Page 26 of Tempting Wyatt (Triple Creek Ranch #1)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

wyatt

I’M SO ANGRY WITH MYSELF that I can barely see straight.

All week, I’ve let Ivy work on the ranch without checking if she was okay. Without telling her to soak her sore muscles or making sure she wasn’t in pain.

When I saw her limping, I wanted to kick my own ass. I’d practically mauled her in the fucking barn. She’d likely been in pain then. But had her stubborn ass said anything? No. No, she hadn’t.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting?” I ask, handing over the ibuprofen and a glass of water.

Her doe eyes look up into mine. “No complaining, remember? We agreed.”

Fuck me.

That first day, I’d told her complaining meant the deal was off.

“You’d already won that bet. You made it through that first day.”

She makes a soft sound in her throat and lifts one shoulder.

It’s inappropriate for me to be here, undressing her, bathing her like a child, and massaging her to sleep, but I can’t stop myself.

She’s hurting because of me—because I made her promise not to complain. Because I was an asshole and she was a distraction I thought I didn’t want.

Now she’s all I fucking want. So badly that I’m struggling to see straight.

Tasting her sweet, angelic mouth in the barn made me hungry for more, but not tonight. Tonight, she needs rest.

The soapy water hides most of her beautiful body, but her soft whimpers while I wash her hair still have me hard as hell in my jeans. When she’s fully rinsed off, I help her out of the tub and wrap her in a towel before I do something stupid.

“Ready for bed?”

She sighs deeply. “I wish. I need to comb my hair out, or it will be a tangled mess in the morning.”

I’m betting it still hurts to lift her arms. I don’t know how many stalls she mucked or how many bales of hay she moved this week, but anytime me, Isaac, or Antonio gave her a task she handled it like a champ.

“Tell me how, and I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have—”

“I know I don’t have to. Just let me,” I say before she can finish. “Please.”

I don’t know if I’m doing this for her or to assuage my own guilt, but I am going to take care of her tonight if it kills me.

“I had to grab these at a store on the way here,” she says, handing me a tube of leave-in cream conditioner. “I, um, forgot mine when I was packing. Just a small amount will do.”

I squeeze some conditioner out of the tube and rake it through her hair before using a wide-tooth comb to detangle it. She’s right; her curls would’ve been a mess in the morning.

Next, there’s some sort of mousse stuff, and then she instructs me on how to scrunch her hair in my hands. Then we work together to braid her hair loosely. She says it keeps it from knotting up in her sleep.

When I finish, she smiles at me in the mirror, and I smile back.

As awkward as this should feel, I like taking care of her. Much more than I should.

“You’re good at this,” she murmurs at our reflection.

“Oldest of six,” I remind her. “With two sisters, I’ve had some practice.”

She’s moving a little better since the bath, but I don’t miss her wincing when she tries to walk toward the bedroom. I lift her in my arms again, doing my best not to ogle her body when I lower her to the mattress.

“Lose the towel and roll over onto your stomach,” I command gently.

She does so without hesitation, and the dominant wolf in me growls hungrily. With her beautiful, bare backside on display, he wants to take.

But I’m here to give.

Grabbing the lotion from the nightstand beside the bed, I squeeze a generous amount into my hands. I rub them together to warm the lotion before massaging it into her back and shoulders. I start out gently, but the deeper into her tight muscles I press, the more she moans.

“Oh my God,” she mumbles with her face half in a pillow. “That feels amazing. If ranching doesn’t work out, you could totally be a masseuse.”

I grin even though she can’t see me. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Making my way across her shoulders, then down her neck and spine, I debate on whether or not to go below her waist.

I shouldn’t. But, fuck, I want to so badly that it feels like a need.

When I feel the sides of her breasts on my fingertips, I nearly lose focus.

My vision blurs. My cock has been hard for so long that it’s a wonder there’s any blood flowing to my brain at this point.

I vow not to be that guy. I’m not going to be the guy who massages her to get something for myself. This is for her. Only for her. To relieve her aches and pains and maybe give her some pleasure.

The thought has me squeezing the firm flesh on her perfectly round ass before I can stop myself.

She’s so quiet that I wonder if she’s asleep.

Even if she is, I’m finishing what I started so she won’t be in pain tomorrow.

Using my thumbs, I rub deep circles into the back of her thighs. Continuing down her legs to her petite little feet, I smile at the pale pink polish on her toes. My hands appear freakishly oversized next to her petite features.

My tiny pink Hollywood princess. Except she’s tougher than I expected a princess to be. She handles my bullshit with a smile most days. Works hard, is kind to everyone. Not at all like the high-maintenance piece of work I expected her to be.

Because she’s not a princess. She’s an angel.

Granted, and angel that kisses like the devil and may tempt me straight to hell. But an angel all the same.

When I come back up to her thighs, she moans again and spreads her legs apart a little more. With that perfect peach ass in the air, my cock is killing me. Pleading with me to get inside her beautiful body.

I adjust myself with one hand, getting more lotion as an excuse for the pause, then return my attention to the back of her thighs. She spreads wider, until my hands are fully between her legs.

Like the predator I was born to be, the scent of her arousal calls to the beast in me. I can practically taste her need in the air.

“Tell me when to stop,” I whisper in the darkness.

She sighs softly. “It feels so good. Please don’t stop.”

Fuck yes.

She moans again, causing me to become lightheaded.

Massaging her lower back elicits more moans, but when she arches her ass upward, I know what she wants.

Pulsing my hands down her ass and between her legs, I feel it. The telltale wetness on her inner thighs.

My girl is turned on.

I slide between the sweet, slick crevice craving attention. It’s pure silk I feel when I gently glide past her entrance to her swollen clit.

Her hips roll, and the sight and feel of her is so erotic that I could stroke myself off embarrassingly soon from this alone.

An overwhelming urge to bury my face, hands, and cock in the sweet heat I feel nearly consumes me.

“Tell me when to stop,” I repeat, half hoping she’ll stop me before I can’t stop myself. And hoping in equal measure I get to make her come all over my fingers.

She only pants, rolling her hips once more to create friction between my fingers and her slick flesh.

“Tell me you want me to make your pussy come, baby. I need to know you want this and aren’t just too tired to fight me off.”

She humps my hand once more. “I want it. Please. Wyatt. Please.”

Her begging pushes me past the point of sense.

“Take it then, sweet girl. Ride my hand like you want. Get that needy little pussy off and cover my fingers so I can taste you on them.”

My filthy words spur her onward, and she begins fucking my hand in earnest. I slip a thick finger inside her welcoming opening, and she clenches tightly around it. She whispers my name, sliding up and down my finger, rutting into the mattress, whining and mewling when she comes.

The pulsing of her release makes me groan out loud. Her juices coating my fingers has me moaning now.

I have to get the hell out of here before I do something crazy. Like fuck her until the sun comes up. I pat her ass playfully and stand.

She’s limp and spent, breathing heavily, when her drowsy gaze meets mine. I lean over and place a firm kiss on the back of her shoulder.

“Get some rest. You’ve proved yourself enough, angel. Take it easy tomorrow.”

She makes a soft sound of contentment into the pillows.

With that, I stand and force my legs to walk away from her while I still can.

On my way out, a dark brown heap on the kitchen table catches my eye. Thinking it’s a blanket, I step over to grab it.

It’s not a blanket. It’s a jacket. A familiar jacket.

My jaw flexes as I pick up Isaac’s barn coat. Why it’s here, I don’t know, but I can guess. And knowing he’s been here, with her, lights parts of me on fire that I’d thought were long dead.