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"I just wanted you to be sure."
"I'm sure. And thanks. Now kiss me."
The smile he gave her was the kind any sane woman would call dangerous. He pulled her glasses off and set them down, put his hand on the nape of her neck and drew her close.
He hovered, his lips just an inch from hers. "You make me crazy, Calliope."
She palmed his chest. "Trust me. The feeling is mutual."
And then their lips touched again, and it was like a burst of fireworks. Wow, he really could kiss. Wyatt was formidable, no doubt about that. Her toes curled, her legs felt like jelly, and she was damn glad he had all that muscle in his frame to hold her up, because she sank against him, sighing against his lips as he overpowered her with his sheer masculinity. She breathed him in, the scent of outdoors, brandy and beer mingling together.
When he lifted her in his arms--and she was no lightweight--she felt small and feminine, and decided she liked that sensation.
He moved down the hall and bent to open her bedroom door, found the light switch and flipped it on, then settled her in the middle of her bed, coming down on top of her, his mouth taking hers again in a kiss that made her writhe with impatience. She wanted clothes off, needed to feel his bare skin against hers. She reached between them, pulling at his shirt.
He lifted, straddling her, and unbuttoned his shirt. She laid her hands on his thighs and watched as he pulled the flannel shirt off and the T-shirt underneath, leaving his torso bare.
She sucked in a breath. Wide shoulders, well-muscled chest and arms, and flat, washboard abs, not from time spent at the gym, she imagined, but from honest-to-God labor. She snaked her hands along his stomach and farther down, where a soft line of hair disappeared into his jeans. She reached for his belt buckle but he snatched her hands away and placed them on the bed.
"But you're not naked yet."
"I'll get there." He lifted her sweatshirt over her stomach, leaned down and pressed a kiss to her belly.
His lips on her skin were just as flame-inducing as his kisses. She wondered if spontaneous combustion was possible. She'd really hate to set him on fire, especially before they had sex. But seeing his mouth on her stomach as he gradually lifted her shirt and mapped his way north made her heart pound so hard she was sure he could hear it. She knew he had to feel it, because it ricocheted throughout her body.
"Lift," he said, and she arched enough so he could pull the shirt over her head.
His lips curved, and he laid his hand over one of her breasts, covered only by the flimsy, discount-store purchased bra. Dammit, if she'd known she was going to have sex with Wyatt tonight she'd have put her more expensive lingerie on. She made a mental note to drag out the hot lingerie, so she'd be prepared for future events. And there would be future events, because every touch of his fingers and hands to her body was like she'd never been touched before. Her nipples peaked and hardened while she panted like the woman in heat she was. He brushed a thumb over the bra and she arched against him.
"Tell me what you want."
She lifted her gaze to his, saw the intensity, the hunger and need there. Yup. He was going to set her on fire before the night was over. "I want your hands and your mouth on me."
He reached under her and lifted her, undid the clasp in an instant and drew the straps down her shoulders, then laid her back down. He stared at her, not moving to touch her.
"You're beautiful, Calliope."
A heated flush spread over her body as he continued to look down on her like she was some goddess or something. She'd never thought herself particularly breathtaking, but she wasn't hideous, either. She was pretty in an average sort of way. She kept her body in shape--God knew running after kids burned a lot of calories. But her sister was the real beauty in the family, and Wyatt had been married to her.
Yet as his gaze burned into hers and she saw the lust in his eyes, the pure male appreciation, she knew then he wasn't comparing her to Cassandra. The desire he felt was for her.
She reached up and swept her hand across his jaw, tingling at the sensation of his beard tickling her palm.
"I think you're pretty hot, too, Wyatt."
He cupped her breast, then bent and took a nipple in his mouth. She sighed at the sheer pleasure of it, watched as he sucked her nipple, licked it, teased it with his tongue. Sensation shot south and she bit down on her lip to keep from whimpering. It had been an embarrassingly long time since she'd been with a guy.
Boys, really. That's what they'd been, while Wyatt was a man. A man who knew his way around a woman's body. A man with infinite patience. This wasn't about quickly stripping her clothes off so he could get right to the action. He worshipped her body, licking her nipples, teasing her into an absolute frenzy of passion until she was mindless, breathless and writhing without shame.
And when she thought she couldn't take any more, he kissed her, so deeply and passionately she forgot all about getting right to the action. She lost herself in the taste of him, the different textures of his face. She reached up to touch the softness of his lips, the scratchiness along his jaw line, and the silkiness of his hair as she threaded her fingers through the strands to hold on for dear life while he fondled her breasts and kissed her until she lost all sense of time.
Only then did he caress his fingers along her ribs and stomach and make his way to her jeans, releasing the button effortlessly and drawing the zipper down in a way she found ridiculously sexy.
He didn't even bother taking her jeans off, just dove his hand inside and cupped the center of her, drawing out a low moan she couldn't contain. She was hot, wet and ready--had been for weeks now. She strained, lifted against his touch, meeting his gaze as release found her and he took her mouth, absorbing her cries.
He held her as she settled, then her jeans came off, her panties, and he moved down her body, put his mouth on her and amped her up all over again.
She'd never known a man like him before, so eager to please when she knew it had been a long time for him, too. But she lost herself in what he was doing to her, and after he gave her a second climax, she was limp.
When he climbed off the bed and shucked his jeans and boxer briefs, she rolled over on her side and sucked in her lower lip between her teeth, studying the utter beauty of his body. She rolled over and pulled a box of condoms out of the nightstand.
He arched a brow. "Have men coming and going regularly?"
She laughed. "Ha. Never. But I was hopeful about you so I figured I should be prepared."
He put his hand on his hips, and lord, he was magnificent. Powerful, hard and beautiful. She pulled a condom out of the box and he put it on, came to her and nudged her legs apart.
He stilled, watching her as he fit his cock inside her.
It was perfect, this moment everything she could have imagined as he filled her, swelling inside her. They fit together in so many ways, especially like this.
This time she didn't hold back, whimpering at the sheer pleasure of every sensation, every movement.
He brushed her hair away from her face, kissed her jaw, her nose, her mouth, then took her lips in a deep kiss as he moved within her. She wrapped her legs around him and lifted.
They strained together, murmured and kissed as passion ignited between them. Hands clasped, Calliope gave as much as Wyatt did, knowing this might be her only chance to show him what he meant to her--how much this moment meant as the tensions they both held united. He drove within her, relentless in his pursuit of her pleasure. She didn't think she was capable of it, but as he ground against her, refusing to give up until she did, she finally broke on a harsh cry, and he went with her, slipping his hand underneath her to tilt her close while he shuddered and buried his face in her neck.
She stroked his back and his hair, unable to believe this had really happened. When he rolled to the side he pulled her with him, adjusting her so her back was against him.
She wondered if he'd feel awkward. Wyatt was so quiet, but he kissed the back of her head, caressed her arm and cupped her breast in a lazy, playful way that made her smile.
He didn't speak--she knew he wouldn't--so she knew she'd have to be the one to break the silence.
"Well. That was pretty good."
His hand stilled. "Pretty good?"
"Yeah. For a first time and all."
He rolled her onto her back and she grinned at him.
"Not funny."
She laughed "I thought it was. Wyatt, you nearly killed me. I came three times. I don't think it gets much better than that."
She knew he fought it, but his lips curved in that supremely male satisfied way. "It's still early. Trust me. It gets better."
He leaned over and kissed her, and she sighed, shocked to realize she was ready to go again.
It was going to be a long night.
Wyatt left Cal
liope's house early the next morning before the sun came up.
She was on her stomach on the bed, buried under the blankets. Her face was flushed, her curls spread all over the pillow.
He'd never seen anything more beautiful.
She'd looked warm. He knew she would be. He could have shucked his clothes and climbed in the bed with her, woken her up by making love to her again.
Instead, he'd gotten dressed and left the house as quiet as he could so he wouldn't wake her.
More like so he wouldn't have to talk to her. Face her. Have that inevitable conversation about how this could never happen again.
Once had been bad enough. Though they hadn't really done it once, had they? More like three times.
He started the truck and let it warm up while he cleaned off all the snow. A couple feet on the ground at least. Damn good snowfall, but the salt trucks and plows had been busy last night so the roads looked passable. He should make it just fine, though he doubted any of the businesses would be open today, including Calliope's day care center.
He climbed in the truck and eased it away from the curb. It pulled right off the frozen snow mound and into the street without a problem.
The main roads were even better than the side streets. He should stop at the office, see if anyone made it in, but he decided he needed to go home, take a shower, grab something to eat.
He should have left her a note.
Nah. He wasn't a note kind of guy. She'd figure it out. She was smart. Though it was rude to just leave.
Then again, she should be used to him being rude.
After all, she'd been nice enough to invite him in last night. She'd fed him. Hell, she'd slept with him.
And he'd just walked out on her this morning.
That made him an asshole. The kind of guy he'd been before. The kind of guy who'd been married to Cassandra.
Maybe he should stop being that kind of guy.
By the time he pulled into his garage at home, he'd decided too much introspection wasn't good for him. It didn't come out in his favor. He brewed some coffee and sat at the kitchen table, looking out at the piles of snow in his backyard, and wondering what the hell he was going to do with his day.
