“Oh, it’s pleasure all right.” My fingers coil through his hair as I pull him down close to my lips. “Wyatt, I love—this.” God, I almost said you! My mouth finds his, and we engage in a lusty exchange as my legs ride over his back.
There is no such thing as love. Even if there were, I couldn’t let myself fall in love with Wyatt.
We heat the bed with our primal kisses, his body writhes over mine, solid and weighted. This is happening—finally happening. There’s no fire in the vicinity, so already I feel as if nature is giving us a green light.
Wyatt runs his hand down my thigh as if prepping me for the big moment. “Let me know if I hurt you.”
“Okay, I’ll bite your ear real hard, how’s that?”
A dark laugh thumps through him. “Oh, sweetie, you won’t be able to reach my ear. Wyatt guides himself inside me horrifically slowly, and surprisingly painfully so. His head moves up about two feet from mine. I’m face to face with his chest, and, as it were, I can hardly lift my head off the pillow to kiss that.
“I want to kiss you,” I groan as Wyatt delves in slow and deep.
“Just a sec.” He grunts as he eases himself into my body, eliciting an entire series of choking sounds to crackle from my throat. Dear God, is there a mute button on this thing? It sounds as if I’m being hacked up to pieces. Clearly I now see the need for a conduct code of acceptable bedroom practices. Perhaps this can fall under the chapter heading of Tonality, Pitch and Intonation: Why your man might think he’s killing you softly behind closed doors and try not to burp on his penis for fuck’s sake!
Wyatt thrusts in further, settling in as if he’s been looking for a new habitat for Heavy D and the Boyz all along. He’s stretching and pulling and quite possibly ripping his way into my esophagus, and just as I’m about to cry out wrong hole, just to have him pull out for a brief second, he gives one last grunt as his penis high fives my cerebellum.
“You were saying you wanted a kiss?” Wyatt somehow turns into elastic-man as his face hovers over mine with a loose grin. “You’re so tight. Are you okay?” His brows dip with worry. The night shadows catch him in all the right places, contouring his bone structure, highlighting the fact he’s fiercely handsome—majestic in nature.
“Great,” I whisper. It’s all I can manage. Just the one word. I’m afraid if I open my mouth any further, he’ll be able to have a conversation with his own dick.
A part of me wants to say I love the feeling of this forest fire you’ve ignited deep in my vagina. Or I love the intense burst of white-hot pain that assures me even though I’ve had a previous vaginal stretching session with a man far less genetically endowed than the Goliath currently embedded in my person, I may, in fact, have been a born-again virgin.
I press my lips together and resist the urge to shout, By George I think you popped my cherry!
Wyatt slowly moves his way in and out, working up to a full-on pumping session while sporadically delivering mind-blowing wild kisses. It’s becoming increasingly clear that Wyatt is the master of both his domain and mine. He’s the king of the sheets. The god of getting down and dirty. If a lesson in the art of erotic love is what I’ve been looking for, then I’ve come to the temple to learn from the master. Wyatt is a treasure trove of mind-numbing multiple moves that he’s perfectly capable of executing in sync, thus the elastic-man reference. He pulls his mouth from mine and stretches his torso out over me again, leaving me to stare at his well-defined pecs as his body pumps into mine at a pace that borders on violent.
Wyatt’s scorching mouth runs a revolution over my face before he continues his assault on my nether regions again. God, it’s like the Battle of Little Big Horn—emphasis on the Big.
He drills in deep as if he’s waiting for oil to spew from my throat. Clearly this is my vagina’s last stand. I suppose that makes Wyatt Crazy Horse by default which is fitting seeing that he has about six dozen steeds roaming the property. Of course, Wyatt is my favorite stud. If he were a horse, he’d be one of those giant beasts that look as if they’re wearing furry white legwarmers, happily trotting their way through beer commercials.
“Is this good?” He groans from above before diving back down with a delicious heated kiss.
“Y—e—s.” I choke out the word into six evenly split syllables.
My skull hits the headboard repetitively with a dull thump. Great. I’m going to get a concussion and black out, thus missing the best sex of my life.
“You like being fucked don’t you?” He pants the words out over me as frenetically paced as his movements, and my mouth falls open. Just when I didn’t think Wyatt James could get any hotter, he turns up the dirty talk.