
Now and forever.
12
Wyatt – Age 20
Four Months Later
"Hey," Willow's hushed voice floats through the air.
I spin, and a grin takes over my face. "Sugar, how'd you get back here?"
She glances behind her and then shuts the dressing room door. She leans against the wood, crossing one bare leg over the other and pointing her fringy, white cowboy boot to the side. She bats her lashes at me. "I wanted to say good luck."
My cock strains against my zipper. I tease, "Are you trying to make me lose my concentration coming in here wearing those shorts?"
She smirks, slowly grazes her fingers over the edge of the cut-off denim, and innocently asks, "These old things?"
I grunt and close the distance between us. I lean over her, stopping an inch from her lips, and warn, "Be careful, sugar. I might have to skip this event and pretend you're the bull I need to ride."
She breathlessly taunts, "Don't tease me, Wyatt."
