I’m not aware that I’ve let go of his c**k and have started to dig my fingers into his back until a low noise slips from his lips. “You trying to draw blood?”
I drop my hands. “Damn, sorry. You screw me up, too. You make me want—”
“What? Tell me what you want, beautiful.”
You make me want to keep trying.
But even Wyatt’s magic fingers and pierced lip and dick aren’t enough to make me want to go through all the emotional bullshit again. “You make me want to kick you in the throat for talking too much.” He throws his head back and laughs.
I kiss the tattoo on his throat.
“You are f**king amazing,” he growls, pinning me back down. He presses his mouth to his tee shirt that I’m wearing. My back arches as he skims his tongue around my breast, wetting the thin fabric. He pauses, his expression pensive for a few seconds, but then he makes up his mind. He shoves the tee up and over my head. Cupping my breast in his hand, he pulls my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. He uses teeth.
God, he knows what that does to me.
“You’ve always been amazing to me,” he says in between strokes of his tongue.
His words push so many of my emotions to the surface at once that they all seem to crash into each other, causing my head to spin and my vision to cloud. What I feel is love but there’s something else too, something that’s bitter and nauseating but not quite hatred. And I realize that there’s so much I’ll need to say to him before we’re done. So much I hadn’t even considered when I came here to get away from him.
But putting everything out there is going to have to wait.
Because if Wyatt’s going to look at me a few months from now and think about what we did in our final hours, I want him to remember how I rocked his world—not how I turned into a sentimental sap.
I curve my fingers back around his erection. Racing my free hand up his chest, I bring my face up to his. When I clench the skin close to his neck, he groans and squeezes my clit between his thumb and forefinger.
“Fuck me,” I pant.
He leans over and rummages around in the nightstand drawer. “Shit,” he says in a harsh whisper. When his eyes meet mine again, his gorgeous features are worked into a frown. He rubs his palm back and forth over the top of his head, mussing his short blonde hair. “Fuck, I’ve cock-blocked myself.”
Because my head is obviously not in the right place, I release an exasperated moan. “Well, stop.”
He makes a soft noise that sounds like a chuckle against the column of my throat. “Trust me it was unintentional.” He rubs my center faster, and my legs tremble. “Damn, I need you.”
My hand finally closes around his neck—not hard, but just enough for him to growl a curse against my mouth. “Why not now?” I demand as he pulls himself out of my grip.
He glances up at me for a moment. “Because as good as I know you’ll feel, I’m not prepared.” Realization dawns that he’s condomless. I nod my head in understanding, even though for the life of me, I can’t understand why a rock star would leave the house without one. Before he even has the chance to think about asking me if I’m willing to go without, I shake my head.
He crawls down the length of my body. Kissing the insides of my thighs, he says, “We’ll just do this the hard way.”
My muscles grow tense as he sucks hungrily on my clit. My next question is muffled because I cover my mouth with my wrist to keep from crying out. Once I catch my breath, I tease, “Wake-up call my ass.”
“Don’t worry. Tonight, your ass and that wake up call are mine.”
What exactly does he call this, then? He lowers his mouth to my sex again, and I bite down on my tongue as if it’ll keep me from making a sound, but finally I whimper. Because Wyatt knows me so well, he leans away from me for a split second to say, “Oh, you’re mine right now, Kylie. Only with a little improvisation.”
“Improvisation,” I repeat.
He nods, his dark blonde hair tickling my thighs. “Like this.” Gripping my waist, he parts my wet slit with two fingers, and without warning, pushes both inside of me. I ball my hands into fists around the crumpled cotton sheets.
“And this.” The tip of his tongue races around my clit, as his fingers glide back and forth inside of me. It’s a rhythm that makes me dizzy. I buck my hips toward him. He releases a low sound that seems to hum through my body. Wyatt and I have done this more than once. We’ve f**ked so many times that I’ve lost count, but this is the first time that I’ve literally felt as if I’ll catch fire.
Keeping his fingers deep inside of me, he replaces his tongue with the pad of his thumb and places strategic kisses along my body. One on each of my hipbones, and I shiver. Another at my bellybutton, where he pauses to circle it with his tongue and catches my wrist when I try to grasp his hair. And then he kisses each of my br**sts, using everything from his teeth to his piercing to get a rise out of me. By the time our bodies are flush with each other again, I’m a wreck.
“More improvisation?” I moan.
He hooks his free hand under my knee and wraps my leg around his waist. I follow suit with my other leg, clenching him tight. “Mmhmm, like this.” His mouth covers mine, nibbling my lips and battling my tongue, so that when I come intensely a moment later and whisper that I love him, my words are nothing more than muffled sobs.
***
Wyatt is in the shower when the alarm on my phone suddenly goes off at exactly 6:20 AM. At first I don’t do anything to silence it. One, my legs are still shaky from his improvisation. Two, my phone is all the way across the room, lodged down in the back pocket of my jeans. And three, I love The Black Keys song that I’ve chosen as a ringtone and can probably listen to Lonely Boy over and over again for the rest of the morning. When the person staying in the room next to Wyatt’s taps gently on the wall, though, I suck it up and slide out of bed.