Impulsion (Station 32 #1)(21)

Wyatt pulled out a plastic square from his pocket. One glance was all Harley needed to know what it was, and she felt adrenaline rush to every inch of her skin. Wyatt set it on the console. “When we get carried away, I’m not going to be able to think, Harley, to doubt the way I feel. I need you to make this choice. I need you to tell me for sure you’re ready.”

She glanced to it, then met his eyes. She was terrified and excited at the same time, felt like she was standing on some massive ledge that she was about to jump off of—and once she did, she would never be the same again…they would never be the same again.

That vulnerability was in his blue eyes once more, that question. She leaned into him, let her eyes dance across his face just before her lips met his.

The kiss he returned was powerful, full of the seduction they were well practiced at. She barely noticed the tremble, didn’t really pick up on it until he laid her back and her hand rushed across his chest; that was when she felt his heart thundering, more so than ever before.

Every few seconds, she would forget what they were there for. In her mind, he was driving her wild, as he always did. That’s what she told herself as he urged her dress up, past her waist, past her chest, as his kisses fell across her balmy skin. That was what she told herself as she pushed his shirt up, as she fumbled with his buckle, the button on his jeans.

When the thought that at any second they could cross this line would come, that fire he brought to her would be doused in fear. It was the fear that she would do it wrong, that it would hurt, that it would ruin them, that a million things could go wrong.

Somehow he would feel that, and with his skilled hands, those practiced fingertips, he would cause her to forget the question that was lingering over them.

That dance, that passionate make out session they had mastered long ago, went on for close to an hour before he slid her panties down. She knew he wasn’t making this choice for them, that he was content to let them dance on this ledge, was sure of it when his lips started to move down her body. Just as they reached her hips, her hand lurched to the side and grabbed that cold square wrapper and slid it in his hand. He froze; his lips, his hands, they all stilled. From the edge of her hips, he looked up at her, his blue eyes finding a way to gleam in the night—it was a question she saw in his gaze. She squeezed her hand around his and held her breath, even glanced away as he sat up and she heard the plastic tear.

Even when she told herself to breathe, to just be there now, to focus on him, the sensation, breaths were few and far between, her skin was on fire, she felt adrenaline saturating every muscle.

“Baby, I think you have to relax. It might hurt worse if not,” he said as his hands moved up her sides.

She didn’t want to respond, didn’t want to talk about the mechanics of this, what her body was going to go through. Instead, she reached for his face, pulled him into a sweet kiss, and did her best to move herself around him, even reached to help him for a second.

When it began, relaxing was not an option. She felt invaded, felt like her body was dividing in two; it was agony. She knew it was not supposed to be good the first time, but she expected the pain to be sweet, worth it.

Just as they became one, he stilled above her and she felt his hand caress her face. “Okay?” he asked with a rasp.

She nodded stiffly. “Just go slow,” she said as evenly as she could.

And he did, he moved as slow as possible, feeling the pain, too, feeling her body tense to the point where her flesh was hard as a rock. He felt her every tremble.

His hands moved down her sides, moved to all the places, in all the ways, that had always relaxed her before. “You’re safe…let go,” he whispered.

It was his voice, not his touch, those few words that he always said to her when he saw past the surface of who she tried to be, when he told her to relax, to trust him, that eased her.

She began to move her hands down his back, tighten her legs around him. She had almost decided the pain might have a sweet sensation to it when Wyatt pulled away.

His lips met hers, and he pulled a deep kiss from her as he backed up in the cab. He stepped out of the truck in the rain and was gone long enough for Harley to catch her breath and take inventory of her body, of the lingering pain, of the idea that somehow she had left that night a girl and was coming back a woman. For the briefest of seconds, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be a woman. She didn’t regret a moment of that, but she was afraid, a million ‘what if’s’ ran through her mind as she pulled her clothes together.

Wyatt climbed back in the truck, reached for her, and pulled her on his lap. “You okay?” he asked. She nodded against his chest, even lifted her head so that she could kiss his neck. She could still feel his heart racing.

“I love you, Harley.”

“You are the only one I ever could love…”

They still had thirty minutes before they had to leave. The first twenty, they didn’t speak; he just held her and feathered kisses across her forehead.

“Tell me you don’t regret it, even if you have to lie,” he finally said to her.

She lifted her head, met his eyes. Dared to smile. “I don’t. I’ve been trying to figure out how to make Ava beg you for another movie night as soon as possible, maybe the creek, but it might be muddy. We could try the barn again. I honestly don’t think Truman would wake up if I snuck in your apartment.”