The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(41)

He groaned against me, long and low and his other hand wrapped around my back, pulling me flush to him. He tasted me again and again until I was breathless. My head spun. Kisses were supposed to be sweet and loving.

Not like this. Not desperate and needy and demanding and drugging and hot like this.

I looped my arms around his neck. He nipped my bottom lip and the sharp, sweet pinch hit me between my legs. I made a noise, a combination of a laugh and a moan. His fingers loosened on my hair and rubbed my scalp in slow, firm motions, and I moaned against his mouth before his tongue slipped against mine.

I wasn’t standing on my own, but leaning into his arm, hanging with my arms around his neck, letting him hold me up while he took my mouth.

A ripple of delight moved through me at the idea of Wyatt using me purely for his own pleasure. An image flashed in my mind of his hands on my hips, thrusting into me hard, racing towards a release. My core throbbed at the idea.

“Jesus fucking Christ, bookworm, where’d you learn to kiss like this,” Wyatt groaned against my mouth in between kisses. “I thought about you all fucking night. All day. I was going insane, thinking about his hands on you.” His arm that had been around my back, holding me up, slipped lower until he was grasping my ass. My breath hitched again.

My fingers traced the skin on the back of his neck and he leaned his forehead against mine, breathing hard. He shivered as my fingers skimmed higher on his neck, threading into his hair.

“I love your hair,” I whispered, combing my fingers through. “Kiss me again.” I tugged.

He made a low noise of frustration, his mouth came back to mine, and we were back underwater. His mouth was hungry, starving for me, demanding and needy and I loved every second of it. Nothing else was relevant, nothing else existed except Wyatt’s mouth on mine, his possessive hands, and those low groans of pleasure and disbelief coming out of his throat.

I felt the sharp sting of his hand on my butt before I registered the noise of the slap, and I could barely gasp before his hand smoothed over the fabric of my shorts.

“How am I supposed to control myself around you when you wear little shorts like this?” His hand slipped beneath the hem, over my bare skin, and I whimpered against his mouth.

“I don’t want you to control yourself.”

My voice was raspy and breathy. Who was that? Who was this girl, making out with Wyatt Rhodes, the most unavailable guy in town.

He lifted me into the air. My legs looped around his waist in some primal instinct that I didn’t know lay dormant within me. We dropped, and he lowered himself onto my bed with me sitting in his lap, clinging to him, an iron bar pressing against me—

“Oh.” My eyebrows shot up. My heart raced and my head swam with dizziness, but not in a bad way.

In a good way. In the best way. I made a noise of desperation and rubbed my center against Wyatt’s hard length. My body took over. My body wanted more, more Wyatt and more of this achey tension building inside me.

When my center made contact with Wyatt’s cock, something white hot shot through me, right to my core, and I bucked and gasped. It was a fraction of a second but it was too good. My thighs jerked closed, snapping tight around his waist. Wyatt’s length pulsed against me and his hands tightened on my bottom, so hard I’d have bruises tomorrow. The idea of his marks on me made me more turned on.

“Hannah,” he gasped against my mouth. “You can’t do that.”

“Sorry,” I whispered. “Didn’t mean to. Just felt so good.”

“I know, baby, I know.” He chest rose and fell as he caught his breath, leaning his forehead against mine once again.

Right here. I wanted to pull his shirt off, push him down, and ride him right here. I gazed into his eyes, so dark, moody, furious, and desperate in this light. I ached for him. From the way his jaw tensed but his hands didn’t move from my butt, I knew he wanted me too.

And then he was standing, I was in the air, and he was lowering me to the bed.

My body lit up with excitement and anticipation. This was happening. This was so happening—

He straightened up and my body screamed in protest.

“What—” I started.

“You’re going to go on another date.” His voice was low, his chest still rising and falling, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

Alarm shot through me. I didn’t want to go on another awkward date with Beck. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“By yourself.”

“Why?”

He leaned over the bed, over me, and the mattress shifted as he placed his hands on either side of my head, caging me in. “Because you need to know what you like by yourself before you can enjoy it with someone else.”

My eyes widened. Why did that sound so dirty?

His heated gaze locked on mine before it dropped to my swollen mouth. “And after the date, you’re going to come home, crawl into bed, and touch yourself until you come.”

Wetness flooded my center and my mouth fell open.

“Take notes this time.” His gaze lifted to mine again. “You need to know what you like if you’re going to show someone else how to do it.”

I swallowed. My body sang for him, buzzing and achey and damp between my legs. He wasn’t even touching me right now but I could come with a few brushes over my clit.