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CHAPTER 8

NAOMI

The drive to Wyatt’s house is a study in quiet anticipation. Neither of us says much, but every time his hand comes close to the center console, my entire body lights up like a pinball machine. The city fades behind us, and the houses grow farther apart, lawns giving way to stubborn prairie grass and rolling fields.

I watch him under the soft blue glow of the dashboard, noticing his strong, impassive jaw, the small scar on his chin, and the way his eyes dart to me every few seconds, as if ensuring I haven't changed my mind.

I’m not sure what I expected, perhaps music, or awkward small talk, or some kind of romantic overture, but he’s just steady. The hum of the engine and the low drone of the radio make it feel like we’re driving into outer space.

We arrive at a charming single-story house nestled behind a lush front lawn. The driveway is paved with smooth cobblestones, leading to a welcoming wrap-around porch adorned with hanging flower baskets. Glowing softly, the porch lamp casts a warm glow over the pristine wooden swing. A state-of-the-art grill sits neatly to the side, ready for a summer barbecue. The house exudes a sense of warmth and hospitality, inviting you in with its picturesque landscaping and idyllic charm.

“Your home is stunning.” I tell him.

“I spent the last week sprucing it up,” he glances over at me and shrugs, “I wanted it to be perfect for you.” Melted! My heart freaking turns to goo and I almost blurt out “I love you,” but I somehow manage to bite the words back.

“You really are perfect.” I tell him instead.

He parks, kills the lights, and looks at me. “Are you sure you’re ready for tonight?” he says, and it’s the first time he’s hesitated all night.

I laugh, probably a little too loudly. “Wyatt, if you don’t get me inside, I’m going to jump your bones right here.”

He nods, like he respects my commitment to efficiency, and gets out to open my door. Gentleman. Even now. “Can we get to the bone jumping once we get inside?” he smiles and places a soft kiss on my nose. “I don’t want to share you with anyone who would happen to drive by.”

“Okay.” Inside, the house is immaculate, and completely bare. There are zero decorations except for a huge vase filled with way more than eleven red roses sitting on the granite countertop. “The roses are beautiful.” I point at them.

“I’m glad you like them.” He smiles as I look around noticing there are no family pictures anywhere, and the furniture is all new. The only evidence of a personal life is a dog-eared stack of Clive Cussler novels and a pair of well used running shoes by the back door.

Wyatt gives a little shrug, watching me explore. “Sorry, it’s kind of a work in progress.”

I shrug right back. “It’s perfect. This is beautiful.”

He gestures to the living room. “Couch or kitchen?”

“Couch. Absolutely couch,” I laugh and bravely add. “We can try out the kitchen countertops some other time.” His eyebrows shoot up as I wink at him. I’m not sure where this bravery is coming from but I’m going to run with it.

“Goals.” He teases and takes my hand to lead me to the living room. “Want to start off by watching a movie and we can see where things go?”

“It’s a good start.” There goes that bravery again.

We sit touching on the black leather sofa, both pretending we’re not calculating the angle and trajectory of our eventual collision. He grabs a remote, flips through streaming services, and lands on some thriller. I try to pay attention to the plot, but all I can think about is the curve of his forearm and the way his thigh keeps flexing whenever he shifts.

He glances over. “You want a drink?”

“Are you nervous?” I tease.

He considers. “Honestly? I’m having a hard time behaving myself, but I don’t want to rush you. This is too goddamn important.”

I scoot closer, my thighs brushing against his, and there’s not a single molecule of space between us. A shiver runs through even as I feel the heat radiating off him like a freaking furnace. “I don’t want you to behave,” I whisper, my voice dripping with need. “I’m dying for you.”

He turns to me, his eyes dark and hungry, like a predator about to pounce. “Fucking hell,” he growls, his voice rough and low. “You’re so goddamn perfect. And all mine.”

Before I can even blink, he slides his massive hand up the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair, and pulls me into his lap. I let out a little yelp, but it’s swallowed by his mouth as he crashes his lips against mine. The kiss is hot, deep, and so damn intense it makes my head spin. His tongue invades my mouth, claiming me like he owns me, and I’m already wetter than a waterfall.

His hands are everywhere—first cradling my face for his kiss, then gripping my waist in a tight grip and finally sliding down to massage my ass. Sensations bombard me from all directions. His beard scratches against my skin, and it’s the best kind of sting, the kind that makes me shiver and moan. I grind down hard feeling his thick and rock-hard cock, straining against his pants, and it sends a jolt of pure lust straight to my core.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters against my lips, his voice thick with desire. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

His words barely register in my mushy mind. “Yeah?” I pant, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “I need you.”