This is it … do or die. No running now.
Wyatt pulls his vehicle up to the base of the long staircase that leads up to his front porch, which sits up high on the stilts that are typical of the beach cottages here on the Atlantic. He puts it in park and the engine shuts off, and for several painfully long moments, he just stares up at me.
I can't see his eyes, but I feel the weight of his gaze on me behind those sunglasses. Nervously shoving my hands into the side pockets of the pale, blue sundress I'm wearing, I carefully rub them on the material at my thighs because they are nervously sweating.
Wyatt finally opens the driver's door and steps out. He removes his sunglasses and tosses them on the front seat, now staring up at me with those clear, hazel eyes. I can't read a damn thing on his face, but then again, he's always been skilled at masking his emotions. He's dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a light blue, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. He's more tan than when I saw him last, and he clearly just got off work as he's still wearing his gun holster over his shoulders and his police badge is pinned to his hip.
So. Fucking. Gorgeous.
My mind starts spinning on what will be the first thing I should say. I can't believe I've been sitting on his freakin' porch for this long and don't even have my speech planned out.
Panic flows through me as Wyatt starts walking to the staircase.
No, wait … stalking toward the staircase. Well … more of a prowl.
The minute his foot hits the bottom step, he starts bounding up them two at a time, his eyes pinning me in place.
He nears the top, and I take a step backward, but he keeps barreling at me. I try to take another step back when he reaches the porch, but then his hands are on my face. I catch the briefest glimpse of his eyes, which are blazing with heat, and then his mouth is on me.
Pushing me back, slamming his lips harder against me, he walks me right back into his front door. My momentum is halted, but his isn't as he presses in closer to me and his tongue shoves its way into my mouth.
A feral groan tears out of his chest, and my arms go around his back in an unnecessary attempt to pull him closer to me.
Unnecessary because he pushes me hard into the door, while his hands continue to grip onto the sides of my head. His hips flex in and then grind against me … his cock already hard in his pants, and hot, molten lust almost brings me to my knees.
A guttural moan rumbles out of me as I tear my lips away from his. This only causes him to fist my hair and tug my head to the side so his mouth can move down my neck.
I moan again … harder, and one hand drops to the front of his pants so I can rub his erection.
Wyatt hisses against the skin on my neck and grinds his cock against my hand.
Then he's kissing me again … one hand gone from my hair and fumbling inside the pocket of his pants for his keys. He never misses a beat, his tongue working me hard, his hips moving against me, and yet he still manages to unlock his door.
A quick twist of his knob and we're practically falling through the door. Wyatt pushes me a few steps in, wraps his arm around my waist, kicks the door closed with his foot, and then lowers me right to carpeted living room floor.
I realize I have no clue what his cottage looks like because my eyes have been closed, and they flutter open during our downward descent. I briefly see the back of a navy blue couch with beige throw pillows and taupe paneled walls.
Then my back is resting against plush, cream-colored carpet, and Wyatt's body is covering me with his mouth, still working mine hard. My hands yank at his shirt, trying to get it pulled free of his pants, but I can't work my way around his leather shoulder holster so I start clawing at.
Pushing up off me slightly and balancing on one forearm, Wyatt starts rolling his shoulder to help me work the holster loose. All the while, he continues to feast on my mouth. It's the hottest, longest, most desperate kiss I've ever had in my life.
Once the holster comes free of one shoulder, I do nothing more than toss it over his back, where it still hangs from the opposite shoulder. I don't care though … it's out of my way, and it reminds me much of the same way he left my panties dangling around one ankle the last time we were together.
Tugging hard, I get Wyatt's shirt up, only to be met with a white t-shirt underneath, so I just plunge my hands up underneath of it until I'm able to run my hands over his skin. My entire body spasms when Wyatt drags the hem of my dress up and plunges his hand down the front of my panties.