He huffs a quiet laugh and lowers his mouth to my throat. His kisses move slowly—jaw, neck, the place under my ear that makes my toes curl. His hand moves lower, rough palm gliding over the curve of my hip, sliding between my thighs. His fingertraces the seam of my sex, already slick and sensitive, and I can’t help the way my hips tip forward, needing more. He blows out a pained breath.
“Fuck, I love that you’re already wet for me, sweetie,” he rumbles, voice husky.
My breath turns uneven. My thighs tighten around his hand. Wyatt swears under his breath and I reach for him, fingers curling behind his neck, and pull him down to kiss me again. He groans into my mouth.
He slips two fingers inside me, slowly, circling my clit with his thumb. I moan against his mouth and clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in. He moves his fingers so softly, so carefully, I’m tensing with every stroke.
“I want to feel you come on my hand before I fuck you,” he says, voice a low promise at my ear. “Let go for me, sweetheart.”
My breath gets faster, chest heaving as his fingers move, and I lose myself the way I always can with him, his strength and surety always making me feel safe. I clench up, sucking back breath, and then the tension snaps. Pleasure surges through me sharp and bright, and I come shaking, hips rocking helplessly against his hand. He eases, strokes turning gentler, and kisses my temple.
“That’s it. Good fucking girl.”
Before I can catch my breath, he shifts above me, guiding himself to my entrance, pushing in slowly and letting me feel every inch. God, the fullness of him, the way he fills me…I arch up to meet him, needing him deeper. The stretch is so deep, pleasure on the verge of pain. I gasp and dig my fingers into the rock-hard bulk of his biceps as he sinks home.
He pauses there, breathing roughly, and then he starts moving slowly, hips rocking in deep, even strokes like he’s savoring the clench of my pussy around him. Like he’s determined to draw it out. Every push sends a wave of heatrolling through me. He keeps his weight braced on his elbows, one on either side of my head, his gaze never leaving mine. His blue eyes are hungry, but tender, filled with a kind of gentle awe.
He murmurs my name, low and rough, and I feel it all the way down to my toes. “Look at me, sweetie,” he says, the words a command and a plea, and I do. I meet his eyes, and his gaze holds me there, the intensity and intimacy of it making a shiver go through me. It’s the vulnerability and trust. It’s seeing directly what it’s doing to him to be inside me.
He grinds deeper, hitting the spot that makes me gasp, and then he leans in and kisses me, swallowing my moans, his thrusts growing harder until I’m right on the edge again.
“Wyatt—” I can’t get anything else out. I’m gone for him, lost.
He presses his forehead to mine and whispers, “You’re gonna make me come, honey.”
The words tip me over. Pleasure crashes through me, intense and wild. My whole body tightens, locking around him, thighs trembling. I cry out loudly, not caring if anyone hears. I feel myself pulse and flutter around him, and Wyatt groans, the sound raw, his hips stuttering.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he rasps, breath hot against my cheek. He loses rhythm, pounding into me with a desperate urgency. A shudder wracks him, and then he’s coming, spilling inside me as he buries himself to the hilt. His whole body tenses, then shudders, his voice breaking in a low, helpless sound that’s part relief, part wonder.
He stays there for a long beat, our bodies locked together, both of us panting, slicked with sweat. Finally, he kisses me softly, his lips lingering on mine, and then falls back onto his side, pulling me into him, his arm banded around my waist, and I let myself drift in the warmth and the afterglow, every nerve ending sparking.
I’m floating on the verge of sleep, eyes blinking shut against the gray light leaking in around the blinds, when the alarm starts up again.
“Shit,” says Wyatt. “That’s the backup alarm.”
“Thought it didn’t matter for the boss,” I quip.
“That was my boner talking,” he explains. “We gotta go to work. C’mon, hop to it.”
He gets up, and I prop myself on my elbows, taking him in for a second—the broad shoulders and strong back, the long, lean strength of him in the morning light. He stretches, utterly unselfconscious, and I feel such a pang of love and attraction toward him my heart squeezes.
I blink to refocus and stand, grabbing my Leathernecks coveralls from the floor, where I dropped them last night, and pull them up and zip them. Wyatt pulls on a shirt and steps into my space, hands sliding around my waist from behind. His mouth brushes my neck with one quick kiss.
“Worth being late,” he murmurs.
I lean back into him for half a second, enjoying the warmth, then I shove him away. “C’mon, we gotta go to work.”
He laughs and grabs the keys. “Yes, boss.”
The familiar smell of Leathernecks hits me the second we push through the shop door. It’s rubber, oil, metal, old concrete. Not a typically comforting smell combo, maybe, but to me it smells like safety and home. The air is cooler than Wyatt’s apartment, the cement floors holding on to the early spring chill. I breathe it all in like it’s the most welcoming smell on the planet.
The shop lights are on and Luis is already there, bent over a bumper bracket with bolts lined up neatly beside it, a heat gun cooling beside him. He’s got his sleeves rolled to his elbows, tattoos peeking out. He glances up when we come in, face breaking into a grin.
“Mornin’,” he says.
“Morning,” I answer, smiling back, still moving like my bones have become soup.
Wyatt heads straight for the office and I pick up the day’s work orders, leaning against the bench beside Luis and shifting through them.
