Wyatt watched me, his breathing rough, his hands still on my back but not moving, letting me set the pace.
I pushed his shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
"Your turn," I said, my voice lower now, husky with want.
Wyatt's eyes flashed. His hands came to the buttons of my flannel, and he held my gaze as he undid them, one by one, slow and deliberate. When he pushed the fabric off my shoulders, I wasn't wearing anything underneath, and his sharp inhale was the best sound I'd heard in weeks.
"Tessa." My name was rough in his mouth, almost reverent.
"Bedroom. Now."
I took his hand and led him down the hallway, no hesitation, no second-guessing. My bedroom was exactly as I'd left it this morning, bed made, lamp on the nightstand casting warm light across the quilts Ray's mother stitched decades ago.
I turned to face Wyatt and reached for the button of my jeans.
His hand caught mine. "Let me."
It wasn't a request, not exactly, but it wasn't a demand either. It was an offer, and I took it.
"Okay," I breathed.
Wyatt's fingers made quick work of the button, the zipper, and then he was sliding the denim down my hips, taking my underwear with it, kneeling as he went, his hands warm and sure on my thighs. When the jeans pooled at my feet, I stepped out of them, standing in front of him in nothing.
He looked up at me from his knees, and the expression on his face made the heat pool low in my belly.
"You're so damn beautiful," he said, his voice rough.
I reached down and threaded my fingers through his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan. "Get up here. Now."
Wyatt rose, his hands skimming up my sides, and I reached for his belt. This time, he didn't stop me. I got it undone, popped the button of his jeans, and slid the zipper down slowly, my knuckles brushing against the hard length of him straining against his boxers.
His breath hissed out. "Tessa.”
"Off," I said, hooking my fingers in his waistband.
He pushed both jeans and boxers down in one motion, kicking them aside, and then we were both naked, standing in my bedroom. My gaze dropped, taking in all of him, broad shoulders, defined chest, the trail of dark hair leading down to where he was hard and ready for me.
The wanting was so sharp it almost hurt. Wyatt's eyes flashed dark, and he moved, backing me up until my legs hit the mattress. I sat, then scooted back, and he followed me down, covering my body with his.
The first full press of skin on skin made us both gasp.
"Christ," Wyatt muttered against my neck. "You feel so good."
His mouth found mine, kissing me deep and hungry while his hand slid down my body. There was nothing between us, and his hand was sliding up the inside of my thigh, slow and deliberate.
"Tell me what you want," he murmured against my lips.
"Touch me," I breathed. "I want your hands on me."
His fingers found me, slick and ready, and I gasped at the contact. Wyatt groaned low in his throat. "God, Tessa. You're so wet."
"For you," I managed, my hips rocking into his hand. "All for you."
He worked me with sure, steady strokes, his thumb circling where I needed it most while his fingers slid inside me. The pleasure built fast and sharp, stealing my breath.
"That's it," Wyatt said roughly, watching my face. "Let me see you."
I gripped his shoulders, my nails digging in as the tension coiled tighter. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
