Page 161 of The Reason I Married Him
“No, you don’t need to do that.”
I slip my hands to the button of his jeans and undo it, along with the zipper. “I more than want to,” I say before sinking all the way to my knees.
“Fuck,” he mutters as he grips my hair with one hand.
I tug down his jeans and his briefs, freeing him in one swoop, and oh my God.
Wide-eyed, I look up at Wyatt. “Jesus, Wyatt.”
His cock stretches forward, long and thick, with the most perfect head I’ve ever seen.
“Baby, you don’t?—”
He doesn’t finish as I grip the base of his cock and then lick along the backside, along a vein that leads all the way to the head.
“Fuck . . . me,” he says as he leans forward and props his other hand against the door behind me. His legs spread wider, and he angles his body, making it easier for me to access him.
I run my tongue along his length a few times, loving how he twitches and groans with every pass. His reaction empowers me, making me want to give him so much more.
When I reach the head again, I swirl around it a few times, his quads tensing right in front of me, before I open my mouth wide and bring him all the way to the back of my throat.
“Fuck.” He slaps his hand against the door. “Your mouth, fucking velvet,” he says as I take him all the way to the back of my throat again, letting him feel me lightly gag before pulling him out. “Too good, baby. Too fucking good.”
His hand that’s holding my hair curls into a fist as he gently guides me up and down his cock. Every time I bring him in, I open wide, and when I pull him out, I suck hard. I can tell he really likes it because he wants me to move faster, so I do.
I open wide and suck hard, repeating the process until his legs shake and he’s visibly on the edge. That’s when I pull all the way off him.
“Fuck, why?” he asks as he breathes heavily.
I don’t answer. I just swirl my tongue around the head again, letting my tongue play with the slit until he’s shaking in front of me.
“Going to come,” he says on a short breath.
So I take him all the way to the back of my throat again and slowly pull him out just as his cock swells, and he comes in my mouth with such force that I think it startles us both.
“Fucking hell,” he whispers as I swallow and start licking his length again, cleaning him up until he’s finished.
Letting go of my hair, he loops his finger under my chin and encourages me to stand. First, though, I place him back in his briefs and zip up his jeans and button them up. Then I stand, and he lifts me from the ground and brings me to the countertop.
When he sets me down, he cups my cheek and leans in to press a sweet kiss to my lips.
It’s short and doesn’t hold the kind of passion our initial kiss held when he first pulled me into the bathroom, but it shows me that he appreciates me.
Then he grabs some paper towels, wets them with warm water, and wipes my knees down. When our eyes connect, he says, “I don’t like that you had to kneel on the bathroom floor for me.”
“I don’t mind,” I say.
“I do,” he replies as he cleans my knees. When he finishes, he tosses the paper towels in the trash and rests his hands on my hips. “Are you okay?”
“I’m . . . I’m great,” I say, feeling so freaking alive. Like he just breathed a bout of fresh air right into me, awakening every last inch of me from this dark and dreary state I was in.
Sure, I know I’m drunk and my happiness is heightened, but I can’t remember the last time I felt this good.
This cherished.
This needed.
And if I were honest with myself, I think I’ve been feeling this way for a while. I just haven’t allowed myself to fully feel it. I’ve been stubborn, misleading myself, saying that I don’t like this man and don’t need him in my life. When, in reality, I think . . . Oh God, I think I like Wyatt.
