Messy Love(30)

I hardly had time to register what he’s saying that I left the ground and ended up in his arms, legs crossed around his waist, arms around his neck and hands lost in his thick hair. He started walking, eyes never leaving mine. Somehow, it made me weak at the knees, this intimacy. A tremor ran through me and this time around I understood it wasn’t lust induced. Emotions crept in, emotions I didn’t want to feel, that had nothing to do with here and now.

Wyatt and I were into each other physically, but it didn’t go beyond that. I knew it. But there’s something about this man that had me looking twice at him, looking deeper because there’s a lot under that insufferable asshole exterior.

He kicked a door open, and it crashed into the wall, startling me and breaking the intense eye contact. I couldn’t see much in the room, not until he put me down, making sure my body slid along him, so I felt him everywhere, every hard ridge, every long inch of his cock so hard and ready it’s a wonder he hadn’t pushed me against a wall yet. He switched the ceiling light on.

I briefly closed my eyes at the change in lighting, but once I was sure I wasn’t going to embarrass myself and cry, making my mascara run down my face, I opened them and quickly swiped the room with my eyes. The first thing I noticed was the bed and its rumpled dark green sheets. It’s big and sturdy with a thick dark brown frame. On each side of the bed, two bedside tables in a lighter brown were standing small. Each was littered with junk from open mails to an empty Gatorade bottle. Then, in one corner I found a laundry hamper full to bursting, spilling a few clothes around on the floor. Closest to us, against the wall, a big dresser in the same color as the bed loomed over.

I felt him moving next to me, coming behind me and pushing his broad chest into my back. My breathing hitched when his nose ran along my neck slowly, up until his lips brushed my jawline. It’s a barely there touch, something I could think I imagined if only it didn’t affect my core, if only my whole body didn’t tense and tried to push more into him in search of more of him, more touch. More everything.

I closed my eyes right when his hands went to my hips, hot and weighing deliciously on me. But I craved more. I wanted his hot skin on mine, the rough pads of his fingers against my tender flesh.

His hands traveled upward slowly, pulling my dress higher and higher. The rough denim of his jeans rubbed the back of my thighs, the swell of my ass uncovered by my scant panties. I gasped and brought my hands to his hips, hooking my fingers through the loops of his pants. I arched into his hands when they skimmed over my breasts, still not touching me altogether.

He was teasing me shamelessly.

His breathing accelerated close to my ear. His exhales licked my throat.

“Wyatt,’’ I sighed, begging him silently to get my dress over my head and off of me but he stopped then, with my dress under my arms, bunched in his big hands. His knuckles grazed around my breasts. “You’re killing me.’’

“Good,’’ he growled in my ear and nibbled on my earlobe. “Arms up, Marissa.’’

I swallowed thickly when the demand in his voice hit me, drawing out my lust further. I shook so much it’s a wonder I was able to stay on my feet. I didn’t often have such a reaction to a man, but Wyatt had me so far gone with desire and anticipation that I barely had any control left over my own body.

Slowly, I unhooked my fingers from the loops in his waistband and raised my arms. He didn’t make me wait this time. As soon as my arms were above my head, he swiped my dress up and threw it away from us. I briefly opened my eyes and watched my cheap dress fall near the full amp.

It hit me then how crazy this all was, how unlike me it was. I wasn’t one to get close to a guy who mistreated me, even if he tried and explained his reasons. I wasn’t one who would willingly do something that would irremediably hurt myself and make things more difficult. I was aware of my mistake, and I knew that it’d only bring bad things, but I didn’t want to stop. I was past the stopping point.

His head nuzzled my neck, his lips trailing over my skin covered in goosebumps.

I only wanted more of this. I only wanted this sexual tension to grow until it reached its limits and we both exploded.

He ran a hand from my hip to the hem of my panties, tracing the elastic softly. I pushed my hips forward, watching his big hand gradually disappear inside my panties. My breathing became louder. And then, then his fingers applied a torturous pressure on my clit. My mouth dropped open on a strangled moan.

That was exactly what I wanted. He had hurt me, and I needed to be blind not to know he would do it again, but for once I let myself be weak and a prisoner to the sensations he awakened in me.

“You’re so fucking hot,’’ he said in a whisper, his voice washing over me. His words only intensified the pleasure mounting in me from his fingers playing me flawlessly.

I pushed into his hand, biting my lip on a moan when a more intense wave of pleasure hit me. I needed more of his touch. I grabbed his other hand gripping my hip and brought it up and pushed it against my breast still covered by my thin bra.

The heat from his palm, the firm grip on my breast, the bite of the cheap lace over my flesh, all of that had me rubbing against him and watching mesmerized his big hand covering my breast completely.

He rammed his hips into me again and again until I tried to search behind me with my hand to touch his hard cock pressed against my lower back, long and thick through his jeans. He pulled his hand out of my panties and snatched my wrist, breathing hard into my ear.