I shake my head, and my lips part. But words don’t come out. I’m too shell-shocked. Wyatt’s hand reaches over Brinley to brush back a piece of hair that falls from my bun. “No one could have broken through with that horse the way you did, Winnie. And after seeing you two today?” he swallows, “I’d never take that bond from you. From either of you.”
Love doesn’t describe what I feel for Wyatt, I realize. It really, really doesn’t. Because Wyatt doesn’t just give me pretty promises and bullshit lines. He shows it. Every day, with every action—both the big and the small, he shows it. Like how he remembers the exact amount of creamer I like in my coffee. Or how he can clock when Brinley is overstimulating me and sweeps her away without a word. How he understands that I need Maggie, for whatever reason unbeknownst to me, Ineedher. And losing her may very well have gutted me. He shows up, and never bats an eye. Never makes it feel like a burden, or a chore.That’swhat makes me love him. The revelation swallows me whole, but it doesn’t feel as scary when I look into those blueeyes. It comforts me, because regardless of where or how I end up, he will always be that steady, consistent rock in my life. In Brinley’s life.
“And you?” I breathe, “Are you mine, too?”
We haven’t talked—haven’t solidified what this is or where it’s going. But I’m his. Wyatt might never feel the depth of what I feel for him, but it doesn’t matter. No, I don’t care. Because I’m keeping him, whether he knows it or not, I’m keeping him.
He somehow shatters me and puts back together again when he says, “I’ve been yours since day one, Winnie.”
Before I can let emotions overrun me, he’s relaxing back in bed and roaming his eyes over me with cool amusement. “Now, you gonna tell me about the little redecorating you did in the living room?”
Chapter Thirty
WYATT
Ilean against the kitchen doorway as I watch Whitney run around and get ready for the day. I’d missed her and Brinley like crazy this past weekend and was more than relieved when I finally pulled back into the ranch. Brinley and I spent the morning making pancakes before my mom picked her up.
I have some work I want to get done, and Whitney’s been talking about this yoga session with her new friend Amaya nonstop. I’m still reeling over the sight of Whitney on the back of Maggie yesterday. She’s made so much progress in such little time. It makes me happy to see her so excited to do something as simple as start the day—something I know she struggled with just a mere month ago.
She’s wearing a red workout set this morning. And not just any red—but a deep, burgundy color. It makes her tan skin pop and brightens her mossy-green eyes. The yoga pants look like a second skin–hugging her thighs just right and flaring out slightly at the bottom. My self-control hangs by a thread, because I want nothing more than to mess up the perfectly slicked back ponytail she now wears, too. She slips on an athletic jacket in that same burgundy color, oblivious to the way my eyes trail her. And when she zips it halfway—the movement jerkingher tits slightly–I start envisioning what it would feel like to peel off the soft and sleek material, how it would sound when I licked—“What are you staring at?” Her no-bullshit tone cuts through my inappropriate thoughts. She’s cocking her hip, coffee in one hand, and a bag slung over her opposite shoulder. I blink, taken aback by the sudden sass. “I can’t just look at you?”
“If you’re thinking about fucking me right now? No. I don’t want to be late.” She takes a sip of her coffee, eyeing me over the mug. The way she saysfuckingreally, really makes me want to make her late. Andfuck me,that little smirk she’s got going on isn’t helping.
I’m obsessed with my wife—and not in the healthy sort of way. In the look-at-her-and-die kind of way.
Maybe I need to try some meditation. Otherwise, I’ll start looking less like a husband and more like a caveman.
“If you think I can’t have you coming in less than five minutes, you’re underestimating my abilities.” She places her mug down gently, crossing her arms. “I think you'reoverestimatingyour abilities.”
“Come here,” I demand, pushing off the wall. Playful tone and patience gone. I’d fuck that attitude right out of her mouth. “No,” She lifts her chin. I take a step forward. She takes one back. “Make me ask again, Whitney.”
I see it before she moves—the slight glance she makes toward the front door. When she goes to bolt, I cut her off. My arm wraps around her middle, and I’m quickly hauling her off the floor and throwing her over my shoulder like a rag doll. “Wyatt!” She shrieks.
I ignore her, only putting her down when I settle on the couch and press her body over my knees. I yank down her leggings and thong in one swift motion. The sight of her bare sex makes me hiss, and I can’t refrain from leaning down to playfully bite her ass. She squeals, trying to wiggle out of my grip, butshe doesn’t get far. I don’t give her time to protest before I draw my hand back. “This is for that little outfit you have on.”Smack.“That’s for running your mouth.”Smack.“Andthat’sfor driving me fucking crazy all of the time.”Smack.
The last blow earns me a deep, guttural moan. She’s enjoying this—just like I knew she would. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to shock her, jolting her body forward with each slap. I run a hand down her back, and over the curve of her ass. She squirms in my hold, like she’s seeking friction where she needs it most. When I finally get there, I brush my knuckles over her cunt, teasing her with slow, soft strokes. Satisfaction curls around my insides at the wetness dripping down her thighs and coating my hand. “You’re fucking soaked,” I mutter. “This all for me?”
When she doesn’t respond, I bend down. I grab her cheeks, squishing them as I force her to meet my eyes. They’re full of lust—eyes bright and face red. “Whose pussy is this, Whitney?” I ask, planting a light kiss to her parted mouth.
“Mine,” She bites out, narrowing her eyes on mine. But I feel her thighs squeeze together, so I let go of her face and focus back on her tight little body resting over mine. “Sorry,” I tsk, “I don’t think I heard you.” I draw my hand back, landing a light smack to her cunt in retaliation.
“Yours!” she cries when her body jerks forward again. “Yours, Wyatt. Just- just, please.”
“Please, what?” I ask, tugging her ponytail so her head tilts up a fraction. It’s like a leash—andfuckdo I love to use it. “Make you finish all over my lap? Is that what you need, baby?”
“Yes.” The word barely leaves her lips before I plunge two fingers into her pussy. She’s so wet it takes little to no effort—her sweet lips are squeezing my fingers like a vice.
I’m twisting, teasing, and fucking her with my hand until she’s weeping and begging for more. When her breathing turnsshallow, I work my fingers in and out faster—harder.The slick sound of her arousal is almost enough to make me finish in my jeans, and she hasn’t even touched me.
The orgasm that takes over her body is violent and quick–Whitney’s legs shake and her thighs squeeze together as she cries out my name one last time. The bulge in my jeans has turned borderline painful, but I ignore it as I soothe a palm over the handprints I left on her skin, and gently pull her leggings back over her ass. When she’s sitting upright in my lap, Whitney nuzzles her bright-red face into my neck, “Your mouth is filthy,” she mutters against my skin.
I huff a laugh, pulling her face back. I brush my lips across her mouth, “You love it.” A gentle kiss. “Now,” I say, clearing my throat, “I wanted to run an idea by you.”
“Er-” She reels back, eyes bouncing between mine. “Why are you nervous?”
“Iamnotnervous.” I add quickly. Okay, maybe I'm a little nervous. But I sure as fuck was not going to admit that out loud. “Do you need to poop?” She shoots back, scanning me head to toe.
“What?” I laugh, “No.” Only Whitney would say something like that after someone just spanked her. “You look constipated.” She says, cocking her head. I pinch my nose, “I am not-”
