Page 87

I place my hand over my ribs, feeling the steady rise and fall of my chest.

The embarrassment that was burning in my throat a moment ago begins to settle into something quieter, replaced by the crackle of anticipation humming under my skin.

Wyatt smiles, approval warm in his eyes. "There you go. Now, bring your other hand down... over your pants. Just feel the weight of your own touch first."

My heart does a nervous little flip.

I hesitate for a split second before sliding my palm over the fabric of my thigh, bringing it up to rest light over my hip.

Looking up at Wyatt, I see the dark intensity in his eyes—he isn't just guiding me, he's mesmerized by the process.

The sight sends a sudden, sharp thrill right through me.

"Keep going," he murmurs, leaning in just an inch closer. "Tell me how it feels."

“It feels... warm,” I murmur, my voice low and a little shaky in the quiet room. “And crazy. Knowing you’re watching me do this.”

“Good crazy?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” I breathe, swallowing past the sudden dryness in my throat. “Good. It feels exciting.”

“That’s good, baby,” he praises me, his voice a thick, gravelly rasp that sends a instant shudder straight down my spine. “Slide your hand lower, Peachy. Under the waistband this time. Skin on skin.”

My heart hammers wildly against my ribs, but the intense, captivated look in his eyes fuels a sudden burst of bravery.

My fingers slowly slip beneath the elastic of my pants. The contrast of the cool air in the room against the sudden, radiating heat of my own skin makes me gasp out loud.

Wyatt’s breath hitches at the sound.

“Tell me what you’re feeling now,” he whispers, his gaze glued to where my hand is hidden beneath the fabric.

“I... My whole body feels like it’s humming,” I try to explain what I feel. “What should I do now?”

“That’s it,” Wyatt whispers. “Touch yourself right there. Find your clit and be as soft as you like.”

I close my eyes for a fraction of a second to anchor myself, then let my fingertips glide down, finally making contact with my center.

It's warm and soft, a slick, liquid heat already pooling between my thighs. Whether this arousal comes from my own touch or just Wyatt’s quiet, encouraging presence, I have no idea.

I only know I need this—need to chase it to the finish before the heat inside me burns out of control.

Touching myself feels strange, but incredible, too. Just... a little too sensitive.

I search for a rhythm that doesn't feel so sharp, but a frustrated furrow forms between my brows as the friction catches. It’s close, but it’s not quite right.

Wyatt catches the slight change in my posture immediately. He leans over me, his dark eyes sharp and observant, picking up on every micro-expression.

“Hold on,” he says softly, his voice a soothing balm against my rising tension. “Stop for a second, babe.”

I freeze, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not even close,” he murmurs.

Slowly, carefully, he reaches out and gentle captures my wrist, lifting my hand out from beneath my pants. He doesn't take over; he just holds my fingers suspended between us. I watch, my breath hitching in my throat, as he brings my index and middle fingers right up to his mouth.

He holds my gaze, his eyes dark and unwavering, and slowly swirls his warm tongue over my fingertips.

The heat of his mouth against my skin sends a fierce, violent shockwave straight down to my toes. My lips part in a silent, stunned breath. He wets my fingers thoroughly, his eyes never leaving mine, before pressing a lingering, tender kiss to my knuckles.