His hot kisses track all the way to my ear. “I need to be inside you right now.” He gives my neck a tender bite, and my mouth opens with a dry croak emitting from my throat. Wyatt lands us both on the couch, thankfully choosing to overlook my throat’s second offense of the evening. The soft velveteen fabric warms against my skin. (I once had sex with Will on a leather couch at his mother’s house. It was like a cold slap to the entire backside of my body, and, here, even Wyatt’s furniture is all about making me comfortable.) I bet Wyatt bought this couch with girls like me in mind. He’s thoughtful that way.
Instinctually my legs ride over his sides and clasp around his back until I’m hugging him with all four limbs. His tongue rides down my neck, down further until his hot mouth glides over both of the girls. It’s sort of a drive-by as if he were simply just saying hello on the way to more interesting places. Wyatt dips down further.
Oh, my gawd! He really is headed to more interesting places!
Wyatt lands my thighs over his shoulders. His thumb softly rubs the inside of my knee until my stomach melts in a puddle.
Will—idiot that he is—never did that. He claimed he had an allergic reaction that almost killed him once with some other girl he went down on. So, of course, I never pressured him. Who would want to be responsible for killing their boyfriend by way of cunnilingus? How would I ever explain that to his mother? But now that I see him for the cheat he is, I’m sure he just made it all up because he wasn’t into pleasuring me. Either that or the girl that turned him off from going south forever had one tainted twat! Not me. I’m showered and shaved, and I’ve even clipped myself into a Valentine’s Day heart down there in honor of my first kiss with Wyatt. Technically we kissed in the parking lot that first night we met, but that hardly counts since I was just trying to make Will jealous. Anyway, it’s not like Wyatt can possibly notice the craftsmanship that went into my mop chop.
“Did you do this for me?”
I peer down to see him looking at my handiwork, amused. His finger traces out the heart-shaped pattern, over and over.
“Why, yes I did! Thank you for noticing.” I’m strangely elated by the approving gleam in his eyes.
“I noticed.” He circles my features with his gaze. “I make it a point to notice every single detail about you.”
A tiny squeal emits from my throat.
Is it sick that I love how stalker-ish that sounds?
Wyatt plunges in with his tongue and gets right to work.
“Oh, wow.” I flinch unexpectedly. So this is what I’ve been missing. “Oh, this.” I groan as Wyatt turns my nether regions into his tongue’s favorite fun zone. He does this twirly thing repetitively right over my erogenous zone, and I jump a little just trying to catch my breath. “Okay, that.” I pant. “Yes, for sure that!”
Wyatt lets out a little laugh right over my sweet spot. I guess fair is fair, I practically chortled him right back out of my throat.
“You taste so fucking sweet.” He growls into me, and I die.
Two things. One—he’s not gagging and going into anaphylactic shock, so already I’m pleased. And, two—just hearing him belt out that expletive turned me on ten thousand times more than I ever thought possible. Wyatt is a gentleman, a man’s man. He doesn’t bark out cuss words 24/7 like the frat boys I’m so often surrounded by, so when he does let the occasional F word fly, it carries a lot of power and apparently has the ability to bring me to orgasm at record pace.
“Wyatt!” I cry out in a panic. “It’s happening. I’m going to have it!” Geez, could I sound anymore like an idiot? Worse yet, like an idiot who’s in freaking labor? Who shouts these things in the throes of passion? I should have thought this through more diligently when I had the chance. I should have asked Baya what she screams when her man brings her to the clit parade. And then I should have taken notes and rehearsed the damn thing like a fucking novena.
“Do you want it?” He growls it out quickly before getting back to business. Wyatt doesn’t mess around. I can tell he is all about getting shit done.
“Yes! I want it. I want it so bad, Wyatt.” I pull a throw pillow over my head and bury my face in it. I would rather suffocate to death than allow one more asinine thing to burp from my mouth. God, wouldn’t it be ironic if I really did suffocate and die during oral sex? And, here, Will was the big faker all along.
I fling the pillow across the room in a fit of rage. I’ll be damned if I’m going to gift Will the pleasure of being right in anything even remotely related to my heart-shaped ass.