"We're not playing anymore," I said, but it came out breathless.
"No," he agreed. "We're not."
He kissed me then, deep and slow and thorough. I melted into him with a sigh. His hands slid up my sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts through my bra, and I gasped against his mouth.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured against my lips.
"No."
"Tessa,” he demanded.
"I don't want you to stop." I pulled back just enough to look at him. "I want you. I've wanted you since that kiss in the barn. Maybe before that. I don't know anymore."
Something fierce flared in his eyes. "You sure?"
"I'm sure." I kissed him again, harder this time. "I'm so sure."
He groaned and stood up, taking me with him, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically. He carried me overto the pile of saddle blankets in the corner and laid me down carefully, following me down to cover my body with his.
"I've thought about this," he said roughly, his mouth trailing down my throat. "Too much. Too often."
"Me too," I admitted, arching into him as his hand slid up my ribs.
He unhooked my bra with practiced ease and tossed it aside. Then his mouth was on my breast, and I stopped thinking entirely.
My hands found his shoulders, his back, sliding down to push at his boxers because I needed less fabric between us, needed more skin and heat and him.
He helped me get them off, then worked my underwear down my hips until we were both finally, completely naked.
For a moment, we just looked at each other, breathing hard, the storm raging outside but forgotten.
"You're so damn beautiful," Wyatt said, his hand cupping my face.
"Stop talking," I whispered, pulling him down. "Just kiss me."
He did, and it was nothing like the careful kiss in the barn before. This was raw and desperate and consuming, all teeth and tongue and the kind of hunger that had been building between us for weeks.
His hand slid between my legs, and I gasped at the contact.
"God, Tessa," he groaned. "You're so wet."
“That’s your fault," I managed, my hips rocking into his touch.
He worked me with his fingers, slow and deliberate, watching my face as I came apart. When I was close, trembling on the edge, he pulled his hand away.
I made a sound of protest, but he just kissed me and shifted his weight.
"Condom," he muttered against my mouth. "Please tell me you have one.”
"Jeans pocket," I gasped. "Left side."
He grabbed my jeans and fumbled through the pocket, pulling out the condom I'd been carrying since that first kiss, just in case.
"Optimistic," he said with a grin.
"Prepared," I corrected.
He rolled it on then settled between my thighs, the blunt head of him pressing against me.
