Love Song(129)

I suck in a shaky breath, torn between the longing in my chest and the crushing weight of doubt. He never told me he loved me before I got pregnant. He claims he felt it, but my brain keeps insisting that isn’t true, and the darkness inside me wants to push him away for it.

But when he slowly approaches and I whisper, “Wyatt,” I’m not sure if I’m asking him to come closer or to stop.

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, and his touch is so gentle, so careful, that I almost burst into tears.

“Tell me to leave,” he says roughly.

I don’t.

I can’t.

Instead, I reach up and run my fingers over his jaw, feeling the tension there. “I don’t want you to go.”

That’s all it takes. I blink and his mouth is on mine. He tastes like wine and faintly of smoke, and I wonder if he’s picked up the habit again. If so, I hope it’s not because of me.

His lips brush over mine, and I’m confused by his kiss. How slow it is, how cautious. It’s a restraint I’ve never felt from Wyatt. He’s holding back.

“Kiss me for real,” I whisper. “The way you used to. Please.”

The request seems to undo him. With a strangled noise, he kisses me again, deeper this time, and my body lights up under his touch. I part my lips for him, and his tongue slides through them. When it touches mine, an electric shock surges through me.

When he pulls back, my breath gets trapped in my lungs. God, that look in his eyes. Like I’m the only thing that matters to him in this entire world. Or maybe I’m just projecting what I want to see, but I don’t care.

“Let’s go to my room,” I say.

“Are you sure?”

Am I sure? No.

Is this a bad idea? Probably.

Am I going to stop him? Not a chance.

Rather than answer, I take his hand and pull him toward the stairs. We don’t say a word as we go up to my bedroom. I close and lock the door, and we stand in the dim light of the bedside lamp that I forgot to turn off earlier, eyeing each other.

I miss you. The words burn my tongue. But I don’t think I can say them out loud without unleashing a wave of emotion.

He steps toward me, framing my face with both hands. Then his mouth is on me again. He trails it along my jaw, down my neck, each kiss making my breath hitch. But his control is slipping. I can feel it in the way he thrusts his fingers in my hair and pulls on it to guide my mouth closer to his. I can hear it in the groan that rumbles in his chest when my tongue fills his mouth.

“I missed you,” he whispers between kisses. His breathing is labored. “Missed you so fucking much.”

I don’t say it back. I just kiss him again, and he plasters his body against mine as if there isn’t enough space in the world for the two of us to exist apart. When I feel his erection against my stomach, I let out a helpless, needy moan.

“Let me take care of you tonight,” he says. “I want you to just…let go. Nothing else matters right now. Just you and me, okay?”

A rush of heat ripples through me. “Okay,” I whisper.

I lie back on the bed, and he hovers above me, undressing me slowly, pulling off my sweatpants, my panties, my sweater. Each inch of skin he exposes makes his breathing grow heavier.

“You’re beautiful,” he says simply.

His clothes come off next, and then his warm, naked body covers mine, calloused hands sliding over my bare skin in slow, teasing caresses. His lips find my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot beneath my ear.

I close my eyes and lose myself in sensation. In the feel of his mouth on my breasts, his tongue flicking my nipple. He isn’t rushing at all, but urgency simmers behind every kiss, every touch, as if he’s forcing himself to slow down.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs.

“I want this.” I swallow. “Do you?”

His eyes are swimming with emotion as he rises on his elbow to look at me.

“I’ve wanted you for so long I can’t even remember what it feels like to want anything else.”

His words make me dizzy, but he doesn’t give me time to fully absorb them. He’s kissing his way down my body, his palms stroking my inner thighs before he gently parts my legs. He lowers his head and plants a kiss on my pussy, soft and sweet. Then he licks a gentle circle around my clit, and I gasp.

He looks up with that dark, intense gaze. “Feel good?”

“Yes.” I’m almost embarrassed by how fast the word escapes my mouth.

A smile curves his lips before he dips his head again and resumes his slow and dedicated mission to wreck me. And he does. He licks me until I’m mindless, long strokes interspersed with teasing flicks, his lips wrapping around my clit and sucking it, teasing it, making me whimper with pleasure.

By the time he puts on a condom and slides inside me, I’m a live wire waiting for a spark. And the spark comes in the form of his cock filling me to the hilt. I climax from that first, deep stroke, unraveling beneath him. My orgasm only spurs him to move faster, thrusting his hips into me, his eyes open and fixed on my face.

You’d hate how much I’d want from you. How much I’d take.

His confession from early in the summer burns through my mind.

He’s wrong. I don’t hate it.

But it terrifies me.

My gaze stays locked with his as he comes, pleasure darkening his eyes and drawing a low, husky noise from his throat. Afterward, he collapses on me, and I wrap my arms around him. I lie beneath him, breathless not just from his weight on me but from the storm of emotion that swept through the bedroom.