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Hmm. Thirty minutes. A man could do a lot to a woman in that amount of time. If he knew what he was doing. Thing was? Wyatt knew exactly what he was doing.
With a wicked grin, he gently tugged down the blankets until he could see every delicious, creamy inch of her. The curve of her hip. The cute-as-hell tattoo just below her bikini line. Her full breasts with their dusky pink nipples. The small V between her legs.
The feeling in his chest got big again. It expanded, and he might have growled like an animal while he looked her. The thought in his brain was primitive. It was loud, and it wouldn’t go away.
Mine.
“Yes,” he murmured, moving lower on the bed. “You’re mine, Doctor Thorne.”
Gently, Wyatt moved her legs so that her most private area was exposed to him. The sight of her sex had his heart beating rapidly, and he could hear it in his ears, thump, thump, thump. The rhythm as old as time. Erotic in nature. Primal in sound.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
She was still asleep, her limbs pliable, and he separated her legs, moving closer to the prize, as that song in his head grew louder. His fingers caressed her skin, there in the crease of her leg, along her thigh and knee. And then back to the soft folds that seemed to swell beneath his touch.
She made a noise—a soft groan—and he glanced up. But other than her chest rising and falling a bit faster than before, she was still out.
Not for long, he thought, bending close. He inhaled that musky, sexy scent that was all Regan. The one that told him she was already aroused and ready for him. Gently, he spread her lips, his own breaths falling fast when he spied the telltale glisten of desire. Softly, he teased the entire area with his fingers, a light touch here, a soft massage there. Her clitoris was engorged, and she twitched when he gentled rubbed her, her legs more pliable, her offering more wanton.
By now, Wyatt was painfully erect, but he ignored his discomfort and lowered himself even more so that he had access to every single inch of her. He flicked his tongue across her clitoris and smiled when she jerked, then inserted one long finger inside her while closing his mouth over her.
The taste of her was enough to drive him insane. She was sweet and musky and so damn wet, he knew it wouldn’t take long.
Wyatt suckled at her, fingers expertly working her over. Inside. Outside. He licked and thrust and used his tongue and teeth to drive her crazy. By this time, her hips gyrated—she’d found the rhythm he’d started—and they were in sync.
“Come for me, babe.” His voice was a hoarse whisper, and when he heard her answering groan and felt her tighten around his fingers, he knew she was close. He increased the pressure, curving his finger upward, seeking that sweet spot she loved, while his tongue worked her hard bud with long, intense strokes.
He smiled when her hands crept into his hair, and the triumph he felt when she came for him was indescribable. If he was a writer, he wouldn’t have the words for how she made him feel. It was deep-seated male pride, wrapped in a hard need to please, surrounded by that now-familiar warmth that clung to his chest and made his heart beat even faster.
“Oh. God.” Regan fell back against the pillow, her body alive with the aftershocks of her orgasm. “I can’t… I thought I was dreaming.” Her voice was husky, that sweet-as-hell, sleep-heavy huskiness he’d grown to love.
Wyatt checked the clock. Right on time.
“Buckle up, Doctor Thorne. We’ve still got fifteen minutes.”
“Is that all?” She licked her lips, and he knew she was ready for more.
“Maybe fourteen.”
She gyrated against him. “I think you’ve got this, Mr. Blackwell.”
He grinned wickedly. “I know I do.”
Wyatt slowly pulled himself up and, without hesitation, thrust inside her. He went all in and grabbed her hands, holding them down on either side of her head as he rose above her.
“Good morning,” she gasped, eyes wide as she stared up at him, that delectable tongue of hers darting out to lick her lips.
Wyatt’s strokes were long and slow and precise. Her forehead furrowed, and she bit her lip. “You need to go faster, Wyatt.”
“Nope.” He fought to control the urge to do just that. “Got another twelve minutes.” Sweat broke out on his brow. His body was a knot of sensation. Hot. Wet. Silky. Tight. And then there was that beautiful friction only she could give him.
“Jesus,” she said, flinging her head back against the pillow.
“I’ve heard that before.” He tilted his hips a bit, looking for a better angle, and bingo…
“Oh.” Her mouth opened, her back arched and her breasts lifted, begging for his touch. He wasn’t the kind of man to say no, so he dipped his head and suckled her breasts, quickening hi
s pace a bit as his balls began to tighten.
