Wyatt opens all the windows he can. The fire has dwindled to nothing. But great news! Since Wyatt went all superhero and dragged the fire out with his bare hands, the odds of us dying of smoke inhalation tonight are practically nil.
Wyatt strides over and wraps his arms around my waist, his hands dripping down my thighs. “Now where were we?”
* * *
Wyatt glows in this dim light—and by light I mean moonlight. With all the windows open, it feels as if we’re about to have a romp in the woods at midnight.
“How about a nice warm bed?” Is it wrong of me to hope he has a fireplace in his room? I’m pretty sure Wyatt will want to steer clear of all things pyrotechnic for a while at least when I’m around. He’s lucky I didn’t burn his entire ranch to cinders.
Wyatt doesn’t hesitate picking me up and carrying me off to his bedroom like a caveman about to have his woman for the night. I love this sexed up, pent up, I-man-you-woman version of him. I don’t care if I set feminism back fifty years. Being carried off in the arms of a strong, gorgeous man is thus far the pinnacle of my existence. If there’s not a picture of Wyatt in the dictionary under the definition of a man, there should be. And if you look up weasel, you’ll find Will.
“To the bedroom!” he roars like a battle cry.
I pull his face to mine and start in on a dizzying kiss that feels far more intense, far hotter than that fire ever could. His passion, his frenzy meets with mine as we devour one another in a fantastically greedy manner. This is what I’ve always dreamed of, kissing my boyfriend in such a heady way that the world, the slight stench of smoke dissipates around you. Now, Wyatt as my boyfriend is something I can sink my teeth into.
Wyatt flops me onto the mattress, and I bounce as he climbs on top of me. He reaches over and picks up a condom, relaxing back on his knees as he prepares to cover that lap rocket he has pointing straight into space.
I take him in with the moonlight pouring its icy glow over his form. Wyatt looks as if he’s carved from marble—albeit a rather beautifully vulgar statue that I’d want for my personal collection.
“You’re impressive.” I bite down hard over my lip—with a mixture of excitement and fear—and I swear I taste blood. “But I bet you hear that all the time.” Perfect. Remind him of his other casual encounters. I’m sure twelve different girls just popped into his brain, and, thanks to my asinine mouth, he’ll be juxtaposing them to me for the rest of the night. Of course, I’ll be on the losing end of the condom because I could never compare to the one-night skanks he’s used to bedding. They might have garnered themselves a crappy reputation, but at least they’ve managed to leave a lasting impression with my boyfriend.
Boyfriend? Ack!
Strike three!
Say it with me three times fast: Wyatt James is not my boyfriend. Wyatt James is not my boyfriend. Wyatt James is not my boyfriend! Shit. The last thing I need to do is brainwash myself into believing I’m his faux girlfriend. I’m not his anything. We’ve more than drawn a platonic line in the contractual sex sand. Contracts were signed. We’re business partners both in and out of the bedroom. If he wanted me as his girlfriend, he would never have had me sign that ridiculous document.
My heart sinks a moment. Obviously he wants nothing more to do with me outside of enjoying my body—and, dear God, I hope he’s enjoying my body. If I can give him a tenth of the pleasure he’s gifted me, I’ll be happy. Wyatt James is my legalized sex slave, nothing less—nothing more. It’s the way of the future. One small step for Marley Jackson’s vagina, one giant leap for womankind.
Wyatt snaps on the condom and wraps his hand around the base before gliding up over the length of himself. A line of fire rips up from my belly just watching as he touches himself that way. He’s skilled—perhaps highly so. It makes me wonder if this is a daily occurrence.
“You like what you see?” he asks so nonchalant he might as well have asked about the weather.
“Yes. God, yes.” A nervous giggle emits from me.
“Good.” He runs his hand over his shaft once again, securing the condom in place. “Because we’re just getting started.” He gives my thigh a quick tap.
“Oh, right.” My legs widen to accommodate him. “We’d better get to work.” My heart does its best to drum its way out of my chest. A dull ache springs from somewhere deep inside as he inches his way toward me with that weapon of mass seduction.
“Marley.” My name growls from him warm and dangerously sexy like a tropical sunset on some exotic beach. Wyatt lowers himself over me, his cologne warming the air between us. He steadies himself on his elbows, his eyes glowing down at mine. “This isn’t work for me. I don’t want you to think of it as work either.” He pauses to dot a kiss to my forehead. “It’s pleasure—or at least it should be.”