Page 15

Chapter Ten

I felt bad the other night when Wyatt ordered room service and set up the balcony with dinner for two, expecting me in the red dress, only to end up with me in sweats and a deep desire to curl up with a heating pad.

I’ve been miserable the last few days, even after my period was done.

And Wy’s feeling his own stress. I’m still not sure whether he wants this starting job or simply wants to win and prove those doubting assholes Phillips and Mickey wrong.

I’m not sure I care about his reasons as long as Mickey has to eat a little crow.

A lot of crow. A whole lot of crows. A murder of crows.

As sad and lost as I’ve felt, though, something clicked for me today. And I want to celebrate.

While I was at lunch with Tasha, it dawned on me how much I need something of my own.

I love working with my mom, and I’ll never give that up.

I’ve grown to share her passions. She inspires me, as do the clients we get to work with.

The horses are great co-workers, too. But I’ve been craving more.

And it took a Portland high school cheer competition and a hotel full of loud, glitter-covered teenage girls to realize what it is I want.

“I want to coach.”

It’s the second time I’ve said it to Wyatt in the last ten seconds.

The first time, he was still staring at my hips in this dress.

I guess I should be honored that he’s more rapt with my body than the tantalizing filet sizzling on the table next to us.

It’s a little chilly in Portland in May, and this Arizona girl wasn’t up for wearing a slinky dress in fifty-degree weather, so I had room service recreate his date night inside our suite.

“Oh, like . . . coach coach,” he stammers, finally peeling his eyes away from my body to meet my gaze.

I’m a bit overdressed, though I find his white T-shirt and gray sweatpants as sexy as he seems to find my dress.

I pulled this date night off while he was in the shower after his second workout with the team today, and given his slack-jawed expression and wide eyes, I’d say I pulled the surprise off nicely.

“Is there another kind of coach?” I pop my hip out and twist my lips as I await his response.

He shakes his head and runs his palm over his face and into his wet hair.

He shoots me a sheepish grin and closes the distance between us, hooking his finger into the plunging neckline of my dress and tugging me closer.

“I’m a little distracted,” he admits, dropping his mouth to the curve of my neck.

His teeth graze my collarbone as he makes his way along my bare shoulder, and while I want to say fuck it to the gourmet dinner and conversation and let him have his way right now, I also very much want him to hear me out.

Because this plan of mine affects him. It affects us.

My fingertips run along his stubbled jawline as I coax his mouth away from my skin and force his eyes to look at mine.

“ Mmm , you’re going to distract me if you don’t stop?—”

He growls and moves right back into the crook of my neck. I giggle before backing away a full step and holding out my hands.

“Five minutes. That’s all I need. And then you can do as you wish.”

A sinister smirk takes up residence on his face. I just gave him a hall pass for anything.

“Yes, Wyatt. I want to coach coach. At Coolidge. They need someone, and I already talked to the athletic director about it. The job is mine to take, and I really want to do it. I think I need to, for my head and my heart.”

I draw in a long breath and hold my mouth shut tight as realization paints his features. His lips pull into a tight line as his gaze drops down to the floor.

“Which means you’ll be there, in Coolidge, while I’m here. Assuming they keep me.”

“You know they’re going to keep you. At least for the season. And knowing you as I do, probably for years after. Especially when they see the lightning in a bottle that is Wyatt Stone.”

He chuckles, never good at taking a compliment, even from his biggest fan in the world.

I knead my hands in front of me, wanting him to be more than okay with my proposal.

I need him to encourage it, mostly because I’m a little nervous about how our relationship will shake out.

My parents spent seasons apart, and while they are one of the closest couples in the world, I know firsthand that my mom had to fight hard to keep them that way.

“How would it work?” He quirks a brow and moves one of the chairs out to take a seat.

I suddenly feel as if I’m auditioning for him, and it strikes me that I’ve never really had to interview for anything.

Wyatt would push me to be and do whatever I want, even if it means selling his own soul, but I’m suddenly nervous now that he’s put me on the spot.

“Well,” I begin, pushing my tongue into my cheek. “I won’t need to be back in Arizona until August, for tryouts. And I’ve already checked the schedules for every Cyclones home game. I can take the first Saturday morning flight out and come back home on the following Monday mornings.”

Wyatt’s head tilts as his mouth quirks up on one side.

“You don’t want to fly that much.”

I shake my head quickly.

“No, I do. In fact, I can make four away games, too. And, well, the Arizona game is a no-brainer. And maybe, if I can get the squad to nationals, I can pair that trip with your Miami game, and then?—”

“Peyt.”

My mouth snaps shut when Wyatt stands and moves toward me with a playful smirk.

“Why are you trying to sell me on this? You’ve made up your mind. I mean, my gut instincts tell me you have a file full of details and itineraries stashed somewhere on that laptop.”

He gestures to my work bag resting on the kitchenette counter. I blink at it a few times and lift a shoulder.

“I like to be prepared before a presentation,” I say, a half second before Wyatt’s palms cup my shoulders. I relax under his touch as my head swivels back to face him.

“You don’t need to make a presentation. You want this. I understand, and I want it for you, too. We . . .” He moves one hand from my shoulder to tap a finger to his chest, then to mine. “We’ll make it work.”

I bite my lip and try not to cry. I’ve been a bit of an emotional mess the last few days, and when my husband says the perfect thing, it really hits that cluster of nerves around my heart.

“You’re not worried about what it might do? To us?”

I need to hear him say it.

“I’m not worried about us at all. Ever. In fact, of the thousands of things that I will worry about over my lifetime, us will never be one of them. I know so.”

He takes my hand in his and presses it to his chest. His heart thumps under my palm. His body is warm, and the cotton of his T-shirt is still a little damp from his recent shower and wet hair. He smells like the desert rain . . . like home.

I lift my chin and step into him, his eyes dropping down and zeroing in on my mouth.

“How do you know?”

His lip ticks up, showing off his dimple, and my eyes flutter shut from the instant intoxication.

“Because I’m yours, and you . . .” He pauses as his right hand slides through the slit on the side of my dress and wraps around my ass, tugging me into him.

“You are mine.”

Wyatt drops to his knees, pushing my dress up my thighs and tugging my panties down my legs. I barely have time to gasp before his mouth covers my pussy, and my hands dive into his hair as I fight to hold myself steady and maintain my balance.

“What about dinner?” I pant.

“You are all I want to eat,” he says as his fingers dig into my ass and his tongue flicks my sensitive skin.

“Ohhhh-kayyyy,” I rasp, my voice quivering from his seductive assault.

Wyatt sucks me into his mouth and punishes my clit with his tongue until my legs nearly buckle, and before I fall to pieces, he slowly stands and brings my dress up and over my body along with him.

Tossing the flimsy fabric to the floor, he lifts me and carries me to the back of the plush sofa that faces the stone fireplace and a wall of windows that looks out over the city.

The sky outside is pink but quickly fading to purple, and the room is cast in a golden hue that makes Wyatt’s eyes almost glow a cerulean blue.

My legs wrap around him as he discards my lace bralette, tossing it on top of my dress. His palms meet at my spine as he arches me back enough to give his mouth access to my breasts, and he sucks my nipple so hard that it throbs when he lets go.

“Wyatt,” I hum his name, my need for him desperate as I unfurl my legs and part them wider.

I pull his shirt up over his head as he pulls his sweatpants down and fists his cock.

The scratches along his sides from his workouts make him look rough, and I don’t think his abs have ever been so toned.

I let my hands roam over the hard ridges and down to his hips as he strokes himself while his eyes seer into me.

“Come here,” he growls as he palms my ass and pulls me to the very edge of the sofa back, forcefully thrusting his cock inside of me.

“Mine,” he says, moving his mouth to my neck as his hands grip my ass. His hips rock feverishly as he pummels me.

“Wy—” I can’t even finish his name, every thrust hitting me so right, so hard, that it sends shocks throughout my entire body.

“Come for me, baby,” he commands.

My body tingles, my insides tightening as I fight to hold off the inevitable. I don’t want this to end, but I need to come. I can’t take it much longer.

“That’s it,” he praises when the first whimper leaves my lips.

My open mouth lands on his shoulder, and my teeth dig into his skin as the first waves nearly knock me out.

Wyatt doesn’t let up, fucking me harder with every thrust until my climax is so sensitive that I lose my breath and have to dig my nails into his back to hold on.

His cock swells inside of me, and I warm with his cum as he thrusts a few more times, holding me to him through the very last pulse.

Our bodies sticky and tangled, Wyatt reaches for my thighs and pulls my legs tight around him, swiveling so he’s now leaning against the back of the sofa while his cock still fills me.

I rest my cheek against his shoulder. I’m a little out of breath, but the slow strokes of Wyatt’s fingertips along my spine eventually slow my heart rate back to normal.

I could sleep here, just like this, with him inside of me and our bodies melded as one.

“I just have one question,” he finally says, sweeping my hair away from my ear so he can kiss the lobe.

I shift my upper body so I can meet his gaze, and he continues to run his hand through my hair, tucking what I can only imagine are wild strands behind my ear.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Do cheer coaches wear the uniforms?”

I laugh at his question but bite my tongue when I realize he’s merely smirking. My brow pinches.

“Are you serious?”

His gaze moves to mine and his hands move back to my hips, pulling me into him as he grinds his cock into me, reminding me he’s still hard and somehow ready.

“Deadly.”