The Wrong Mr. Right (The Queen's Cove Series #2)(42)

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you understand the assignment, bookworm?”

All I could do was nod.

“Good,” he murmured, still hovering over me. He lowered his head but instead of kissing me, he put his mouth to my neck and sucked—hard.

I gasped and arched my back as the sting made my blood boil.

“Wyatt,” I gasped.

He placed a gentle kiss on the spot where he had sucked. “Goodnight, bookworm.” He straightened up, gave me one last pained, lingering look, laying on the bed beneath him, before he climbed back out the window and slid it closed behind him.

I stared at the window for a long time after he left, my wet core aching and my mouth swollen. I brushed my fingertips over the spot on my neck.

What the absolute hell just happened?





12





Wyatt





I shouldn’t have done it.

A wave roared past me as I hung out on my board behind the break the next morning, sun rising over the horizon and splashing the sky with colors.

Hannah was becoming one of my closest friends, and I was climbing through her window, making out with her, kissing her like it was curing me of something.

It did, kind of. I had been wondering for weeks what the sweet little mouth would taste like, what she would sound like as I stole her breath.

It cured me and in exchange, handed me a new ailment.

I could not stop thinking about that fucking kiss.

Her mouth.

Her tits in that thin top.

Her ass in those little shorts. Those shorts were a fucking crime.

The raspy moan she let out as she rubbed against me.

I rested my head on my board, closing my eyes, bobbing in the water.

Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

Erections were uncomfortable at the best of times, but in a wetsuit? Fucking torture.

The yips and laughs of two surfers closer to the shore brought me back to present. I inhaled a deep breath and let it out to center myself. I was out here to catch waves, not fantasize about her.

It was different with Hannah. I’d never been close friends with someone I hooked up with. I’d never noticed how any of their eyes looked in the sunlight or pictured their smile later in the day. There was a constellation of freckles over Hannah’s nose and cheeks that I itched to trace with my fingertip while she told me about a book she was reading.

I had never told a woman she was beautiful before.

I had definitely never told a woman to take herself on a date, and then come home and make herself come.

I rubbed my chest. What did I always tell myself? Here for a good time, not a long time. There was no point in getting involved with Hannah. Even if I did stay in Queen’s Cove, I couldn’t imagine it lasting. We were so different. I had never pictured myself in something long term.

The thought of some faceless guy with his hands all over her, towering over her in her bedroom like I did last night, scooping her up into his lap, it made me want to break something.

I shook the image out of my head. Focus, I told myself. Channel it back into the water.

The next wave approached, and I paddled hard to catch it, snapping up at the last minute and coasting along the surface. Adrenaline shot through me as I worked to keep my balance on the board, as my muscles tensed and gave to keep me upright. My heart beat hard in my chest and I threw my weight, turning the board and carving into the surf before coasting toward the shore. Adrenaline hit my blood stream and satisfaction flooded my chest.

Fuck, that felt incredible. Almost as good as last night.

Again and again, I swam out behind the break and caught waves. I focused on my body, on reading the waves, and on listening to my intuition as they approached. Hannah crept into my mind a few times, but that only drove my focus. Pretending she was on shore watching me made my movements sharper, more intentional. It made each wave I caught worth more.

I swallowed, floating behind the break with my feet in the water. I wished she was here this morning, which made no sense because if she was, I wouldn’t be training, I’d be floating off in the cove, staring at the sky and talking to her about her store or the town or some book she was reading.

A pang of something hit me in the chest. Homesickness, which also made zero sense, because I was right here in Queen’s Cove.

Saying goodbye to all of this was going to hurt. Surfing the cold waters, the mountains, the forests, my little house on the beach. Hannah.

The way she had gazed up at me last night in her room, so trusting, her eyes all hazy and fucking gorgeous, it felt fucking incredible. To have her look at me like she wanted me, it readjusted something in my chest and that piece wouldn’t go back to where it was before. Now that I had tasted her, heard that little moan, I couldn’t forget it.

I groaned and put my head on the board again, an ugly tightness trickling into my chest. She trusted me and I took advantage of that. I was helping her find someone. I was helping her come out of her shell, showing her it was okay to screw up, fail, and embarrass herself.

I thought about the expression on her gorgeous face after she got up on her board, the first time she caught a wave. My heart squeezed in my chest at the memory of that huge smile, stretched ear to ear, her eyes lit up with pride and disbelief.

That was what we should be doing more of—surfing. Not making out. Not me squeezing the smooth skin of her ass. Not raking my fingers through her soft hair. Someone with my dating history, hooking up with someone with her dating history? It had wrong stamped all over it.