One Look: A grumpy, single dad small town romance(40)

I only shook my head. Truth was, I was hot. Hot and bothered.

The drive was quick, and once I’d wrapped my head around the fact that the crushed limestone path connected the two properties, I had a much better sense of where each home was located within the greater boundaries of town. Bit by bit I was learning more about Outtatowner and feeling more comfortable in my temporary hometown.

When we stopped on the driveway between my apartment over the barn and Wyatt’s house, he didn’t make a move to get out. I looked up at him in the fading evening sunlight.

He cleared his throat, and I stared a moment too long at his chiseled, stubbled jawline. Wyatt reached into his pocket and opened his hand. On his palm was a key. “This is for you.”

I reached over and plucked the key from his hand, careful not to touch him. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Use it any time.”

“Um . . . okay.”

Fuck, this is awkward.

I wanted Wyatt to lean in, grab the back of my neck, and kiss me again. Part of me knew he wanted it too. His eyes darted to my lips, and I licked them. Our steady breaths were the only sounds filling the interior of his car.

But he didn’t inch forward.

“Good night, Wyatt.”

I unfolded myself from his car and took the steps to my upstairs apartment two at a time. Clutching his house key in my hand, I pushed through my own front door and leaned against it.

I was flustered. Annoyed.

Why wouldn’t he just kiss me again?

You know what? No. I took care of his schedule, his players, his daughter. He’d invited me to a family dinner, and his family members were so amazing my heart ached. The way we were acting around each other was ridiculous. We were adults. I could tell he wanted to kiss me but wouldn’t do anything about it. He was a grouch, and he was happy to live in his grouchy little trash can.

Nope.

Not today, Oscar.

Gathering my courage, I opened my front door and bounded back down the stairs. With purposeful strides, I walked across the driveway and up to his front door.

One knock. Then two.

I leaned in but heard nothing through the heavy wood door but silence.

Do I use the key?

That felt like a weird invasion of privacy, so instead I knocked again and tried the handle. Unlocked, I opened the door only slightly to peek my head in.

“Wyatt? It’s Lark. Can I come in?”

I listened again. Silence.

No. Not silence, but something else, coming from the back.

“Wyatt?” I tried again.

A low moan floated down the hallway.

Was that? Oh god—

Excited and feeling brave, I slinked through the door and closed it quietly behind me. I dropped the key Wyatt had given me on the small table at the entrance and slowly crept toward the sound.

I heard it again. An unmistakable soft, low groan of pleasure.

My toes tingled. My nipples hardened beneath the flimsy fabric of my dress. My heart raced as my feet carried me toward the sound.

At the end of the dark hallway, a bedroom door was open. The bedside lamp was glowing, but otherwise the room was cloaked in darkness. Across the bedroom, a light shone through the open bathroom door.

My feet were bolted to the floor.

In the mirror, Wyatt was naked. Glorious lines of cut muscle as he hunched over, one hand gripping the edge of the sink and the other . . .

The other was fisted around his cock.

“Fuck.” He groaned again as his hand moved up and down his length. “Lark.”

Holy shit. Holy shit!

He pumped into his hand. Long, hard strokes as his hips pushed forward. A guttural moan slipped from his throat, and my hand moved to my neck in shock. My pulse pounded beneath my fingertips.

I stood, watching Wyatt stroke himself, my name on his lips. It was wild. Wrong. But such a turn-on. I could feel myself get wet.

My throat was thick, but I stared directly at him. “Wyatt.”

His gaze whipped to mine, but he didn’t stop. The rich flecks of amber in his eyes darkened, and the sharp muscles of his jaw clenched.

He looked out of control, lost in his desire, and it was my name that he was stroking himself to. I wanted to tear my dress apart and give myself to him based on that look alone. Wyatt continued staring through the mirror as his fist pumped and his thumb brushed over the head of his cock again.

“Wyatt.”

He groaned. His abs flexed, and I could see the veins in his forearms as he worked himself in long, smooth strokes. “Again.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Say my name again.”

I bit back a smile and swallowed. “Wyatt.”

“Oh fuck.” His head fell back as his strokes became harsh and frantic. He was close. I wanted to see him finish—to see him come apart with my name on his lips as I watched the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on stroke his long, thick cock.

My fingertips found the hem of my dress and brushed up my thigh, but I didn’t move from the doorway. Grazing over the fabric of my underwear, I knew they would be damp. Wyatt’s eyes landed on the spot between my legs where my dress hid me from him, but my hand disappeared. My other hand skated across my hard nipples.

God, I want his mouth there. Everywhere.

My whole body was burning up. I wanted to feel him, every delicious inch, as he moved over me and split me open with that monster cock.

His back muscles rippled, and I knew he must be dangerously close.