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)
I grab my phone from the nightstand and flip it over. My stomach somersaults when I see that it’s ten o’clock.
When was the last time I slept this late?
When was the last time I was up so late? Yes, I got sleep, but it was broken sleep. I had no idea you could be so turned on that it wakes you up in the dead of night. That’s never happened to me before.
Then again, I’ve never slept with Wyatt Rivers before.
I sit up and the sheets fall, catching on my breasts. I feel a slight burning sensation there. Looking down, I see red marks on my chest, my boobs, even my stomach.
Beard burn.
Wyatt kissed me literally everywhere last night, and Lord, does it show. Between him coming all over me and now the beard burn, there’s not an inch of my body Wyatt hasn’t left his mark on.
The thought makes me weirdly emotional. It also turns me on in a big, big way.
Glancing at my screen, I’m relieved to see I haven’t missed any calls or important texts. I did get an email from my adviser at Ithaca University, however, which I should probably read—
“Mornin’.”
I look up, and my heart falls a hundred stories when I see Wyatt standing in the doorway. He’s wearing a pair of broken-in Wranglers, and…that’s it.
Not a shirt. No hat. Not even a sock.
His bare torso is a sight to behold. Whorls of dark blond hair cover his barrel of a chest, narrowing to a happy trail that disappears into his jeans. His thick abdominal muscles slope into sculpted hips that form a very distracting V shape.
And his arms. My God, this man’s arms. His biceps bulge, putting his tattoos on prominent display. Thick veins run down the inside of his elbows and spread out along forearms the size of Wiffle bats.
He’s also got a raging case of bedhead. His thick hair is rumpled, sticking up every which way in a kind of ragged golden halo that’s somehow both adorable and sexy.
But it’s the mugs of steaming coffee he holds in his hands that really make my pulse skip a beat. The velvety smell fills the room, and for several seconds I can only stare, phone falling from my hand onto the bed with a soft thunk.
One side of his mouth kicks up in a smirk as he strides into the room.
“Lose your voice from yellin’ my name so much last night?”
Laughter bubbles up inside me, and I resist the urge to grab him by the throat and have my way with him right here, right now.
“If memory serves, you were the one yelling mine.”
“You surprised by that, Mustang Sally?” He holds out one of the mugs. “All you wanna do is ride.”
I’m so in love with you I can’t breathe, I think, even as I keep laughing.
All this smiling, this laughing, this longing—it fucking hurts, it’s so good.
I take the mug from him. “Please don’t start calling me that.”
“Nah. I like Sunshine better.”
His eyes meet mine. A beat of heated silence passes between us as those eyes flick to my bare torso. My nipples pebble beneath his attention—a fact he seems to notice because his nostrils flare.
“I like you in my bed.”
I bring the coffee to my lips. “I like being in your bed.”
“Stay.”
“You see me going anywhere?”
He sips his coffee before setting the mug on the bedside table. My body leaps when he sits on the mattress beside me. He frowns when he sees the red marks on my chest. “You hurtin’?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I liked it, Wyatt.”
He gently takes my breast in his hand. His eyes darken, taking on a feral glint. “And between your legs?”
“A little sore. Nothing”—my breath catches when he thumbs my nipple—“too bad.”
His jaw tics. “What would I find right now if I touched you there? Same as last time? The time before that?”
I nod, momentarily losing the ability to form words as he continues to stroke my nipple. Heat bolts through me, gathering in my clit.
“Can I—will you—”
His smirk is back. “You want me to touch you there?”
I nod. Wyatt takes the coffee from my hands. I reach for his jeans, but he pushes away my hand.
“You said you’re sore. Let’s give your body a little break, yeah?”
I keep nodding. He adjusts the front of his jeans.
“But you’re—”
“Don’t worry, I got plans for that. But first, you.” He grins.
At what point do I tell Wyatt how I feel?
When can I ask him to marry me? Does he want to get married? Sawyer says he might.
Is it weird I’m thinking about that? Or am I crazy to believe the sex we’re having—the date we enjoyed, the connection between us—is special? The kind of once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to build a life with someone who gets it? Gets you?
Also, how does he look so hot when he lifts the covers and climbs onto the bed, settling himself comfortably on his belly with his head between my legs?