Love Song(71)

“Bold of you to assume I want to kiss you again.”

The humor fades from his eyes. “Shit. No. You’re right. I’m a presumptuous prick—”

I press my lips to his before he can finish.

He’s startled for a moment, freezing, and I’m worried he’ll push me away. But then he makes a strangled sound and pulls me closer, his fingers in my hair, guiding my head for another kiss.

Heat rushes through me as I lose myself in him. He tastes faintly of smoke and mint and something darker, addictive. My heartbeat is out of control, thudding in my throat and pulsing in my fingers as I cup his cheek, stroking it. When his tongue slides against mine, I can’t stop a soft whimper from slipping out.

Groaning, Wyatt reaches between us and cups my breast over my skimpy tank top. My bra is paper-thin, and I know he feels it when my nipple hardens and scrapes against his palm, because he makes another husky noise and squeezes harder.

With our lips still fused, I climb onto his lap and straddle him, moaning when I feel him against my ass. Hard and ready for me. One hand still caressing my breasts, he brings the other one to where my filmy skirt has ridden up to reveal my thighs. He strokes bare skin, teasing, his thumb grazing my inner thigh.

I’m breathless by the time he breaks the kiss, and then I see the arousal burning in his eyes and forget how to breathe altogether.

“You got on your knees for him,” Wyatt grinds out. He doesn’t sound angry, only tormented. “This goddamn asshole should’ve been on his knees worshipping you.”

“I didn’t want that.”

His hand stills on my thigh, inches from my panties. “No?”

“You don’t get it. That’s not what I wanted tonight. I mean, obviously it’s nice to be worshipped. But sometimes a girl doesn’t want to just feel good. She wants to be desired. She wants a man to want her so bad that he’s begging for her.”

He swallows. “You want a man to beg for you, freckles?”

I swallow too. “Yeah.”

“You want me to beg for you?”

Slowly, I nod.

“Then take off my pants.”

I gulp harder, hesitating. Because I know if we do this, there’s no going back. And if we take things further than kissing and he pushes me away again after? I don’t know if I’d survive it.

But the same way he sees me, I see him now. I see how hard he fights himself. How badly he wants to believe this image he’s projected onto himself. That he’s a nomad musician who uses women for sex and then moves on to the next one. I see a beautiful lost boy who needs to recognize he’s got so much more to offer than sex and songs.

And maybe it makes me a foolish, lovestruck idiot, but I think I might be the only one who can help him recognize that.

Despite the pang of fear, I can’t stop myself from bringing my hand to his groin and running my palm over his very noticeable hard-on.

He groans in response.

God. Yes. This is what I wanted tonight. For a man to become undone by my touch.

And as I watch Wyatt’s expression darken with unadulterated need, I’m glad that man won’t be a random firefighter from a bar. I don’t think I’d care as much about the noises a stranger makes, not the way I care about Wyatt and how his breath hisses when I drag the heel of my palm along the thick ridge of his arousal.

I lower myself onto my knees in front of him, never breaking eye contact. His chest rises and falls faster. I glimpse the hunger in his gaze as he watches me, waiting. I run my hands up his thighs, feeling the muscles tense under my touch. He’s so damn sexy, and I love knowing that I’m the one who gets to do this to him.

“So…” I look up at him through my lashes, my fingers tracing the outline of his penis. “I was told you have a really good dick.”

He barks out a laugh. “Oh yeah?”

“Uh-huh. I heard everyone loves it,” I say, half teasing, half mocking.

“Don’t care about anyone else,” he mumbles. “Just you.”

“Really. You want me to love it?”

“Yes.”

I tug on his waistband and ease his sweatpants down, stifling a moan when his erection springs up. Long and thick, making my mouth water.

Wyatt’s lips quirk at whatever he sees in my eyes. He reaches down and wraps his fingers around his shaft. “You want this?” he says hoarsely.

“Yes.”

“Then take it, baby.”

Nudging his hand away, I gauge his reaction as I stroke him. His head falls back against the back of the lounger, and he hums in approval.

A flicker of uncertainty goes through me. As confident as I was five seconds ago, the truth is… I don’t know how to make a man beg.

“I…I need you to tell me how to please you.”

“Jesus,” he mutters.

“What?”

“You don’t get it, do you? You breathe, and it gets me hard. It won’t take much to please me.”

Pleasure dances through me. Nobody’s ever said anything like that to me before. I like it. It empowers me, renewing my confidence.

“At least tell me if I do something you don’t like?”

“Sure,” he says, and he seems amused, as if that’s impossible for me to do.

Anticipation coils inside me as I lean forward. I flick my tongue over his tip, and Wyatt’s entire body tenses. Then I draw him into my mouth, my hand gripping the base of his shaft. When I suck gently, his hips jerk up.