揥yatt.?I raised an eyebrow.
He cracked the book open to where my bookmark marked the page and cleared his throat. 揥atching TV before bed isn抰 good for sleep anyway.?
And then he began to read my book out loud.
My heart melted into my chest. His bare feet rested on the coffee table and his free hand settled on my ankle in his lap. The way his sharp jaw moved as he spoke mesmerized me and I longed to run my mouth over the scrape of his stubble again, but then I抎 have to move and ruin this perfect moment.
Wyatt抯 lazy drawl put a new tone on the sweet romantic comedy. He made every sentence sound sexy, languid, and suggestive. In the scene he read, two teachers bickered with each other, and I smiled, watching as he read, listening to his low voice narrate. When his hand stroked my ankle, sparks of electricity shot up my leg.
The two characters began kissing frantically. His thumb stilled on my ankle and I froze, listening as he described the hungry, desperate, needy way the two characters touched each other.
My heart rate sped up and heat pulsed between my legs.
This book was supposed to be closed-door sex scenes, but now the male main character was sucking on the female main character抯 tongue. My core throbbed at the memory of doing that to Wyatt and the tortured noise he made after. I had the urge to squeeze my legs together but held back. Wyatt continued reading about the characters now tearing each other抯 clothes off as if it were nothing. Like he was reading furniture instructions.
This was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea. My toes curled and Wyatt glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, then down at my toes, and paused with a tight jaw.
He took a deep breath and continued reading.
God, he was so sexy like this. Before dinner, he had showered and put a bit of product in his hair and the dark blond looked so?unf. And his strong, tanned hands, one clutching the book and one making warm contact with my ankle. I remembered the noise he made when I ran my hands over his chest. How warm he was. He seared me, and I always needed more.
And that mouth. As he read the dirty words, his mouth turned up and his eyes grew heavy-lidded.
The ache between my legs intensified and I shifted. My foot brushed something hard in Wyatt抯 lap and my breath caught. He paused, pressed his mouth into a firm line, and closed his eyes.
My body warmed from my core out and my blood surged with something bold. I twitched my foot against his erection again and his head fell back.
揌annah.?His tone was warning, and his hand tensed on my ankle.
I bit a grin back and shivered. 揥hat抯 wrong??
揧ou know what抯 wrong.?He sounded like he was in agony.
Wyatt took such good care of me all day, even when I was pretty sure there was nothing wrong with me other than an ugly scrape on the forehead. My heart pounded in my chest.
It was time for me to take care of Wyatt.
揑抦 tired.?
His head snapped up and he closed the book before tossing it on the coffee table. 揙kay.?He nodded to himself. 揕et抯 go to bed.?
I snorted. The way he said let抯 go to bed was the way someone would say Sure, you can pull my tooth out. It would hurt me, him acting this way at the thought of us going to bed, but his jaw ticked and his gaze dragged over me. He was turned on, same as me, but he was going to try to be a gentleman tonight.
He stood over me, raking his hand through his hair. His gaze was unreadable. 揑 would offer to sleep on the couch, but I want to be near you tonight. In case you aren抰 feeling well or something.?
I nodded. 揃ecause I hit my head.?
揃ecause you hit your head.?His voice was low and his gaze dark. He held his hand out. 揅ome on.?
We spent the next few minutes going through the going-to-bed motions: brushing our teeth, me taking out my contacts, changing into our pajamas. Wyatt didn抰 wear pajamas, but I brought the tank top and short set from the night he crawled through my window, because I wanted to play with fire. He wandered through the house while I changed, locking the doors and turning off lights before I heard his footsteps past the bathroom door.
In his room, he laid in bed, shirtless with his arms propped behind his head. His gaze wandered down my pajamas. My nipples pinched and his nostrils flared. He groaned and closed his eyes with a pained expression.
I laughed.
揊uck, bookworm, you抮e going to kill me.?His throat worked as his gaze snagged on my chest, on the hem of my shorts, on my bare collarbone.
His bedroom was like the rest of his house梥mall, tidy, sparse, and masculine. Clean lines, like him. It even smelled like him in here, a masculine, fresh scent that made my blood hum. A book on his bedside table caught my attention.
揚ride and Prejudice??I shot him a questioning look as I picked it up and studied the cover. My mouth opened to form another question but nothing came out.