Though his eyes remain closed, I know the second he wakes up because he draws in a shaky breath through his nose. “I’m fine,” he says roughly, exhaling. He takes his hand away from my waist and moves it to my wrist. As he brings my hand from his shoulder, he continues, “I’m fine but sleeping with you like this fucks me up.” He glides his tongue over each of my fingers, and even though I know where this is going, I still gasp when he presses my palm to his erection.
“No fucking fair, McCrae,” I say, and he smiles as he closes my fingers one by one around his cock and guides my hand up and down his shaft. No fair at all.
His blue eyes part lazily. The back of my throat constricts and, inadvertently, I tighten my grip on him. The side of his mouth with the labret pulls up into a wicked grin. “We’ve slept long enough, Kylie,” he says. In a couple of well-executed, swift motions, he pins me flat on my back and rolls over on top of me. Staring down into my eyes, he props himself up on his elbow. “We’re going to fuck until my wakeup call.”
“And what time would that be?”
He nudges at my closed legs with his knee, but I don’t budge. “10:30,” he says. “And your ass is mine ‘til then.”
Rolling my head to the side, I look at the digital clock sitting on the nightstand next to the hotel phone. 6:03 a.m. “Ambitious, aren’t we, McCrae?” I ask. I love the way he shudders when I move the hand that’s wrapped around him faster.
“One part ambition,” he drawls. He reaches between us and splays his hands on my thighs. He gives me a pointed look that clearly says he’s not going to tell me part two until I oblige.
Sighing, I scoot my feet apart, curling my toes in the sheets. “Now, part two?”
He strokes two fingers back and forth between my legs and whispers something unintelligible about what a stupid waste of times panties are. It takes every ounce of self-control I’ve got not to moan or tremble.
I want him to feel what I am feeling. I want him to experience every flash of exquisite torture and numbing pleasure. And I want him to feel it now. I stroke my hand up the length of him and then back down again. A thrill spreads through my veins as a slow, but uncertain, smile builds on his face.
“That’s my girl.”
“What’s the other part?”
“Every time we see each other after this is all over and you’re pretending like we’re not shit to each other, I want to think back on how tonight, and every night before it, your pussy belonged to me,” he says. Without warning, he dips a finger into my panties and traces a heart around my clit. Wyatt’s always hated playing his guitar with the pick, so his fingertip is rough. It’s painful and incredible. His touch, like always, is addictive. Needing more, I rock my hips. I’m not aware that I’ve let go of his cock and have started to dig my fingers into his back until a low noise slips from his lips.
“You trying to draw blood?”
I drop my hands. “Damn, sorry. You fuck me up, too. You make me want—”
“What? Tell me what you want, beautiful.”
You make me want to keep trying.
But even Wyatt’s magic fingers and pierced lip and dick aren’t enough to make me want to go through pain again. “You make me want to kick you in the throat for talking too much,” I say, and he throws his head back and laughs.
“You are fucking amazing,” he growls. He presses his mouth to his tee shirt that I’m wearing. My back arches as he wets the thin white fabric, skimming his tongue around my nipple before pulling it into his mouth. He uses his teeth. God, he knows what that does to me. “You’ve always been amazing to me.”
His words push so many of my emotions to the surface that my head spins even faster and my heart drums more violently. What I feel is love but there’s something else too, something that’s bitter and nauseating but not quite hatred. And I realize that there’s so much I’ll need to say to him before we’re done—so much I hadn’t even considered when I came here to get away from him.