She stopped trying to hold back. Let herself want it—him—without apology.
God.
By the time he reached her inner thigh, her hands were fisting the sheets, her breath breaking into short, uneven bursts.
He looked up. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
“It doesn’t.” She reached for him, her hands moving down his arms, over the ink etched into his skin—marks of a past that no longer owned him.
“Say stop if you need to.”
“I won’t.”
“Say it anyway.”
Her throat thickened. “Stop, if I need to.”
His mouth curved into the smallest smile. “That’s it.”
He kissed her again—right where she was already shaking.
Her whole body arched. When she tried to shift, to open wider, her thighs protested—still tender from riding.
“Slow,” he murmured, hands steadying her hips. “We’ve got time.”
She thought she knew what was coming.
She was so wrong.
His tongue traced her nub with precision, circling once, then again, the pressure light, then firmer. Devoted. Like this was all that mattered.
Her pulse quickened, and her hips moved without permission.
His arm braced under her thigh, holding her together as his touch threatened to tear her apart.
Every time she got close, he eased back just enough to keep her teetering. Thought fractured. There was only the pull of her muscles, the tightening low in her belly, the edge that kept rising?—
“Wyatt,” she gasped.
He hummed in response, an indistinct sound that shattered whatever control she had left.
She looked down and found him watching her. Like he was painting her. With his mouth. With his hands. The thought hit deep, heat coiling through her. And when his fingers joined his mouth, slipping inside her with that same patient care, curling just right, stretching her?—
She broke apart with a sob, pleasure crashing through her in waves. Her hands flew to her mouth, but Wyatt caught them, pulling them away before she could hide the sound. He pressed a kiss to each palm.
“No,” he said, voice rough. “I want to hear you.”
As if he needed to know she was here—with him, choosing this.
His mouth returned to her inner thigh, a softer kiss this time, while his fingers gradually guided her back to earth.
Her legs trembled, her body still echoing with sensation, as if she’d been pushed past her limits and only now felt the aftermath.
She didn’t open her eyes. Her whole body felt liquid, remade.
Wyatt stretched out beside her, one hand resting at her hip, his heat against her side. His thumb traced languid arcs against her skin. “Are you okay?”
She laughed, surprised. “I don’t know.”
