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My nose scrunches. Am I that desperate? I mean, I have a wax appointment in a week. Then I remember how freaking uncomfortable I feel when my panties brush against the hair growing back.
Yup, I’m that desperate.
“I need some help trimming the hedges,” I blurt, and the dick’s hazel eyes fill with mirth.
“Trimming the hedges?” he repeats, quirking a brow.
Death. . . I’m going to kill him, then bring him back to life so I can end him again.
“Yes. Prune my rose bush. Groom my cat. Bald my vajayjay,” I mutter, and he laughs. He fuck-ing laughs. “I should punch you in the balls.”
Smirking, Wyatt retorts, “Now, Love, don’t tempt me with a good time.”
Yup! Definitely punching him in the balls!
I can feel the water building in my eyes, threatening to fall, and I want to scream. Noticing my change in mood, he stops joking.
Wyatt crosses the porcelain-tiled shower and kneels in front of me before he clasps my face into his palms. “I’m sorry, Love. I was only trying to make you laugh. You looked so upset,” he explains, leaning over to kiss the trail of escaped tears.
“It’s not funny, and I’m not laughing,” I huff, ready to kick him out, which only makes me want to cry even more. “Everything feels so overwhelming today,” I confess.
Wyatt stands, grabs my shaving cream, then holds his hand out for the razor. I blink through bleary eyes and stare at him. “Are you really going to shave me?”
Hormones, one hundred and fifty-seven. Ariah, two.
He tips my chin so I’m peering up at him. “I love you, Ariah. There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you.”
The earnestness in his words hit me square in the chest. I didn’t realize how much of my heart was missing while they were gone. That realization hits me like a ton of bricks. When did they become so important to me?
Wyatt knew before we all did. None of us believed him. I’d been skeptical at first, rightfully so. On day one, Wes made it abundantly clear I was nothing and no one. Lev wasn’t very receptive, either. But Owen and Wyatt challenged every resistance and blew up every barrier I had in place.
My tears spill over again, this time blurring my vision. “Wyatt,” I choke between my sobs. He puts the shaving cream down and lifts me onto his lap so I’m facing him.
“I love you,” I whisper, looking into his eyes. Our connection, like the one I have with each of my guys, is powerful in its uniqueness. Each burns with an intensity I’ve never felt before.
He beams, capturing my face and pressing my lips against his. I hum, wishing I could stay in this spot and in this moment.
Deepening our connection, I whimper as our tongues move in sync. Neither of us tries to exert control over the other. He presses three more gentle kisses against my mouth before pulling back, and I whine.
Wyatt laughs, running his thumb along my jaw. “Let’s get you shaved before I forget why we’re in here.” Then, he lifts me from his lap and grabs my razor and shaving cream.
He kneels between my legs. “Lean against the wall,” he instructs, and I scoot back.
Bending, he kisses my pussy lips, and I’m suddenly no longer annoyed with him, nor am I concerned with shaving. Heat licks my skin as he slowly lathers my mound before gliding the razor over my skin.
I lick my suddenly parched lips as my head falls back against the shower wall. Each pass of the blade makes me clench, sending a jolt straight to my clit.
“Keep still,” he scolds, lifting the razor. “I don’t want you to get cut.” Then, he begins his slow, torturous strokes again, and when I think I’m going to combust if he doesn’t make me come, he stops.
“Wyatt,” I plead, forcing myself not to move.
He stands, grabs the detachable shower head, and turns it to the high pulse setting. “Now, let’s get you clean,” he growls, rinsing away the soap. I feel him spreading the lips of my sex. “Open up for me, Riri. I need to inspect my work.”
Widening my legs, I lift my head, feasting on the carnal need displayed in his heated gaze before he aims the spray between my legs.
“Fuck! Please. . . please.” I cry, not knowing if my pleas are for him to stop or give me more. But nothing more needs to be said. Two thick fingers barely fill my entrance before they stop. He’s teasing me, swirling circles on my clit before pulling the spray away. Then he aims the nozzle directly at my bundle of nerves and my hips roll, lifting to match the pace.
I whimper at the loss of pressure when I hear the thunk of something dropping. “I need you on my cock,” Wyatt grunts, springing to his feet and sitting on the bench. “Straddle me.”
