Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Except I’m not a cat.
And I’m not gonna make him do anything he doesn’t want to do, either. Even if we’re flirty. Even if we both had just half a drink and know exactly what’s going on in this thunderstorm room.
And it sure isn’t any fucking thunderstorm.
I turn to ask him if he wants to just head back.
He turns, too.
And grabs my face.
And puts his lips right on mine.
For a second, I don’t move. I think I forget how to. His hands are warm against my cheeks. Soft, too.
Lips barely touching mine, like he’s still waiting.
For what?
Instinct catches up with me, and my hand slides up the inside of his jacket. Then the other. His jacket slides off his shoulders and hits the floor in a crunch of soft sound. His hands slip down my face and give my own jacket the same damned courtesy.
Sorry, boutonniere-he-just-fixed.
He grips me by the shirt, surprising me. I do the same. We’re stumbling away from the couch, him moving backward, me going into him, an awkward, blind chase as he keeps kissing me, one dig of his lips at a time, over and over, as our fingers fumble through the buttons of our stupid shirts. Tugging and unraveling our ties.
He lets out the smallest breath against my mouth.
“I know,” I breathe back, like he said something.
Then I’m catching him as if he just fell—he didn’t—and down to the rug I gently place him. My shirt came off at some point. His is opened, but still on, and when I look at him, I find his hair an adorable mess. So much for fussing with that all evening, too.
“God,” he groans against my lips.
My fingers leave his face, drag down his body, hook into his waistband, and without any help from my eyes, pure instinct, I undo his belt and get his pants down. He kicks them the rest of the way off as I start opening my own.
We’re no longer gentle at this point.
There’s no hiding the fact anymore that we want each other.
I hover over his face with my own, catching his eyes. He looks happily out of breath, even without smiling.
I bring my hand back to his face.
He parts his lips, as if looking for my fingers.
I don’t know why, but I bring them to his mouth.
And he lets them in.
Closes his eyes.
Tongue running over them. Through them. Around them.
I’m stunned. Seriously stunned.
Who is this guy? What is he doing with me? Or to me?
Then he stops a second away from biting my finger. His eyes meet mine, like he just woke from a fever dream.
I’m not gonna lie. It’s hot as fuck.
What he was doing a second ago.
And what he’s doing now.
Wyatt must see something in my face—my breathless shock, if I had to guess—because he grips the back of my head suddenly and brings our mouths right back together.
Our kissing intensifies fast.
I’m out of breath and losing control.
Then he has the nerve to hiss these words against my lips: “I want you to stick them inside me.”
—15—
Wyatt
Diego’s stunned eyes hover in front of my face.
“You want me … to do what now …?”
Okay.
I’ll be the first one to admit.
I don’t recognize the person lying on this rug underneath the beautifully confounding puzzle that is Diego Valdez.
Because five minutes ago, I would have died before I’d ever let the words I just said slip out of my mouth.
But here we are.
I’ve cranked my libido up to the speed of light.
And I can’t keep blaming the thunderstorm room.
I’m just done pretending I don’t want this. I’m starved for the kind of affection only someone like Diego is daring enough to give me. He’s the first person who hasn’t treated me like I’m as fragile as the flowers I tend. He’s damned near breaking me on this floor ten times worse than he did on my front porch.
Or maybe I’ve been the one holding back all this time.
Maybe I came completely undone when Diego said: “You.”
Like a key falling into the lock, I opened.
And now I’m telling Diego to stick his fingers inside me.
“Only if you want,” I blurt out.
His eyes haven’t left mine. He’s still trying to figure me out.
Honestly, so am I.
“I was just …” Am I backpedaling now? “… just caught in the moment. Or s-something.”
Diego’s hand lingers near my face. “Well, do you want me to … or not?”
“I’m …” I try to laugh it off, but I can’t even do that. The room is so dark, save for whatever light’s coming from the windows and the festivities outside.
Everyone in town is out there.
I can’t help but picture every last person I know on the planet crowding at the window looking in, wondering who the hell this horny guy on a rug is, because it certainly isn’t the sweet, adorable owner of the Wishing Blooms flower shop.