Page 114 of Wild Sanctuary

I just stop dead in my tracks.

Because I’ve imagined this. Right here in this room, when I knew I could never have her, I imagined what she’d look like, and, fuck, I wasn’t even close.

She’s golden in the lamplight, all soft curves and warm skin with a scatter of freckles on her collarbone that have mesmerized me more times than they should have.

“You’re staring.”

“I’m allowed.” I slide the shirt off her shoulders and watch it pool behind her. My eyes follow the line of her waist, the curve of her breasts, the flare of her hips, the soft skin of her stomach. All of her. Every inch I’ve spent six years dreaming about. “Give me a sec.”

“Take your time.” The corner of her mouth lifts, throwing my own words back at me, and that’s all the restraint I’ve got left.

I lean down to press my mouth to her collarbone, right where the freckles start, and her fingers dig into my hair, her nails raking across my scalp. I move to the curve of her breast, and she arches into me with a sound that short-circuits every nerve I own. My hands tighten on her hips and I pull her closer, needing her closer.

Because now I know I need her so deep inside my life that nobody can pull her back out.

“Wyatt.” My name comes out breathless and needy, and I decide right there that I will spend the rest of my life trying to make her say it exactly that way.

I flip us. She lands on her back against the pillows and I settle over her, one forearm braced beside her head, and the height difference between us has never been more obvious. She’s all delicate bones and fierce brown eyes beneath me, and I have never in my entire life been more careful with anything.

“Tell me what you want.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine as my eyes flick between hers.

“You.” She runs her fingers down the center of my chest to my belt. “Just you. All of you.”

I drop my forehead against hers. “You already have me, Daisy-girl. There hasn’t been a version of me that wasn’t yours in a very long time.”

Her breathing hitches on an exhale before she traces my bottom lip with her thumb. Then her lips lift in a daring smile as she murmurs, “Prove it.”

She undoes my belt and I deal with the rest, ignoring the tremble in my hands.

Thirty-five years old, and this woman has reduced me to a nervous teen, but I don’t care because she’s looking up at me with a longing that matches my own, and I have never deserved anything less and wanted anything more.

When there’s nothing left between us, I pause, looking down at her laid out beneath me, and every thought I’ve ever had exits my head. Those brown eyes are watching me like I’m the only thing in the world, and I have to hold myself in check with what’s left of my self-control, which is approximately nothing.

“You’re sure.” Not a question, not really, but I need to hear the words.

“Wyatt Hartley.” She takes my face in both hands and pulls me down to her. “I’ve been sure since I was old enough to know what sure meant. Now stop making me wait.”

I don’t rush. Couldn’t if I tried. I trail my mouth down her jaw onto her throat, lingering where her pulse throbs under my lips. She tastes like salt and warmth and I breathe her in, letting the scent of her fill my lungs until there’s no room for anything else. Her pulse is racing under my tongue, and mine’s matching it beat for beat.

My hands slide over her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, feeling the weight of them shift under my touch. Her ribs expand with each shaky inhale, and when I cup one breast fully and drag my thumb across her nipple, her back lifts off the mattress. Her legs part as I settle between them, and the sight of her beneath me, open and trusting, hits me so hard I have to stop and press my forehead against her sternum just to draw a breath.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful.” My back is bowed over her, my shoulders more than a little unsteady as I murmur against her skin. “You have no idea.”

I kiss across her collarbone, then down the center of her chest. Her nipples are already tight before I even touch them, flushed dark and straining, and when I close my mouth over one and suck, the sound she makes goes straight to my cock. Her fingers thread into my hair and pull, and the tug sends a jolt down my spine that makes me groan against her skin.

“Harder,” she whispers, and I obey because right now I couldn’t even think to say no. I suck harder, graze my teeth across the peak, and her hips buck up against me. I can feel her wetness smearing against my stomach and it takes everything I have not to grind down into the mattress for relief.

I move further down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her stomach, feeling the muscles twitch under my lips. Her thighs tense as I nudge them wider with my shoulders, and I look up at her from between her legs because I need her to see my face when I do this.

I need her to know this isn’t something I’m rushing through to get to the rest.

This is the rest.

“Eyes on me, Daisy.”

She looks down, and I hold that gaze while I lower my mouth to her. The first slow stroke of my tongue rips a sound out of her that makes my cock leak onto the bedsheets. She’s hot and slick and swollen against my mouth, and the taste of her—fuck.

My fingers dig into her thighs hard enough to leave marks I’ll feel guilty about later.