Shifting my gaze, I watch as Thomas’s eyes slowly blink open.
He opens his mouth to speak, but an indiscernible croak from his unused voice is all he manages.
Ariah’s chest shutters, silent sobs racking her body, as some of the tension is expelled, she visibly relaxes.
“We need the doctor. Get the doctor.” She jumps into action, reaching the call button to get help.
Seconds later, doctors and nurses rush into the room.
“We’re going to need you both to leave while we do a full examination,” a short female doctor says.
Ariah makes a mewl of protest.
“I understand you want to be here, Miss Bishop, but my primary concern is for Mr. Garrett’s health. You can return in a few hours.” Her statement is more a directive than a suggestion.
“Come on, Angel, let’s go grab a few things and come back,” I urge, holding her hand and pulling her out of Thomas’s room.
We make it to my car before she says, “He’s alive.” Her words are so quiet, like she’s convincing herself what her eyes have seen.
Kissing her cheek as I buckle her seatbelt, I say, “Yes, he’s alive, and he’ll be back on his feet and protecting you in no time.”
Ten minutes later, we pull up outside of Wyatt’s house. He’s out his front door before I can fully put the car in park.
“How is she?” he asks, while his eyes do their own inventory. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t care what words were spoken. I’d also need to check she was alright myself.
“She’s still in shock, but we’re going to take care of her and then bring her back to see Thomas. She won’t take the word of the doctor over the phone.”
Usually, Ariah would have something smart to say about us talking like she’s not standing right here, but she remains seated in the car, making no attempts to leave.
Wyatt pulls open her door, releasing her seatbelt, lifting her to bring her inside. “Let’s take care of you, Love,” he mumbles, kissing the top of her head.
She rests her head on his chest, inhaling his scent, but she still won’t speak. If she didn’t just sniff Wyatt, I’d think she was catatonic.
We continue through the house until we have her upstairs in Wyatt’s bathroom. He’s prepared his jacuzzi-sized tub with dozens of tealight candles that smell like lavender and eucalyptus.
Placing her on the counter, he says, “Help me undress her.”
I start with her shoes, unlacing her sneakers, pulling off her socks, and massaging her instep. She lets out a short, slow groan.That’s it, Angel, come back to us.My eyes connect with Wyatt’s, our plan is an unspoken agreement.
He loosens her makeshift bun, kissing along her ear. As he runs the tips of his fingers through her hair, I work my hands up her foot to her calf.
A contented sigh escapes her, her head lolling to the side, exposing her throat.
“That’s it, Angel” I cajole, nipping a path up her legs.
When I reach the juncture of her thighs, I look up. Her soft gray eyes appear slate as our gazes lock while I pull down her black spandex shorts.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Wyatt licking his way down her exposed neck and laying her back against the counter.
“Please,” she whimpers, and we’re both more than happy to oblige.
“Shhh, we’ll take care of you,” Wyatt replies, silencing her pleas and biting into the flesh of her neck before pulling her Bone Thugs-N-Harmony shirt over her head.
What I see stops my ministrations. She’s breathtaking. Ariah clothed is perfection in its rarest form. But, nothing I imagined compares to what she looks like laid out on this countertop.
Her dark bluish-black locks are fanned out, breasts overflowing from her lace leopard-print bra with matching boyshorts, thighs so thick I can’t wait to feel them squeezed in my grasp, and an ass so fucking fat I can see it while she’s on her back. My fucking dick throbs, jerking like it’s a dowsing rod, and she’s a divine source of sustenance.
Wyatt reaches between her breasts to unclasp her bra. The cups fall open, and I groan at the sight of her erect, blush pink nipples.
