Caught Up In You. Roni Loren
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“It won’t be easy for me either. It’s been a long while since I’ve been with any guy. And giving over control triggers a lot of old fears in me. But with you, I feel like maybe I could do it. Like I want to try.”
He looked down at her, conflicting emotions waging a battle in the set of his mouth, the clench of his jaw. He cupped her face. “You asking me this while on your knees in front of me is not even close to fair fighting.”
She let a slow smile curve her lips. This was what she loved about being around Wyatt. He didn’t see her as the fuckup or a trauma victim or even as a piece of ass. He saw her as a woman. He saw her. And the simplicity of that felt amazing, empowering. “A week away. We both get something we need and something I think we’ve both been wanting since the day you sat in my section. And at the end, I don’t expect anything of you, and you don’t expect anything of me. Clean finish.”
He traced her cheekbones with his thumbs, and the simple sensation rocketed through her. She rarely let subs touch her, and never without permission. But even a brush from Wyatt had her swallowing hard. “I’d be taking advantage of your situation.”
“Maybe I’m taking advantage of yours,” she countered. “I’m attracted to you. I wanted you to kiss me in the car that day. And I’ve wanted you to act on those looks you throw at me in the restaurant. I was just afraid to make a move because I figured you wouldn’t like what you saw behind the sweet, young waitress image you’d assigned to me.”
He gave a rueful smile. “You are young. And I still think you’re sweet.”
“I’m twenty-five.”
He groaned. “Christ. I’m more than a decade older than you.”
“Like that matters.” She let her hands slide farther up his thighs, growing bolder there at his feet. “And I promise you, I’m not as sweet as you think.”
His gaze devoured her, and he pressed his palms into the couch cushions, as if it was taking everything he had not to reach out and pillage. “I wasn’t an easy master. You need to know that. And if I open up that part of me again, I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep it to a CliffsNotes version.”
A shiver went through her, some strange cocktail of apprehension and anticipation stirring. She knew—really knew in the deepest part of herself—he would never harm her. She’d been eye-to-eye with evil before and could sniff out the stench of it like a dog. But seeing the honest worry in the lines around Wyatt’s mouth and the tight hold of his shoulders had her wanting to curl into his lap and kiss away those fears. “You aren’t a man who does things halfway. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you in this arena either.”
He regarded her for another long moment, then finally reached out for her.
“Come ’ere.” He cupped her shoulders, his palms hot against her bare skin, and guided her off her knees and onto the couch, straddling his lap like it was the most natural spot for her to be. Like they hadn’t been simply server and customer a few weeks ago.
He adjusted her, and the hard ridge of his cock pressed against her through the thin material of her yoga pants. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed for a moment with the feel of him, his heat, the heady masculine scent she’d only gotten teasing whiffs of before. God, how long had she imagined being this close to him? Moisture coated her sex, her whole body going into melt mode at the contact. And the feeling was good—so good—to just be turned on and hot for a guy. A taste of normal.
She forced her eyes open, not wanting to miss a moment of this. Up close, Wyatt was even more potent than she’d imagined, the blue in his eyes more intense, the curve of his mouth more sensual. Male beauty tucked behind dark-rimmed glasses and a stoic’s disposition. His palms glided across her shoulders and over the straps of her tank top, then his fingers were threading in her hair. He touched her as if he were sculpting a piece of clay to create her form—a reverence and appreciation there that made everything in her want to break open. “Promise me you won’t let me hurt you, Kelsey.”
The words were so soft, the look in his eyes so stripped, that she lost her breath for a moment. She reached out and brushed the back of her hand along his stubbled jaw. “I promise.” You can’t break the broken.
With that last assurance, it was as if the tide he’d been swimming against reversed. His fingers tightened along her skull, and he brought her mouth down to his, his lips capturing hers in a soft but demanding kiss. Her body seemed to sigh into it, to surrender to the moment. But the second her muscles went lax, his tongue parted her lips, and all semblance of slow and easy fell away from them. Their tongues collided in a rush, hungry and seeking. Her hands began to roam, grabbing at his shirt, pressing against the hard, solid body beneath, wishing there were no layers between them.
All the pent-up months of wanting this man, wanting to know what he tasted like, what would please him poured into the connection between them. Everything went electric, like static coursing over her skin, heightening her senses. The feel of his hands against her scalp, the spicy scent of his cologne, the scrape of stubble against her face—it was all amplified.
This man lit her up.
And his kiss was as desperate as hers, his lips and mouth drinking her in, consuming her one stroke and nibble at a time. He arched his hips, grinding his cock against her sex and making her moan into his mouth. In that moment, she was ready for whatever this crazy agreement would entail, as long as she got to experience him like this. This untethered abandon. She rocked forward, curling her fingers into his dark blue polo shirt and holding tight, as he bit her bottom lip and then worked his way along the curve of her neck.
He lowered his hands to the curve of her hips, guiding her against him in a slow, undulating motion, his hard length teasing and tormenting her. The soft satin of her panties brushed along her now-slippery cleft, making her skin go flushed all over. When he grazed her collarbone with his teeth, she let out a pleading gasp. “Wyatt.”
“I want you to come for me,” he said, the heated command hitting her like a branding iron, marking unfamiliar places inside her. “And then you won’t be allowed to again until our trip. You understand?”
Fuck. The shift in him was so absolute, so gut-wrenchingly sexy, she could barely form her response. “Yes, sir.”
He closed his eyes, as if inhaling and absorbing her reply. Then he moved his hand between her spread legs, cupping her sex through the thin cotton and massaging her clit with toe-curling accuracy using the heel of his hand. “I can smell your arousal, love. And you’re wrong about one thing: You’re definitely sweet. I can’t wait to taste just how very.”
Her head tilted back, the pleasure crawling up her spine and climbing out in a groan. It wouldn’t take long. Even though she was more than adept at handling her own needs, she’d thought about Wyatt touching her for so long that she felt as if she’d been on the edge of this particular orgasm for months—one only he could give her.
While he continued the skillful rocking pressure between her thighs, his free hand traced up her sternum, brushing the inner curves of her breasts through her shirt, and then collaring her neck. She’d seen the move done a hundred times by doms in The Ranch’s playspaces, but never before had anyone done it to her. An overwhelming wash of pure need went through her system, the press of his palm against the hollow of her throat slaying her. She closed her eyes against the dueling sensations of helplessness and blinding desire as he held her exactly in the spot he wanted her, not allowing her to escape his erotic torment.
“Come for me, Kelsey,” he said, his voice like warm cider on a cold night. “I’ve imagined it one too many times alone in my own bed. I want to know what you sound like when you break open.”
The words sent her body aflame. Images of him slipping his hand beneath the covers at night, taking his cock in his hand and thinking of her was a little too much for her stampeding hormones to handle. His grip tightened against her throat, and the hand between her legs became more intense and precise, her swollen nub pulsing now.
“Wyatt.”