“Show me where.” His voice roughened. “So I don’t…”
“Here.” She guided his hand, pressing his fingers lightly to the tender spots.
He kissed around them. Then closer—adjusting, learning her limits as he went.
“I’ll work around them,” he said, voice low. “Until they fade.”
She reached for him, her hands finding the carved lines of his chest. A scar caught beneath her palm, twisted and unyielding. She traced it and something in him tightened, a sharp shift under her touch. She lifted her hand, but he caught it and pressed her fingers back to his skin.
“You can touch me. I want you to.”
She ran her fingers over the landscape of his shoulders. The hard ridges of his abdomen and lower where his towel was taut over the hard length of him.
His breath shifted, tension gathering under her touch as he leaned in. He lifted the edge of the robe and dabbed a droplet from her shoulder, then another from the hollow of her throat.
He followed with his mouth.
Warm lips skimming her just-dried skin.
One kiss?—
Then another, slower.
A third, edged with the faint scrape of his teeth.
Collarbone.
Her throat.
The sensitive stretch between her breasts.
The robe loosened as his hand anchored at her waist—keeping her there, as if she might drift without it.
His mouth claimed her breast. A kiss over the curve—then the light flick of his tongue over her nipple.
She gasped, arching into him, greedy for more.
His hand cupped her other breast, broad and warm, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate pressure that sent heat spiraling through her.
Her pulse scattered, and she dug her fingers into the sheets, fighting for control. The way Wyatt kissed her—hot and slow—it felt like worship.
His fingers moved with quiet precision as he eased the robe open, parting the fabric until it gathered beneath her. She was bare to him now—bruises, softness, every place she felt exposed.
“God…” His voice dropped to a reverent hush. “You’re—” He exhaled. “You’re beautiful.”
His hand caressed her hip, unhurried, his fingers tracing the length of her thigh like he was learning her by touch. And all thetime a muscle jumped in his jaw as if he was holding something back.
He could take whatever he wanted.
Instead, he gave.
He drifted lower, pressing kisses to the curve of her hipbone, her stomach, the top of her thigh.
“Let me.” He nipped her skin. “Please.”
She nodded, couldn’t speak—fingers buried in his hair, breath slipping out in a soft sigh as she lay back on the bed.
He kissed the inside of her knee as if it was the holiest place he’d ever been, and her chest tightened, air catching halfway in. His stubble scraped lightly against her skin, the rasp of it making her hips twitch. He didn’t react, didn’t grab or press. He just kissed higher. Until she couldn’t think past the next breath.
