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)
“Where the hell did you find Montevallo on cassette tape?” I reach for his tie again.
He falls over me, catching himself on the hands he plants on either side of my head. His hair falls into his face, and my stomach clenches at how it suddenly makes him look like an actual cowboy. One who’s been out working cattle all day, unkempt and scruffy and hungry.
“I got my sources.” His lips twitch as he leans in to kiss my neck.
A tingly rush spreads through my skin, the insistent beat between my legs spiking faster, hotter. I want him there.
It’s forward of me to go from kissing this man to inviting him to lie between my legs. Ordinarily, with any other guy, I’d stop him.
This is, after all, only our first date. And good girls don’t put out on the first date.
But being a good girl kind of sucks. And Wyatt said to let my body do the talking. I’m determined to listen.
It’s liberating, not having to worry about what he’ll think of me, whether or not he’ll ask me on a second date.
There are no rules with Wyatt, and it’s kind of the best thing ever. I’m able to be myself because he’s unabashedly himself right now. He’s not hiding how he feels or what he wants. And that makes me feel connected to him—safe with him—in a way I never do with other guys.
I let my leg fall through the slit in my dress. Wyatt, being the expert he is, reads me like a book. He lifts his knee, allowing my leg to fall outside of his. We do the same dance with my other leg, Wyatt kissing my neck all the while.
I am obsessed with neck kisses. Especially when he nicks me with his teeth. Scrapes me with his beard.
Then I’m spread-eagled, and Wyatt settles himself between my legs. Right where I want him.
He’s heavy, broad, and my hip flexors sing to accommodate him, making my dress ride up my thighs. Wyatt reaches down to clamp a hand around my bare leg, pushing my dress up even further.
I roll my hips in a mindless search for friction, letting out a moan of frustration. Notching my knee at his hip, Wyatt spreads me even wider while his mouth works its way up to mine.
All that separates us now are his jeans and my thong. I wonder if he can feel how wet I am. Would my eagerness turn him off? Or would it drive him wild?
He presses his lips to mine. Opens me up with a luxuriously unhurried stroke of his tongue. My toes curl into the soles of my hideously uncomfortable sandals, and I rise on a wave of lust that feels like liquid sunshine in my veins.
This.
This.
This is what I want—to be with a man who knows how to kiss. To be with Wyatt Rivers, his hands all over me.
I cannot believe I am making out with my best friend.
I must be dreaming. This is too good to be true. At any moment, I’ll wake up alone in my stiff twin bed, the alarm I set for five a.m. blaring.
But I don’t wake up. Wyatt doesn’t stop kissing me. So I decide to take advantage of the time I have with him and move my hands over his chest, his shoulders. I reach up and run my fingers through his hair, making him nip at my chin as he pins me to the seat with his hips, rocking against me in a slow, steady rhythm.
My clit pulses. Dear God, am I going to come from dry-humping alone? Even when guys have gone down on me in the past, I’m usually too anxious, too wrapped up in my thoughts, to orgasm. But here I am with Wyatt, ready to combust despite us both still having all our clothes on.
I think the danger of what we’re doing is only throwing fuel onto my fire. We could be caught. We could take it too far and regret everything tomorrow. I could show up to work in the morning with a hickey. Or at the very least, some epic beard burn. Wyatt has been paying a lot of attention to my neck.
This is all so wrong, and yet I want more.
We make out for one song. Another. Another and another, and soon, I have no idea how much time has passed. All I know is that my lips are throbbing, and so is my clit.
I need more. Now.
To my very great surprise, Wyatt is an absolute gentleman. His fingers work lazy circles over my bare leg, but his hand doesn’t move an inch further north. I’m constantly arching my back, rolling my hips, but he stays relatively still, slowly drinking me in with his mouth on mine.
I’m aching for sex. To be filled. Satisfied. Touched everywhere.