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twenty-nine

Elsy

Wyatt’s condo is fucking gorgeous. He flips a switch, and warm, bright lights bathe the room. Everything is sleek chrome and marble with top-of-the-line finishes. The kitchen is beautiful, all black cabinets with a professional-grade range.

Dumbstruck, I follow him into the main living area. Floor-to-ceiling windows look out onto the Austin cityscape. A leather sectional sits in front of a massive TV and what looks like every gaming console known to man.

He sticks his hands in his pockets, nerves clear on his face. “So? What do you think?”

“Why are you slumming it in my tiny little apartment every night when you could be here?” I can’t stop staring.

He pulls me into him. “Because you’re there. I want to be wherever you are.”

Melting, I sway into him. He’s strong and steady, the familiar scent of his cologne doing funny things to my heart rate.

“Take me to your bed.” Winding my arms around his waist, I gaze up at him. “Show me how you love me.”

Before I can so much as blink, he scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder.

“Wyatt! You’re going to hurt yourself.” I try to wiggle free, but he sets his hand on my back, holding me steady.

“I’ve got you,” he says, his voice calm. “I won’t let you fall.”

He walks me through the apartment, kicking open a door. Then deposits me in a giant bed, nestling me among the world’s softest pillows.

At the foot of the bed, Wyatt strips off his suit jacket, then rolls his shirtsleeves up his forearms. I shiver, greedily drinking him in.

“You like this?” He taunts me by flexing, the veins in his forearms standing in stark relief.

And that’s not the only thing standing. His pants are tented over the thick length of his erection, drawing my attention. My mouth waters, remembering his addictive, salty taste, how powerful I feel when I bring him to his knees.

Can I do this? Am I ready for this?

He distracts me by reaching for me, pulling me toward the edge of the bed. He takes off my sneakers and socks, then runs his thumb up the arch of my tender foot. I wear heels when I have to for work, but most of the time, I’d rather be in my Keds.

Impatiently, I shove my leggings off my hips, and he helps pull my legs free from the stretchy fabric. I move to take off the jersey—his jersey—but his hand lands on mine.

“Leave it,” he says roughly.

He teased me earlier; it’s only fair I return the favor.

My eyebrows lift as I raise the hem a few inches. “Or what?”

Wyatt lets out a growl. “Don’t play with me, Elsy.”

“Should I change into another one? I have so many, you know.”

Before I can so much as blink, he grabs me by the hips, yanking me down the bed. He manhandles me onto my belly, then pulls down my panties and buries his head between my legs.

He’s not gentle or sweet. No, he dives in like he’s starved, eating me out with a vengeance. A hand slips around to rub at my clit, hard and demanding. The scrape of his stubble between my thighs sends me climbing higher and higher. My hips lift, desperate for more as I grind against his fingers.

He grabs my ass, stroking the flesh there before he smacks me, the sharp crack echoing in the room, punctuated by my pants and moans. Need grips me by the throat as I squirm, wanting more. He spanks me again, the sting blooming into pleasure as he licks through my slick folds.

But it’s not enough.

“Fuck me.” My words come out on a pant.

He stills behind me. “Elsy…”

“Wyatt, I need you. Fuck me.”

“Are you sure?” He pulls back, running a finger over my entrance, stopping short of pushing in. “We don’t have to.”

Over my shoulder, I glare at him. “If you aren’t inside me in the next five seconds…”

He swallows, hurrying to his nightstand, and pulling out a condom and a bottle of lube. His clothes go flying before he suits up and slicks his fingers with the lube.

We’ve already had the talk about condoms; he’s allergic to latex, so he uses polyurethane, which means extra lube. Both of our test results came back negative, but since I’m not on birth control, condoms are required. And frankly, even if I were on birth control, I’d probably still insist on them. It’s not a trust thing; it’s an anxiety brain thing. I know I’d be obsessing over getting my period every month, poised to freak out at any slight deviation in my cycle. The last thing I want is a pregnancy scare in a brand-new relationship.

Wyatt maneuvers behind me, his hands on my hips. He presses a kiss on the back of my shoulder. “You feeling good?”

“I’ll feel better once you fuck me,” I snap, twitching my ass back.

The head of his cock notches against my entrance and I press against his thick length. He lets me take the lead, lets me use him like my own personal toy, until my ass rests against his thighs.

His thick length stretches me to my breaking point. The sensation of fullness is nearly overwhelming. Draping his body over mine, he rests his hands on either side of mine, his thighs bracketing my legs. He cages me in, enveloping me in his embrace.

“Fuck, Els.” His shuddery breath in my ear sends a shiver down my spine. “You feel so good.”

I have no words. I clench around him, his cock buried deep inside of me, and his rattling groan reverberates through his chest and into me.

Turning my head, I meet his lips in a heated kiss. He licks into my mouth, his tongue plunging in. He tastes like me, and I let out a soft whimper that has him smiling into the kiss.

“I fucking love you,” he whispers.

Lifting off his cock, I drive my hips back to take him inside me again. “You mean you love fucking me.”

“That, too.” He gives me another kiss before he lifts himself off me, his hands moving to my hips for balance.

“Then get to it.”

He laughs! He actually fucking laughs while he’s buried balls deep inside of me.

“Oh, Elsy,” he says, his smile audible. “Don’t ever change.”

With that, he pulls back and slams home again. Arousal coils within me as he fucks me with even, measured strokes. He sets one hand on my upper back, applying steady pressure until I drop onto my forearms to bury my face in the pillows.

This man treats me like a queen, my pleasure his priority, but he doesn’t treat me like a delicate flower. Or like I’ll break. No, he treats me like his equal.

Because I am. Just because he’s a millionaire hockey player doesn’t mean he’s better than me or that he’s more important than I am. We’re the same, he and I. We’re just people—people who have anxiety, people who have fought from the brink of panic, people who have loved and lost and learned.

And as Wyatt fucks me, his hands touching every part of me, I know it goes beyond the physicality. He’s touching my soul, too. He’s touching my heart.

He loves me. And one day, probably very soon, I’m going to tell him I love him, too. I’m halfway there already.

It’s taking me longer to get there, but it’s not a race. It’s a journey—one we get to go on together. And there’s no finish line, there’s no end to this. Until the day we both decide to call it quits, I’m in this—for as long as he’ll have me.

To have and to hold, from this day forward.

Wyatt’s hand smacks my ass, jolting me back to the present moment.

“You with me, Els?” His voice is gruff, as rough as gravel.

“Hold me.” My words are soft, hardly more than a whimper, but when he drapes his body over mine and brackets me in, I lean my head back on his shoulder.

“Anytime,” he says, his arm curling around my belly.

His pace slows, no longer frantic as he fucks into me.

And as the fire inside of me climbs higher and higher, as he holds me and murmurs into my ear, I know that this is it—this is what I’ve been looking for all these years. I’ve been so tripped up over our past, I never let myself consider a future.

It’s what I want. Him and me. Me and him.

Forever.

My orgasm hits before I’m ready for it, my whole body alight with pleasure. Wyatt fucks me through it, and only when I collapse onto the bed does he seek his own release.

With a shout, he tenses as his cock jerks inside me, spilling into the condom. He pulls out of me and collapses onto the bed. Immediately, he pulls me into his arms, and I set my head on his chest, directly over his pounding heart.

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my hair.

“Love you, too,” I finally get the courage to say back.

And then I black out.