The Saint(114)

The snow fell all around them and yet she didn’t smell winter.

She broke away and took a step back.

Wyatt took a deep breath and the air turned white around him.

“Damn,” he said. “I was wrong.”

“About what?”

“You don’t taste like poetry. Poetry tastes like you.”

And at that Eleanor knew he had her.

So it began. Since she’d told Wyatt sex was off the table, he didn’t even ask. He didn’t do anything but kiss her every chance he had their first five days together. She made sure to give him a lot of chances. He met her after class and they did homework together. They ate breakfast, lunch and dinner together. They went to a party together. They hung out in his dorm room with a couple of his friends and watched TV together. They fought over the popcorn so vociferously Wyatt’s two friends got up and left, saying they couldn’t watch TV with so much sexual tension in the room as it interfered with the reception. With the room to themselves they made out for two hours on Wyatt’s bed. He lay on top of her and she slipped her hands under the back of his T-shirt. She loved the way his skin felt, so soft and smooth. He didn’t have Søren’s lean muscle mass or his height. She and Wyatt were far more evenly matched than she and Søren. He felt like an equal, a friend. But then he started to lift her shirt and all feelings of friendliness jumped out the fourth-floor window to their deaths.

“Wyatt …”

“Please?”

One please and she gave up the fight.

“Okay.”

Wyatt pulled off her shirt. He unhooked her bra and slowly slid it off her arms.

He stared at her naked breasts, and she lay there letting him look at her. She waited for him to say something, expected him to say something. Instead he put his mouth to better use. He brought his lips down onto her right nipple and gently sucked. As he kissed her nipples, licked and teased them, she watched him and grew more and more aroused. She dug her fingers into his hair as she felt this overwhelming feeling of tenderness for him. He seemed so young to her, so innocent. She wanted to hold him to her breasts, keep him safe, protect him. He should be naked and underneath her while she teased his body the way he teased hers. With him on top of her, she couldn’t help but push her hips into his. He pushed back and soon Eleanor felt her climax building. She shuddered in his arms as a wave of pleasure crashed over her and through her.

“Did that happen?” Wyatt asked, holding himself up over her.

“Did what happen?” She decided to play innocent.

“Did you come?”

“I take the Fifth.”

“Elle …” Wyatt gave her a serious, almost pleading look.

“Yes, I did.” She laid her hand on the side of his face.

“That was the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me.” Wyatt pressed his forehead to hers.

She grinned and kissed him quick. “It happened to me more than you.”

“It happened to us. With us. I like saying us. Can I say it some more?”

“Wyatt, he’s back in three days.” She dreaded the conversation she and Søren would have about Wyatt, but not telling him seemed unthinkable.

“I don’t care about him. I care about us. We weren’t even having sex and you came underneath me. It was so fucking sexy, and I’m about to come from talking about it.”

“You can come if you want.”

“Do you want me to?”

“You’re asking my permission?”

“You’re the woman. You make the sex rules.”

She grinned up at him. She made the sex rules? She kind of liked the sound of that.

“You can. I want you to.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He brought his mouth down to hers again and kissed her with a roughness that shocked her. She wrapped a leg around his back and pushed her breasts into his chest. He moaned in the back of his throat as he ground his pelvis into hers. She turned her head to give him access to her neck. The sight of his tattooed hand and forearms against the sheets made her question her “sex off the table” rule. Right now she wanted him—on the table or off.

Wyatt’s breathing grew ragged as he moved against her. God, she wanted to push him onto his back right now and hold him down. She’d love to pin those tattooed forearms to the bed. She’d work her hips against him, bring him close to coming and then stop … bring him close to coming again and then stop again…. She’d torture him like that until he begged her to let him come. And maybe if he begged enough, she’d let him.

Instead she held him as his body trembled from his own orgasm before going still. He lay on top of her, barely moving, only lightly kissing her neck as he caught his breath.