At Whit's End (Wells Ranch, #4)(61)
I reach down to grip my erection through my jeans, hoping a quick stroke will ease some of the tension and tightness. My thigh quakes under her hot, wet pussy. The fingers of one hand dig deeper into her hip, the other squeezes as hard as I can manage around my cock.
“Colt.” A tiny sob. She’s frantic now. Clutching my hair and trembling all over.
“That’s it,” I choke out. My cock throbs, the edges of my vision growing dark and foggy, and with a choked gasp, I’m spilling cum into my boxer briefs.
I grab Whit’s jaw, thumb pressed to her chin, and my tongue invades her mouth. Every moan and whimper of hers is captured by my kiss. And her hips move wildly over my thigh until her muscles turn rigid with an impending release.
“Fuck,” Whit rasps, hips convulsing and entire body quivering on top of mine. “Oh…fuck.”
We’re floating, riding the orgasm-induced high, and giggling into each other’s mouths like a pair of love-drunk teens making out in the truck. Over time, our kisses become softer and sweeter. Until they’re back to being cutesy, flirty pecks, just the way this entire thing started.
Only now, I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
Whatever this was before. Whatever we were before. It all became something so much bigger tonight. The carefully guarded ember’s now a roaring flame.
Eventually the windows aren’t so fogged up, and everything’s moving in tired slow motion. Whit clutches my shirt, using it as leverage to slip off my lap and into the middle seat. I only let my palm leave her thigh for long enough to buckle her in and shift the truck into gear.
She sighs, contented, slumping further into the seat and resting her head against my shoulder.
I kiss the top of her head. “Happy birthday, beautiful.”
“Best birthday ever,” she says through a drawn-out yawn. “I’m glad Blair talked me into going out. And I’m glad you came.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it. Get some sleep, honey.”
Taking that as a command instead of a gentle suggestion, Whit falls asleep almost instantly. Her head lolls back and forth against my shoulder on the winding highway, so I reach up and keep a firm yet tender hold on the side of her face for the entire trip back to Wells Canyon.
When we finally pull into her driveway shortly before two a.m., it feels like I have sand in my eyes. And that sand is on fire. “Whit. Honey. We’re home.”
Her eyes slowly blink to a partially open state, and she lazily paws at the drool on her cheek. She points to the wet spot on my shoulder and gives me a small smile. “Oh, God. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. It matches my jeans now.” I smooth down her bedhead and gesture at her boots on the floorboard. “Let’s get you to a proper bed.”
Together we stumble toward her front door—the air’s still warm considering the late hour, but there’s a breeze that flirts with the hem of her short dress. After a few seconds of fumbling with her keys, she turns to me. “Are you staying the night?”
“Oh, I wasn’t planning on it.”
Her piercing green eyes pin me in place. “Stay.”
The door swings open, and I’m stepping inside without argument. She holds tight to my arm for balance as she pulls her boots back off. The house is pitch-black and eerily quiet without Jonas around, although I’m sure the blood pounding behind my ears would drown out most noise anyway.
I trip over a pair of his sneakers in the entryway, nearly bringing us both crashing to the ground, and Whit laughs under her breath.
“Consider yourself lucky you weren’t here when there were a million toys to trip over constantly.” She tugs my arm, guiding me up the stairs, with no idea how much I would’ve loved to have met her and Jonas years sooner. “That kid used to be even messier than he is now, if you can believe it.”
After a quick detour to the hallway bathroom to clean myself up and calm my nerves, I let Whit guide me into her bedroom. It’s small, cozy, and makes up for the minimalist style Whit seems to have adopted through the rest of her home. It’s as if I’ve stepped directly into Whit’s brain. All the things she hides from the outside world. Her hobbies, passions, and memories.
She heads straight for her dresser and rummages through drawers. And I take that time to peruse the pins and books and random knickknacks scattered across a desk. All the so-called naughty things she told me she couldn’t keep in the living room.
“You’re a bit of a horndog, eh?” I pick up the third cock-shaped enamel pin in a row.
Immediately dropping what she’s doing, she spins on her heel with a snarl that reminds me of a feral barn cat and a rosy blush across her cheeks. “I am not!”
“I wasn’t saying that like it’s a bad thing. In fact, it’s my second favorite thing after your insane racing simulator talent.”
She finally closes the drawer, walking toward me with balled-up clothing in her hands. Pajamas, I assume. She tosses them onto the bed. “Do you mind getting the zipper on my dress for me? I can reach it, if I really have to, but it requires nearly dislocating my shoulder.”
“Of course.” I shut my eyes for a second as she turns her back to me, trying my damnedest to screw my head on straight. My brain feels like a night sky filled with bursting fireworks. Has since the second I laid eyes on her in the bar.