His eyes burn with intensity as he fastens them on me. “You want to be seen. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”
I nod, because I can’t make my vocal cords work. There’s a lump growing in my throat, pressing against them.
“I see you,” he says quietly.
“You do?”
“Yeah.” His teeth dig into his lower lip. “This is messy, Blake.”
“Yes,” I agree.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not going to hurt me.”
“I think you might be wrong about that.” He lets out a ragged breath. “If we do this…”
That elicits a laugh, even as my pulse speeds up again. “If we do what? What exactly are we negotiating here?”
His lips twitch in a faint smile. “Us kissing again without me running off afterward.”
“Bold of you to assume I want to kiss you again.”
The humor fades from his eyes. “Shit. No. You’re right. I’m a presumptuous prick—”
I press my lips to his before he can finish.
He’s startled for a moment, freezing, and I’m worried he’ll push me away. But then he makes a strangled sound and pulls me closer, his fingers in my hair, guiding my head for another kiss.
Heat rushes through me as I lose myself in him. He tastes faintly of smoke and mint and something darker, addictive. My heartbeat is out of control, thudding in my throat and pulsing in my fingers as I cup his cheek, stroking it. When his tongue slides against mine, I can’t stop a soft whimper from slipping out.
Groaning, Wyatt reaches between us and cups my breast over my skimpy tank top. My bra is paper-thin, and I know he feels it when my nipple hardens and scrapes against his palm, because he makes another husky noise and squeezes harder.
With our lips still fused, I climb onto his lap and straddle him, moaning when I feel him against my ass. Hard and ready for me. One hand still caressing my breasts, he brings the other one to where my filmy skirt has ridden up to reveal my thighs. He strokes bare skin, teasing, his thumb grazing my inner thigh.
I’m breathless by the time he breaks the kiss, and then I see the arousal burning in his eyes and forget how to breathe altogether.
“You got on your knees for him,” Wyatt grinds out. He doesn’t sound angry, only tormented. “This goddamn asshole should’ve been onhisknees worshipping you.”
“I didn’t want that.”
His hand stills on my thigh, inches from my panties. “No?”
“You don’t get it. That’s not what I wanted tonight. I mean, obviously it’s nice to be worshipped. But sometimes a girl doesn’t want to just feel good. She wants to be desired. She wants a man to want her so bad that he’s begging for her.”
He swallows. “You want a man to beg for you, freckles?”
I swallow too. “Yeah.”
“You wantmeto beg for you?”
Slowly, I nod.
“Then take off my pants.”
I gulp harder, hesitating. Because I know if we do this, there’s no going back. And if we take things further than kissing and he pushes me away again after? I don’t know if I’d survive it.
But the same way he sees me, I seehimnow. I see how hard he fights himself. How badly he wants to believe this image he’s projected onto himself. That he’s a nomad musician who uses women for sex and then moves on to the next one. I see a beautiful lost boy who needs to recognize he’s got so much more to offer than sex and songs.
