Page 29 of Wyatt’s Fever

He tells me about a job offer he got from Giant Carmichael’s Security Firm. It would mean working a more normal schedule which sounds like heaven to me. Working night shift has been wearing on both of us. I tease him about having to wear a suit, and he threatens to handcuff me to the bed if I keep making jokes.

“Promise?” I say, waggling my eyebrows.

He laughs, a full-body sound that rattles my bones. “You’re going to keep me on my toes,” he says.

“Definitely.” I pause. “Forever.”

“Forever,” he echoes. And for the first time in my life, the word doesn’t scare me at all.

Sunday morning is my favorite time in the world, especially when I wake up tangled in Wyatt Byrne’s arms with the Texas sun pouring through the bedroom window.

I roll over, and Wyatt is gone. There’s a Wyatt-shaped crater in the mattress next to me, still warm. I flop onto my back, stretching as I stare at the ceiling, counting my lucky stars. My lady parts are deliciously, gloriously sore in all the right places, and my hair feels like it’s been through a tornado, or at least a very energetic round of couch sex.

The bedroom door swings open and in walks my fiancé with two mugs of coffee. God, I love calling him that, and I’m going to use it at every opportunity. He’s shirtless, but wearing my favorite pair of his jeans, the ones that hang a little low on his hips and look like they were custom-made for his ass. His hair is a disaster and his eyes are a sleepy, molten green.

“Morning, fever,” he says, voice half a growl and all affection. “You want sugar in your coffee or are you sweet enough?”

I prop myself up on one elbow and shoot him the stink eye. “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

He sets the mugs on the nightstand and sits down next to me. “I can do worse,” he promises, then leans in for a kiss that tastes like toothpaste and black coffee and something all Wyatt. Safety. Belonging. A kind of joy I thought only happened to other people.

I forget all about the coffee as he slides a hand into my hair, his fingers tangling in the mess of it, and I can feel the heat of his palm against my scalp. His laugh is low, a rumble that vibrates through me like an earthquake. “Jesus, fever. You’re going to kill me. I’m too old to fuck like bunnies through the night.”

I smirk, my lips curling like I’ve just won the damn lottery. “I have every faith you can keep up with me.” My voice is a purr, dripping with confidence as I let the sheet slip down giving him a full view of my naked tits.

“Why don’t I start trying right now,” he growls, and before I can even think, he’s got me flat on my back, the mattress sinking under my weight.

He’s on me in an instant with his hips pressing into mine. I feel the hard ridge of his cock through his jeans, already straining against the zipper. “Fuck me,” I breathe, my hands flying to his shoulders, holding on tight.

He doesn’t make me beg. His mouth crashes down on mine, hot and demanding then his tongue slides against my lips until I open for him. The taste of him is intoxicating and I moan into his mouth, my hips arching up to meet his.

His hands are everywhere, rough and impatient. His mouth leaves mine, trailing down my neck, sucking and biting until I’m squirming beneath him. “I can’t get enough of you,” he mutters against my skin, his breath hot and wet, and I can’t help but laugh, even as my body burns for him.

“Good,” I gasp, my fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans. He helps me, shoving them down his hips, and his cock springs free, thick and heavy in my hand. I stroke him once, twice, feeling the way he pulses in my grip, and he groans, his head dropping to my shoulder.

“Fucking hell,” he growls, his hands sliding down to my waist as his body presses into mine. His cock slides against my wetness too freaking slow.

“See, you’re not too old keep up,” I whisper, my voice shaking with need, and he laughs, a dark, delicious sound that sends shivers down my spine.

“Damn right,” he roars and presses forward, filling me in one hard thrust that has me crying out his name. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t give me a second to breathe, just fucks me with a rhythm that’s relentless. His hips slam into mine with a force that has me seeing stars.

“Don’t stop,” I moan while wrapping my legs around his waist. I pull him deeper and he grunts as his hands grip my hips so hard I know there’ll be bruises tomorrow. I don’t care. All I care about is the way he feels inside me. The way he stretches me, fills me up, fucks me, says he’s trying to claim every inch of me.

His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my moans as he drives into me harder, faster, until I’m teetering on the edge, my body trembling with the need to come. “Please, I’m so close,” I gasp, and he growls against my lips, his thrusts becoming even more frantic.

“Come for me,” he demands, his voice rough and raw, and I do, my body shattering around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. He follows me over the edge with a groan. I feel his cock pulsing inside me before his body collapses on top of mine.

We lay there for a moment, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. “Told you you could keep up,” I murmur, my voice lazy and satisfied, and he laughs, the sound vibrating through me.

“Barely,” he mutters, but he’s grinning as he rolls off me, pulling me into his arms. “But I’ll always try my best for you.”

And I know he will. Because he loves me.