Page 18

Chapter 18

Moxie

T he truck screeches and putters out on something like Wyatt’s thirtieth failed attempt to start it.

“I’m so sorry,” Wyatt says, his hands in his face. A concerned Luna watches on.

“It’s no big deal. Should we call a tow truck?” I ask. I wouldn’t mind—shit happens—but this is really putting a damper on my plans to take Wyatt home and stake my claim on every inch of him.

He takes his phone out, and I breathe in deep, willing my body to settle. It’s clear my plans have been foiled and that I'm not getting lucky any time soon.

Wyatt taps his phone and looks up with a grimace. “They’re busy. They can’t come get it for a few hours.”

Luna glances at the sky where the colors are shifting from the pinks and oranges of sunset to the darker blue of early night. “Why don’t you just tell them to come get it tomorrow after I’ve opened up. I can give you a ride home now.”

Wyatt conveys this into the phone. The car situation sucks, but I can always bring him wherever he needs to be to get it sorted tomorrow. I might just be able to get Wyatt out of those jeans yet. After hanging up he says, “You don’t need to do that. We’re way out of your way.”

I’ve already got my phone out checking for a rideshare. “I’ll book us a ride. There’s one just a few minutes out.”

“If you’re sure,” Luna says before reluctantly leaving us to our own devices while she closes the barn.

Her exit acts like triggering a magnet and I snap to his side needing to kiss him. This time there’s no hesitation as he kisses me back.

“So, this car,” he says, catching his breath. “Is it taking us to one place, or two?”

I could cry with relief. “One. Definitely one. Mine, and I can drop you off in the morning.”

“Good plan.” He leans in and nibbles my lip just as a car turns onto the dirt road leading to the stable.

We climb in, and it’s a challenge not to tell the driver to step on it. He turns up the radio from barely audible to a more moderate level.

Every cell in my body is alive and straining to touch Wyatt. Like a flower reaching for the sun, I crave him. I need to feel his skin against me, his tongue on mine, his lips roving all over. I ache to feel him inside me, to wrap my legs around his back to pull him in deeper.

The car bumps over a pothole, and I'm already so turned on from our mountain top make-out session that when it tugs at my jeans the slightest bit, sending sensation to my core, I nearly moan.

The darkness of the car against the soft glow of the moon gives a sense of privacy that I logically know not to trust, but that has me feeling daring. My hand wanders across the seat, and my fingers graze the fabric of his jeans.

That tiniest connection sends nerves prickling down my neck, and another pulse of need dances through my core.

Wyatt glances over and flashes me a grin. Oof, those dimples do something to me.

We ease around a corner and the force has me tilting against him. Wyatt uses the excuse to wrap an arm around me, and when the car straightens out, rather than returning upright, I lean into him. The pressure is nowhere near enough to satisfy the ache of need that has turned from a flame to a raging inferno. It’s like scratching a bug bite; there’s temporary relief, but when that subsides, the itch that only Wyatt can reach comes back ten times stronger.

I tip my head, deliberately letting a soft breath catch his neck before whispering, “This guy is driving too slow. I need you.”

Wyatt shifts and pulls my legs over his lap. Out of sight, his hand slides along the underside of my thigh, higher and higher, closer and closer to where my body is pulsating for him. I may have dressed appropriately for the horses, but I'm cursing the jeans now and wishing for a skirt.

I press my lips together and fight a moan as his fingers rub against me through the fabric in the most delicious of ways.

“Wyatt,” I breathe.

He leans to whisper, “We’re almost there. Hang on, baby.”

It comes out like a command, and my need becomes so overwhelming I have to cross my legs tightly to ease it. I force myself to slow my breathing.

“Good girl.” Wyatt’s voice drops to a sensual tenor.

Fuck, I need a recording of him saying that to get me from zero to sixty whenever I want.

We pull onto my street and he shifts again, easing my legs off of him and sitting up.

The second the car stops, we both bolt with barely murmured thanks. My body is in almost complete control. My mind, rapidly losing its grip, holds onto the reins just long enough to remind me that tackling him now might get my lips on his sooner but would only delay anything beyond that.

I fumble with my keys, bobbling them like a hot potato thanks to my jitters, before finally landing them in the lock and cranking the door open.

We crash into each other in the doorway, both in such a hurry that it might bruise later.

“Sorry,” we mutter simultaneously, our hands coming together again in the dark. I don’t bother with the light switch, and Wyatt doesn’t look away from me long enough to find a light switch if he wanted to. I fling my wallet and keys toward the counter. I hear them slide and tumble to the floor. I turn my head in time to see them cruise under the fridge.

“Damn it,” I mutter.

Wyatt chuckles, running his hands over my shoulders and down my arms. “The hell with it. I’ll help you look for them later.”

“Not now?” I feign innocence and bat my lashes at him as I kick off my shoes.

“No, I can only think about one thing right now. Let’s get these clothes off you.” He pulls my chin up, and I lean into the kiss, nipping at his lips and gliding my tongue over his. His erection pushes against my leg, sending a fresh jolt of arousal through me. I lift away from the counter and press into him. He groans and his fingers tighten in my hair, tugging lightly at my scalp. I gasp and kiss him harder.

“Fuck.” He lifts my legs up around his waist, hoisting me by my ass with one hand and pulling me into him with his other hand on my lower back. He spins us toward the hall and loses balance, toppling us into the wall, which we both push off to regain balance.

A stream of laughter from both of us interrupts our kisses, turning them into hurried pecks between exhaled laughs. “I don’t even know where I’m going. Where’s your fucking bed?” he asks.

“In the bedroom,” I tease.

“In a bratty mood, are we? Are you looking for punishment?” he growls, and I tug at his lower lip with my teeth. His eyes fall closed and his mouth drops open.

“End of the hall, on the right,”I breathe.

He carries me, swaying and nearly losing his balance again but managing to get us there. We fall together onto the bed and he braces himself on all fours above me. My fingers fumble with the button on his pants as he tugs off his shirt, revealing that chiseled and tanned upper body that short circuits my brain.

I tug his pants down and his erection springs free. I catch myself licking my lips as soon as I have him in my sights. Damn. My hands find his cock, gripping him and beginning a slow exploration. He quivers at the contact. I kiss him again, which snaps him back to the moment, and I pause in my ministrations to help him remove my clothing.

His pupils dilate and his jaw goes slack as he takes me in. I love the way he drinks my image, how the effect is visible. Knowing what seeing me naked does to him makes me feel fucking powerful, and my head rushes with the thrill of it.

“I so badly want to take my time with you, to taste every inch of you and enjoy you the way you ought to be enjoyed, but—”

“I know,” I interrupt. “Me too. Next time. I need you now.”

My body spasms to emphasize this need, and I grind against his hand, whimpering when it grazes against my clit. Fireworks erupt behind my eyes.

Wyatt reacts, circling his thumb over the spot and teasing my entrance with his fingers.

“Like this?” he asks, his throaty voice further evidence of my effect on him.

“Yes, just like that.”

Pressure builds in my abdomen, and I cry out, pumping my hand over him.

“Now,” I repeat, commanding.

He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Please,” I whimper.

He pulls out of my grip temporarily, his hands roving around the bed to the sides of us. “Where’d my pants go? Condom.”

“Floor.” My body shudders in protest at his absence, and he presses against me in response.

He bends backward, fingers straining toward the ground and he fumbles for his pants.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I yell and scurry backward, flinging open the bedside drawer. My collection of toys rolls, and I shove them aside to get to a condom.

“We’re exploring that drawer next time too,” he says.

I tear into a condom wrapper and hurriedly scoot back. When I roll it over him, he releases another pleasured sigh.

His fingers dance again over my clit, bringing back the building sensations before he pushes his fingers in and out of me. My muscles tense and relax, pulling at him.

“Moxie, you’re so fucking wet and ready for me.”

“Now,” I repeat, and he plunges into me, burying himself deep inside. I clench around him, and he leans in close, our bodies pressing together. Every centimeter of my skin is hyper aware and tingling at the contact.

He moves inside me, hitting all the right places. I moan and whimper as I buck my hips up to meet his, desperate for all of him that I can get. As my breathing becomes more ragged and the pressure inside me builds, his pace quickens, and his fingers move between us, finding my clit and matching our rhythm. The pressure I’d thought was near its maximum somehow pushes higher, past what feels like ought to be possible. I’m gasping and panting as he thrusts deep inside me again and again, and spots flash in brilliant colors on my eyelids.

I’m going to fall to pieces, I’m going to combust. I can’t... I... I... I erupt. My body spasms and I scream as the orgasm quakes over me, wild and untamed. Wyatt pumps into me with a few final hurried thrusts, grunting as he comes. He collapses onto me, and on either side of him my legs shudder. Tears of pure, unfettered bliss leak out the corners of my eyes and fall down my cheeks as my body quivers with the final aftershocks of my release.

“Holy hell. Why did we wait so long to do that?” I ask.

“Because we have questionable judgment,” he says.

I laugh and roll onto him. Indulging my hands in running over his chest one more time, I kiss him. Then, I head for the bathroom to clean up and can’t help it if I strut a little. My hips swing with each step, brimming with the confidence and satisfaction of the ecstasy I brought to his face. I toss a glance over my shoulder. “Guess we’ll have to make up for lost time.”