Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Another rumble. He’s good at telling me what he likes.
Wait, does Wyatt actually like kissing me?
Yes. The answer comes in a hard, decisive heartbeat. This kind of passion, of hunger, can’t be faked.
I’m determined not to fake anything either. I wait for my thoughts to rustle in that annoyingly familiar way of theirs—the second-guesses, the equivocations. The doubts.
Instead, my thoughts are shockingly…clear. Concise.
Confident.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m scared as hell I’m going to fuck up my friendship with Wyatt. But I’m not scared to kiss him. Not when he’s touching me like this, encouraging me to rise into his caress with his confidence. His silent assurance that everything is going to be just fine.
I stroke my tongue into his mouth. It’s a baby lick, just deep enough that I can taste a hint of the clean, earthy malt from his beer on his tongue.
Yet another rumble, this one accompanied by him stepping into me so that our bodies are flush. My coat is in the way though, so I let it fall to the ground and put my hand on his face, arching my back so that our hips melt together.
I am throbbing everywhere as Wyatt spreads his legs and captures mine between them. His kiss becomes hungrier, his teeth sinking into my bottom lip before he gives it a tug. Fireworks erupt across the back of my closed eyelids.
Suddenly, I’m the one making a noise, a high, embarrassingly breathy moan that I try to mute but can’t.
Wyatt chuckles, his hand finding my hip as he breaks the kiss to murmur into my neck, “Look at you, telling me what you like. Good job, Sunshine. Let your body keep talkin’ to me, yeah?”
If only my heart were as brave. There’s some irony here—the fact that I’m okay communicating what my body wants, but not what my heart, my soul, longs for.
I tell myself that’s okay. At this point, I’ll take what I can get. And I have to remember that I’m leaving. Even if Wyatt were open to falling in love—which he definitely isn’t—it’d be a dumb move on both our parts.
It is pretty sweet, though, to think Wyatt likes it when I make weird noises. Judging by the way he presses a scruffy kiss to my jaw, he likes it very much.
More. That’s all my body is saying right now as sparks erupt from the place where his nose nudges against the hollow beneath my ear. He inhales deeply, like he digs the way I smell.
Holy shit, am I actually getting this right? Does Wyatt actually think I’m sexy?
I grab his tie and yank his mouth back up to mine. He deepens the kiss right away, his tongue in my mouth, the fingers of the hand he has on my hip moving ever so slightly toward my ass.
I am a hot, hollowed-out mess, and I fucking love it.
Speaking of heat, it radiates off him in waves that smell like wintergreen and sandalwood. The contrast between the warmth at my front and the cold at my back makes me shiver.
“Aw, Sunshine, you are cold.”
“I’m not—”
But Wyatt is already grabbing my hand. He’s lifting me up and tossing me on my back onto the front bench of his truck—the passenger door is still open—like I only weigh as much as the hay bales he throws around all day long. The seat is deep, and the windows are high up, meaning people won’t be able to see us unless they’re right beside the truck.
I yelp with delight. This time, I don’t try to keep in the sound as he climbs into the truck—climbs on top of me—and closes the door behind him. Instead, I put my hands on his hips and watch, tilting my head back, as he straddles my torso with his knees and straightens to shove the key into the ignition.
The truck comes to life with a throaty growl that makes the bench vibrate pleasantly against my back. Wyatt cranks a dial, and heat blasts through the vents. He even goes so far as to aim the pair of vents nearby at me.
“That better?”
“Yeah. Yes. Thank you.” My heart skips several beats as a wash of warmth moves over me.
Wyatt’s body and his kiss are hot as hell. But I think his concern for me—for others in general—might be the sexiest thing about him. He’s not afraid to show he cares tonight, and that display of vulnerability is the biggest turn on ever.
I watch Wyatt toss his hat aside. Then he shoulders out of his blazer, folding it neatly over the back of the seat.
He looks enormous in the moonlight, his shoulders and biceps straining against the crisp fabric of his blue button-up. Then he pushes a cassette tape into the tape deck—cassettes must be a Rivers thing, because every single one of the boys refuses to put even a CD player in their trucks—and I let out a bark of laughter when Sam Hunt comes on.