Page 20

Chapter Twenty

I ’m starting to come around on the death trap. This thing and I have a complicated relationship, but now that I’m moving a little faster, I understand it—and its brakes.

“Peyt, you’re doing so good, kiddo.”

I might be coming around on my dad’s pep talks, too. Though, I could do with fewer of them. I’ve been counting the tile squares in the hallway, and he’s averaging a motivational prompt every eight to ten tiles. That means twenty of them by the time I finish a lap.

“Hey, you look like you need a break, old man. Mind if I take over?”

The smile on my face at the sound of Wyatt’s voice is almost immediate.

“Yeah, he definitely needs a break,” I say, shifting my upper body awkwardly to glance behind me so I can catch a glimpse of my boyfriend.

“Wow, you two team up to sideline me?” My dad shakes Wyatt’s hand but steps aside to let him take over spotting my right side.

“Last I heard, you were having a hard time keeping up,” Wyatt teases. He winks at me— the wink. I’ve missed it.

“Ha ha.” My dad kisses my cheek as he pulls his cell from his pocket. “I could use a minute to check in on Coolidge anyhow. We might be starting a freshman this week. Seems our quarterback climbed some fucking tree out at one of those parties and fell out. Broke his arm.”

Wyatt chuckles, but shuts the laughter off quickly when my dad’s glare hits him.

“Hey, even Bryce stayed out of trees. And I never liked the parties,” Wyatt says, straightening his spine to show off good posture on top of his weird brag.

“You all had plenty of your own dumb shit, so don’t even.” My dad points with one hand and holds his phone to his ear with the other. His slight smirk keeps it playful as he walks away.

“Your dad still scares the shit out of me sometimes,” Wyatt admits.

“Good.” I smirk. “Now, let’s finish this lap and get back to my room so we can cuddle.”

“Girl, you’re just trying to get me killed,” he laughs out. He slides his hand along my lower back anyhow, just below my brace, and together we make it back to my room at the fastest pace I’ve traveled since my surgery.

Once my various contraptions are put away, Wyatt helps me lie back down before he nestles himself along my side, tucking his arm under my pillow to keep my neck cushioned while he trails his fingers up and down my body. I’ve missed his touch so much.

“You want to tell me why you’re here instead of hitting film or the weight room? And don’t forget, I can see right through you because you lie about as good as my father does.”

Wyatt winces at my scrutiny.

“I am a shitty liar, huh?” He’s avoiding my question.

“Yeah, and an equally terrible dodger. Spill it. Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?”

I hate to complain because I’ve missed him so much. Over the two days or so since I saw him last, I feel as though so much has happened to both of us. I want to tell him about every single win, like the way I held a fork last night and was able to feed myself with my right hand. But I’m willing to save all those stories up, to keep a journal if I must, if it keeps him from bailing on football just to get to me.

“Today was optional. No coaches, and Bryce and Whiskey will cover for me.”

“ Hmm .” I’m quick with my skepticism, my mouth a flat line.

“No hmm ,” he insists, scooting in close and pressing soft kisses into my neck. His face still looks guilty when he pulls away, so I give him side eyes, at least as best I can. My mobility is improving, but my movements are still stiff.

“And what’s to keep Bryce from ratting you out?”

“He won’t.” His insistence is genuine, but still . . . my trust with Bryce is thin. It’s based on a lot of history, and maybe the scales are tilted because of how much I want this season to be perfect for Wyatt. He deserves it.

“I don’t want you to think I don’t want you here. Because I do. But Wy, you can’t keep this up. You can’t be in two places at once. And as much as I am glad to see you?—”

His fingertips brush my lip, and I lose my momentum. Also, I forgot how nice it feels for him to touch me softly. We haven’t been alone much lately. And when we are, I haven’t exactly been in a condition to be touched.

“I am willing to bet on Bryce. Because seeing you is everything to me.”

He shifts his arm under my head, bracing himself enough to lift his body and bring his mouth just over mine. His eyes pause on mine before dipping to my lips.

“Okay?” he prompts.

“Okay,” I whisper back, my lips suddenly buzzing with desire. I haven’t ached to be kissed this intensely since the first time I kissed Wyatt Stone.

His gaze flits up to mine one last time before his eyes close and his lips brush against me with a feather-light touch that sends goose bumps down my arms. Both arms. I feel it.

“More,” I utter, my mouth forming a smile against his.

“You can have as much as you want,” he laughs softly against me. His mouth sucks in my bottom lip, the rough edge of his teeth grazing me as I slip loose of his hold.

“You taste like lemon,” he muses.

I lick my lips and squeeze my eyes shut tight before popping them open.

“I had a sucker! I earned it for throwing a ball.”

Wyatt sits up a little, a proud smile taking over the sexy one for a moment. I like them both, but right now, I’m really craving the seductive side of him.

“You threw a ball? That’s amazing!” He lowers his head until it rests on mine, our eyelashes tangling as we blink. It makes me giggle, and that . . . that feels good.

“I didn’t throw it hard, or anywhere near the target. But it was the motion. I squeezed it. And then I sort of dropped it as my arm fell. So, it counts as a throw.”

His free hand cups the side of my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek as he pins me with his awe-struck stare. From anyone else I might feel placated, maybe even patronized, but from Wyatt? That look means everything.

“It absolutely counts. They should see what you’d be willing to do for a T-shirt,” he teases.

I laugh, and the sound is strong and loud, alerting the nurse just outside my room. She steps in to make sure I’m okay, but when her eyes meet mine and she sees Wyatt embracing me, she backs out of my door and closes it nearly completely.

“You know, there are other physical things I would really like to test out. And only you can help me,” I say, my overt come-on mincing no words.

Wyatt sinks back down beside me, his fingertips grazing along my collarbone, then down the center of my chest, along the soft cotton shirt I’ve basically lived in for the last two days.

“I’d really like to change,” I say.

His mouth tugs up on one side, and his dark lashes mask his eyes as his focus drops to my chest. His palm hovers between my ribs, his index finger drawing a soft line down to my navel before his fingers curl under the hem of my shirt.

“I can help with that,” he says in a soft voice, lifting his head to meet my eyes and level me with a devious smirk before shifting to press a soft kiss against my bare stomach.

“These are cute,” he remarks, teasing my skin along the band of the soft white cotton boxer shorts I’m now obsessed with.

“The incision is a little tender still. Besides, I kind of like them,” I say, wishing I had the muscle strength and ability to wriggle my hips and lure his hand lower.

“I kind of love them,” he says, moving back to the hem of my shirt. I suppose all touch is good at this point. My body is aching, and not from laps around the fucking nurses’ station.

Wyatt glances behind him, probably checking the door, then returns to my body, bringing my shirt up until my bare breasts are exposed, and his mouth covers one almost instantly.

“Do you feel that?” His tongue flicks against my left nipple, and I whimper.

“That’s a yes.” He chuckles. “How about this one?”

He moves to my right side, and while my hand and leg have been slow to cooperate with me, my tits seem to be completely on board with feeling everything.

“Oh, fuck,” I mutter. I suck my bottom lip in hard as my eyes flicker toward the door.

“Should we test . . . other things?” His mouth covers my nipple again, suckling it as he looks up at me through his lashes.

“We definitely should,” I say, my voice full of want.

In my mind, I’m lifting my hips, and I very well may be the tiniest bit, but it would be impossible to tell. Wyatt’s soft breath tickles my hard nipple, driving me wild as his palm slides down my stomach and underneath the band of my boxers. His fingertips brush along the trail of hair above my pussy, then slip between my legs. I throb instantly at his touch.

“Oh . . . oh, yes,” I stutter.

I’m going to come, and I’m going to come soon.

“Wyatt,” I say, his name more of a plea than anything.

“Come for me, baby,” he says, kissing my nipple as his finger slides against my soaking wet skin.

My lips part, and I lay my left arm over my eyes, wishing I could arch my body into him. He dips a finger inside of me, then two, hooking them as he pushes deep into me, then slides back out, coating me in my arousal.

“Fuck, you feel good, Peyton. I can’t wait until it’s my cock in you again,” he says, his dirty talk making my pussy swell against his touch.

He flicks his tongue against my nipple again, then teases my clit before pushing two fingers back inside. The pattern continues, and it gets faster as my breathing grows out of control. I let out a tiny cry with every pass of his hand against me, my pussy soaking wet as I get closer and closer to the edge. I can feel the wave coming as my core tightens; I turn my head and lift my gaze just enough to catch Wyatt’s eyes.

“Please,” I beg.

He sinks his fingers in deep, pressing his thumb against my clit and circling it as his teeth pinch my left nipple into a sweetly painful ache. My body wants to convulse, but every single bit of my orgasm is concentrated where Wyatt’s thumb is circling between my legs. It’s nearly torture taking every wave of pleasure that courses through me, and I have to bite my fist to keep from crying out loud.

By the time the last surge shatters me, it’s all I can do to open my eyes in the light of the room. I can barely breathe. And my smile will not leave my face.

Wyatt slips from the side of my bed and moves to the small suitcase my mom brought with extra clothes for me. He pulls out his favorite shirt—the one he gave me after our freshman year when he led the Wildcats to a conference championship. It has his name on the back, along with a whole lot of other football players, but it’s his I care about.

“Let me help you,” he says, supporting me as I sit up tall in the bed. I raise my arms one at a time, the right needing assistance from Wyatt as he slips one shirt from my body and replaces it with the new one.

When he nestles back into the bed beside me, I bend my left leg, nudging his thigh as my left palm teases his side. He takes it in his hand and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss on my wrist before meeting my gaze and shaking his head.

“I don’t need anything besides your pleasure.”

The massive hard-on in his sweatpants says otherwise.

“Are you sure?” I really want to touch him, but also, it’s not something I can do easily just yet.

He nods.

“I’m going to wait for when it’s time to put my cock in your pussy again. And then, I’m going to fuck you senseless.”

And right on cue, my nurse knocks at the door to announce it’s time for my vitals. I’m sure my face is bright red. It’s hot, but also, my entire body is now hot. Wyatt can’t seem to temper the massive smirk on his face. I think he rather enjoys seeing me rattled. And he basically seals that deal when he makes a bet with the nurse that my blood pressure may be a little elevated.

I want to die. But also, what a happy death.