“Don’t fucking leave again,” Wyatt barks, entwining his fingers through mine, yanking me back down. As I sink into the deep seat, I pull my hand from his. I’m eager to sever our touch—to get rid of the memories that being in this place has dredged up—so I race my fingers down the front of my bright red skirt. “Don’t be a coward either,” he adds.
My back straightens, and I lift my chin until my gaze is level with his dark blue eyes. “I haven’t left you once since you showed up,” I say in a hushed voice, even though we’re probably the only ones in the 99 cent theater.
He turns his body completely toward mine. “What are you more pissed at, Ky? Me bringing you to this place or that you want history repeat itself? Or are you just looking for a reason to bolt again?”
“Yeah, I am pissed you wanted to come here of all the theaters in New Orleans. I’m pissed you screwed up my vacation because you’re a giant baby who can’t stand the thought of me,” I pretend to think back, even though what he’d said last night is at the very front of my mind, “getting drunk and wrapping my legs around someone else . I’m pissed that—”
Wyatt leans so close I can smell the hotel shampoo he’d used on his short brown hair this morning. He rests his hand on my inner thigh, and I shiver as his fingers inch up my skin, one by one. “You’re pissed you want history to repeat itself?”
Pursing my lips, I shake my head. “I just want to have a good time,” I say. When he cocks his head to one side, I continue, “Enjoying my trip here the way I originally planned.”
“So you’re saying you don’t want to fuck me?” His fingers stop moving at the top of my thigh, and my heart skips a beat.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” I reply hotly.
Giving me a wicked grin, Wyatt glides one of his fingers into my panties, pushing it inside of me. My hands seem to go everywhere at once—one grips the armrest and the other grasps his strong forearm. “We’re in public,” I hiss when he refuses to budge.
Mostly, I’m warning myself because I don’t want him to pull out. Apparently, I enjoy torturing myself.
He rolls his eyes. “Last time this place had customers was probably us nine years ago.” Then, lowering his voice to a whisper, he demands one final time, “You don’t want me inside of you?”
“No, I don’t.” But this time my tone doesn’t hold a quarter of the punch it had forty-five seconds ago.
Wyatt shoves another finger deep into my center, and my knees to buckle. My grip on his arm tightens, causing a slow grin to slink across his face. “I should head-butt you in those perfect teeth,” I mutter because it’s the only thing I can do to push the moan of pleasure down.
My words only make his smile grow even wider. “Why? Because your body says you’re a big fucking liar?”