The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(40)

He took another step toward me and I backed up, the backs of my knees hitting the bed. “Talking. About. What.”

I threw my hands up. “You. Talking about you. Oh my god. You’re so pushy.” I rolled my eyes, acting like he annoyed me, when really, my heart raced, my skin tingled, and nipples pinched hard. I had all this energy and nowhere for it to go.

I put my hands on his chest to push him back a step but he grabbed my wrists and looked down at me. A smug grin grew on his features. Paired with his dark gaze, the effect was hypnotic.

“Me?” He raised his eyebrows, cocking his head. His hands scorched my wrists. It was like he ran hotter than normal people. Maybe that was why he was never cold in the water.

I rolled my eyes again. “You came up in conversation because of the surf lessons.”

“Right. Because of the surf lessons.” His gaze stayed glued on me, still heated. “So you didn’t kiss him because it didn’t feel right?”

I gave him another tiny nod.

“Interesting.” His thumb brushed my wrist as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. It sent tingles up and down my arm, making it hard to breathe. That could have been from his proximity, too. Or how he smelled freaking incredible.

I swallowed. Why was he here? What was going on? Having him here in my room, it was electrifying. It was dangerous and bad in a good way. Not wrong. Right. I liked him towering over my books and my bed and me. I liked him holding my wrists like that.

His gaze dropped to the front of my pajama top, where my nipples strained.

He exhaled through his nose, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. “Are you disappointed?” His chest rumbled against my hands as he spoke.

I chewed my lip. “No. Beck’s nice—” His hands clenched my wrists at the mention of his name, “—but he’s just a friend.” I swallowed and met his gaze. “I was looking forward to making out with someone tonight, but I don’t want to do it with the wrong person.”

Well, that sounded suggestive. Wyatt’s eyebrow ticked up, still watching me with that dark gaze, and a shiver rolled down my spine. His warm hands seared my wrists.

“And Beck would be the wrong person.” His voice was low and thick.

I nodded again.

“Because you spent the entire date talking about me.”

My heart hammered in my chest. I inhaled a shaky breath but it caught in my throat when Wyatt pressed his fingers into my wrist.

“Your pulse,” he murmured.

I nodded again. Another flutter through my core, another clench around nothing.

He watched my face with heavy-lidded eyes. “It’s been a long time since you’ve kissed someone.”

Another nod from me.

“I don’t want you to be out of practice.” His gaze dropped to my mouth and he cleared his throat. “You know, for when you meet the right person.”

“Right. I don’t want to be out of practice either.”

A pained expression passed over his face and he closed his eyes a moment, inhaling. His jaw ticked. His skin was so warm, and I wondered what it would be like to press my mouth to his neck, the spot where his neck met his shoulder. Would his skin be warm against my lips? What would his skin taste like? What could I do to make his head fall back, to make him groan?

I chewed my lip. That was all I could think of, now, was making him groan. Hesitation and curiosity arm-wrestled in the corner of my brain while in another corner, embarrassment and desire battled in a thumb war. I drew myself up, summoning a bolder spirit. This was what I had been practicing all this time, right? Asking all those guys out, putting myself out there, embarrassing myself both on the street and on my surfboard, making a fool of myself. And for what?

Because I wanted to be a hot girl. Because I wanted to live a full life.

I swallowed again, watching the curve of Wyatt’s mouth, noticing the rise and fall of his chest against my hands. My hands tensed, my nails dug into him, and his breath caught.

“So we should practice.” I lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. Casual, so casual. Like Wyatt.

He frowned like he was torn. He glanced from me to the window, then back to me, then to the bed behind me. My core clenched hard again and I almost whimpered. My underwear was wet. That never happened, and definitely not from standing beside a guy for a few minutes.

I watched his mouth again. I wanted a taste of him. Just one. That would be enough.

You know what? Screw this.

I raised up on my tip toes and pressed my mouth against Wyatt’s.

The first thing I noticed about Wyatt’s lips were how warm they were. The slow brush of my skin over his, the gentle scratch of his stubble on my chin. His mouth was softer than expected for someone who spent most of his day outside. Kissing Wyatt was like sinking into a warm bath on one of those winter evenings where it rained all day, those days you felt like you’d never get warm again. I wanted to sink right into Wyatt. I sucked his bottom lip into my mouth and murmured with pleasure.

Up until now, Wyatt had been still, letting me press my mouth to his and test the waters, but the second I made that noise, something in him snapped. He squeezed my wrists.

“Fuck, bookworm.” He let out a ragged breath.

“Was that okay?”

He growled. He growled. Wyatt. I opened my mouth but he covered it with his.

His mouth worked mine, his hands dropped my wrists, and one hand fisted my hair, tilting my head back. The pull against my scalp made me shiver. He was no longer a spectator in our kiss. His tongue demanded entrance into my mouth and I let him in, whimpering softly as his tongue slicked mine in a glide, lighting up every nerve ending in my body.