Page 17 of Worth Risking It

However, gazing down at Wyatt, my soul ached that we were “just friends.” It wasn’t just his body or the sex I missed. Before the affair even began, we had gotten close, spending time together, having fun, trusting one another.

Since everything came to an abrupt halt, there had been a slight wedge between us that seriously hurt my heart. I felt incomplete at times. Seeing him every day, not being able to touch him, was physically straining.

Without thinking what I was doing, for I was lost in his peaceful expression, I raked the backs of my fingers from his elbow, down his biceps, through the hair at his armpits, to gently tug the piercings.

He made a sharp inhale, his lids snapping open to glare.

For a moment, I held his peer, gradually making my way up the center of his chest to the sides of his neck, my fingers combing his hair off his brow.

His nostrils flared, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

I withdrew and bowed my head. Stepping to the sink, I washed the oil from my hands. “Better?”

The table creaked from his weight as he sat up. Peeking at him, he was rolling his head around his shoulders, rotating his arms.

“Jesus, kitten, that was amazing. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

I tingled that he was pleased. Cutting off the water, I got a clean towel to dry my hands. “Well, just be warned, that was a bad knot, so it’s probably going to seize up on you again. I’ll probably have to massage you a couple more times over the next day or so to make it stay away.”

“Shit,” he scoffed, tipping his head toward the ceiling with an exaggerated sigh. “No complaints.”

He hopped to the floor, a hand holding the towel. The sides fell and I got a glimpse at the ring just below his base. So relaxed now, he didn’t even think twice about tossing it to the table to get dressed.

I bit the bottom corner of my mouth, eyeing the thick, hard cock with the piercings. Thinking about the last time we were intimate brought on a sense of dread. Milo had called in the middle of it, before we could finish. Had I known then that would be the last time, I would have…

Would have what? Asked him not to tie me up so we could hold one another? Kissed him a little longer? I definitely would have savored the moment better.

Sadness engulfed me, making me weary. I got the spray bottle and squirted the table, getting another towel to clean the oil away while he dressed. Knowing he was watching, I refused to look at him. I couldn’t. I knew the second our eyes met, I would buckle and throw myself at him.

His belt rattled as he fastened it right as I finished cleaning. Tossing the dirty towels in the hamper in the corner, I picked up his shoes and we left the room in silence. Climbing into the elevator, the doors closed, and we began the slow rise to the second floor.

His palm slid over my cheek and coaxed me to look at him. I was emotionally exhausted from the last few months, so tears welled when I gazed up at him. His thumb stroked my cheekbone, the pad brushing the bottom row of lashes. Closing my eyes, I leaned into his palm to let out a small, quiet sob.

Wyatt sighed and tugged me closer, his thick arms so gentle with his embrace. My face in the center of his chest, I dropped the clunky shoes and clung to him, crying, though I had no idea why. So overwhelmed with emotions, I didn’t even know why I was weeping.

The elevator slowed to a stop and the door swished open, but we didn’t move. He just held me, his lips pressed to the top of my head, and let me work through whatever this was about.

Chapter 7

Chastity Monroe

Stepping off the elevator, I crept across the thin carpet in the hallway to the entrance of Wyatt’s apartment on the third floor. Lifting my fist, I started to lower it but knocked anyway. I was worried about him. He wasn’t answering his cell and it had been several hours since I gave him that massage. What if his back seized up on him and he was immobile?

Concerned when he didn’t answer after a couple minutes, I opened the door and poked my head inside, looking left and right down the narrow hallway. Right across from the entrance was a half bath with a washer and dryer. I went left, checking the “L” shaped kitchen. Finding it empty, I checked the living room. I pouted and then grew anxious, my sight looking over my left shoulder at the bedroom.

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door. No answer, so I pushed it open. Sliding the pocket door to the walk in closet showed all his clothes hanging neatly, his shoes lined in a perfect row on the floor. His bedroom and bathroom were empty.

Where the hell was he? He was here. I knew he was. He wouldn’t leave me alone, ever.

Making my way back through the apartment, I entered the study, full of unpacked boxes. I wove through them and pushed the curtain back on the French doors that led to his private patio.

He was lounging in one of the chairs, smoking a cigarette.

Flooded with relief, I turned the knob, and it creaked open so I could shimmy outside. Immediately overwhelmed with a burst of wind, I hugged my arms to myself and shuddered.

Wyatt stood, went to the outdoor heater, and cranked it up before flinging himself on the padding once more.

“You okay?”