I plunge into her again and again, not holding back now, fucking her hard and fast. Her soft cries pick up tempo and volume. I love how noisy she is.
Goddamn, I want to go all night like this, watching her, listening to her, feeling her pussy around my cock all velvety and hot, but I can’t. Pressure builds, tension torquing inside me. Heat sizzles up my spine, then back down, centering in the small of my back.
I find her clit with my fingers. She jolts at my touch, still sensitive, but whimpers her encouragement. I circle wet fingers over it. “There?”
“Not quite…higher…a bit more…ohhhhhh God, yes, there…”
She contracts around my dick, rippling, squeezing, and I shout as my own orgasm roars through me. My vision goes black, my ears buzz, and I hold myself deep inside her as I release in thick, heavy pulses.
“Fuuuck,” I groan, and pant. Jesus. I think I just died. I hope not, though, because I want to do this again.
I kiss her knee, then slowly lower her leg to the bed. Holding the condom, I ease out. For a second, I’m afraid it broke, because she’s so creamy, but it looks okay. I drop down beside her and lay my hand on her stomach. “I’m just gonna go get another condom.”
She laughs breathily. “No.”
“What?” I turn my head to smile at her.
“Already?”
“Sure.” I smirk. “That’s why being with a younger guy is so great.”
She snorts.
“Also I’m a hockey player.” I kiss her nose. “Good endurance. I can go at least sixty minutes.”
She laughs and stretches. “Okay, fine, you’ve convinced me.”
“Good.”
Chapter 14
Everly
“Oh God…do that again…”
I drift half-asleep, awash in lovely, warm sensation as Wyatt kisses his way down my back—soft, openmouthed kisses, his tongue lingering in the small of my back. My eyes flutter open and close again. Then fly open as the numbers on the clock beside his bed come into focus.
What day is it? Sunday…
“Oh my God!” My head snaps up and I roll away from Wyatt.
He sits back on his heels, staring at me. “Uh…”
“I have to get up!” I roll off the bed, nearly falling on the floor. I stand with my hands in my hair, disoriented, looking around Wyatt’s room. “Shit! I’m going to be late!”
“Late for what?” His forehead creases. “It’s Sunday morning.”
“I know!” I grab my clothes, still lying on the floor from when he undressed me last night. This isn’t a sexy, graceful moment as I struggle into my panties and bra.
Wyatt moves off the bed too, and hands me my jeans.
“I have to be somewhere.” I fight my way into the skinny jeans, my feet catching in the blown-out knees. “Argh!”
“Where? I’ll take you.”
“In the same clothes I wore last night?” I close my eyes briefly.
“Where are we going?” he asks again, patiently.
I take a breath and blow it out. “I don’t…okay, fine. I volunteer Sunday mornings at a homeless shelter.” I pull on my camisole.
His mouth drops open. “Oh. Okay.”
“It’s not far from my place. I can change quickly. I’m supposed to be there by ten, but if I’m a few minutes late, they won’t kick me out.”
“Okay.” He grabs a pair of boxers out of a drawer, steps into his jeans, and dons a clean T-shirt. “I didn’t know you did that.”
“Nobody does,” I mutter.
He shoots me a curious look and waves me out of the bedroom ahead of him. Soon we’re cruising along Pacific Avenue. It’s sunny but wicked windy, palm trees blowing and tossing.
Shit, shit, shit. I hate being late. I’m never late. I’d rather be somewhere way too early than be late.
“Relax,” Wyatt says, shooting me a sideways glance. “What’s wrong?”
“I hate being late.”
“Yeah, I hate it when a woman is late too.”
I scowl at him. “You’re disgusting.”
He laughs. “Lighten up, princess. What are they going to do? Fire you?”
“Ha.” I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know why I hate it so much.”
“Could it be because you have to be perfect?”
“I don’t…” I shut my mouth, and he laughs softly.
“So why the secret volunteer work?”
I sigh. “It’s not secret, exactly. I just don’t like to talk about it. I started doing it about a year ago.”
“Yeah?”
“I know the work I do every day gives back to the community, but it feels…distant, sometimes. I sit in an office and manage a bunch of people and we raise lots of money. Then my dad hands out a giant check and makes people happy. But I hardly ever get to see the results of giving that money. So I found something I can do myself. Nobody at the shelter knows who I am.”
“Ah.”
“I know I’m privileged. I grew up with money and everything I needed. My parents were both pretty firm about making sure we didn’t totally take it for granted, but even so…I don’t want to live in a bubble and not know how tough things are for some people. And maybe give back in some small way.”
He nods slowly.
At my place, I hurry inside, Wyatt following me. I quickly change into clean clothes, jeans with a Hope Home T-shirt. I wash my face, still wearing remnants of last night’s makeup, pull my hair back into a ponytail, and smash a baseball cap down onto my head.
Wyatt grins when he sees me.
“What?”
“You look cute. Ready to roll?”
“Yup.”
I give him directions to Hope Home. He parks in the lot beside it, turns off the SUV, and opens his door.
“What are you doing?”
“Coming in to help.”
“Oh.” I bite my lip. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
“What if they recognize you?”
“I don’t care.”
I nibble my lip.
“Oh. You do.”
“Just…please don’t call me princess. Everyone knows me as ‘Ev.’ You won’t be able to help cook—you have to go through a screening process. But they’ll probably be fine if you help serve.”
He follows me in. I’m greeted by a couple of the staff there—Joan and José—and other volunteers. On Sundays, it’s quite often me, Layla, Robert, and Rufus. I introduce Wyatt as “my friend, who’d like to help serve” and Joan and José shake hands with him, neither of them giving any indication they know who he is.
I head into the kitchen where Layla, Robert, and Rufus are already working.
“Sorry I’m late!” I call to them as I tie an apron around my waist.
“No worries. We figured you’d show up.” Rufus gives me a big smile.
I put on a pair of latex gloves and set to work chopping up vegetables for a big salad. Rufus is mixing up a bowl of chicken salad to make sandwiches, and Joan is stirring a huge pot of soup. “That soup will be popular today. It’s cold out there!”
I’m aware of Wyatt up front, probably setting tables. I have no idea what he thinks of this, except…he’s here. That’s kind of sweet. He doesn’t have to do this. My heart feels full in my chest and I’m smiling as I work.
I think about last night…about how careful he was with me, and yet when he realized what I like, he gave it to me. He’s generous and thoughtful…and oh God, so sexy. Sex with him was indescribable, more than just a physical experience. I feel like I’ve been changed, like I never knew what sex and intimacy really were, sharing our thoughts and feelings and desires.
Also, my thighs hurt and every time I move it reminds me of everything we did, and I want more.
It’s actually a little scary.
We were just supposed to go on a few dates and maybe get our picture taken a couple of times.
It’s okay. I can do this.
The kitchen is warm and I’m sweaty. I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead, then pick up a huge stainless-steel container of food and haul it out front to the big table where we set up the lunch.
There’s Wyatt…he’s wearing gloves and a hairnet—oh my God!—and sitting at a table talking to Tiana. She’s a regular here, and in the last year her life has totally changed.
“I got sick,” I hear her telling Wyatt. “My doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. Then I couldn’t get out of bed anymore and I missed time from work and I lost my job.”
He shakes his head, listening intently, and my heart does a flip in my chest. I set the tray on the table, but pause to listen.
“I had doctor bills and no money coming in,” she continues matter-of-factly, although I know how hard this has been for her. “I had to give up my apartment. I went to a lady on the street and asked her to give me lessons on how to be homeless.” She chuckles, her dark brown face crinkling as she smiles.
Wyatt’s eyes flash and the corners of his lips turn down. I can tell her story moves him. Hell, it moves me, my throat thickening.
“I lived in my car for a while,” Tiana continues. “Then I found this place. I got medical help. Figured out what was wrong with me. And next month…I move into my own place. They helped me find a home.” Her voice breaks with emotion now too.
Wyatt squeezes her hand. “That’s fantastic.”
“It really is. This place saved my life. I finally had a roof over my head and a support system. Everyone here treats me with respect and dignity. They helped me rebuild my life.”
Emotion swells in me and I duck back into the kitchen to bring out the pot of soup.
Wyatt strides toward me to relieve me of the heavy pot. I show him where to put it. As he ladles up soup into bowls, he flashes his magnetic grin at everyone. There are people I know in the line and some I don’t, and I chat with all of them as I use tongs to lift sandwiches onto plates. Layla, next to me, is dealing with the salad.
“Thanks, Ev,” says Zion, a regular. “You’re a sweetheart.”
I smile at him. “Aw, get out.”
He laughs.
I catch Wyatt’s eye and he smiles.
My heart bumps.
Damn.
When everyone has eaten, I stay to help put away food and clean up so the place is ready for the volunteers who’ll come in shortly to start dinner prep. Nobody objects when Wyatt comes into the kitchen and scrubs some pots. I can’t believe he’s doing this.
Finally, I take my apron off. “Okay, we’re done,” I tell him.
“You know what? I’m starving.”
“Oh my God, me too. We didn’t even have time for breakfast.”
“Let’s go get some food.”
We head out to his vehicle. It’s warmed up a little outside, and inside his SUV it’s toasty from the sun.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“My place.”
“Oh. I guess we’re not exactly dressed for somewhere nice.”
“Well, that too. It just doesn’t feel right…to go somewhere and spend a bunch of money on food.”
I eye him. “I know.” I’m taken aback that he feels the same. He gets it. “We can go to my place, if you want. It’s closer, and I have food.”
“Okay, sure.” He pauses. “Now I know why you do that.”
I nod.
“When I was talking to Tiana, I damn near started bawling.”
I swallow hard. “I know. She’s amazing.”
“So are you.” He reaches for my hand and squeezes. “Do you go there every Sunday?”
“Pretty much. I also, uh, help clean up the beach sometimes.”
“Like, you just go out and pick up garbage?”
“I meet up with a group who does it.”
He slides a glance my way. “So when you were going off on me about caring about the environment, you weren’t kidding.”
“No.”
“Huh.” He stares out the windshield.
I don’t know what he’s thinking.
He parks on the street outside my building and I lead the way in. I did pick up groceries yesterday, so I’m sure I can find something to make us.
“Did I tell you I like your place?” he says, following me through the living room toward the kitchen.
“Um, no.”
“It’s very…calm.”
I smile. “Thank you! That was my goal.”
“You seem like a calm person.” Then his eyebrows pull together. “Except in bed.”
“Ah.” If only knew how not calm I am on the inside. “Is that bad or good?”
“That’s good. Very good.” He pulls me against him and loops his arms around me. “Thank you for letting me help out this morning.”
“I don’t think I ‘let’ you do anything.” I smile up at him. “Thank you, for doing it.”
He kisses me, a soft but lingering kiss that melts my brain. Everything inside me goes soft and weak. I rise up onto my toes and wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back. I can’t help it; I just feel I have to. On some level I know this isn’t good, but I don’t even care right now. I just want to kiss him and show him my gratitude and appreciation and admiration and…oh God, I’m in big trouble.
He pats my butt. “Okay, what are we eating? Besides you, later.”
My belly flips. “I have some ham…how about Denver sandwiches?”
“Sounds great. What can I do?”
I get him chopping onions while I whisk up some eggs and dice the ham. We chat about the shelter and more about the game last night as we cook together, then sit down at my table to eat.
“This is great.” He finishes off two sandwiches easily.
“Mmm.” I wipe my fingers on a paper napkin. “I was hungry.”
“Now I need a nap.” He stands and picks up his plate. “After we clean up.”
My mind is jumping around, trying to decipher what that meant. Is he going home? Is he staying? Did he mean he really wants a nap?
He helps me wash the omelet pan and load the dishwasher. Drying his hands on a towel, he prowls up to me. He drops the towel, plucks my baseball cap off my head, and slides the hair tie off my ponytail. My hair falls around my face and he threads his fingers through it, holding the back of my head, peering into my eyes. “Let’s go back to bed.”
My heart leaps and my belly flip-flops. “Oh, you meant a ‘nap.’ ” I make air quotes.
He laughs. “You know what I meant. Although truthfully, there may be sleep involved because I sure as hell didn’t get much last night. You just wouldn’t leave me alone.”
My first reaction is to gasp with outrage, but I’m getting to know how he pushes my buttons, so I simply smile and rub my fingertips over the stubble on his jaw. “And you loved it.”
“I did.” He takes my hand and leads me upstairs to my bedroom.
Wyatt
“Wyatt?”
“Mmm?”
“Who was that little boy I saw you with? New Year’s Day…”
I stiffen, then force myself to relax. Since she’s pressed up against me in her bed, she probably noticed, though. I’d forgotten that day I ran into her at the pier. “He’s a friend’s kid.”
“Oh. I was wondering if you had a son.”
“Jesus! Uh, no, he’s not mine. I have no kids.”
“That you know about.”
I groan. I made that joke on New Year’s Eve. No wonder she thought Owen was mine. “Seriously. And if I did, I sure as hell would know.”
“Okay.”
We lay snuggled together. A few minutes later, I ask, “Why do you have to be perfect all the time?” I stroke her arm.
She sighs. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“I know your secrets. I know about your volunteer work. I know you’re worried about your dad. You can tell me.”
After a pause, she says slowly, “When I was a teenager, I got in some…trouble. I wasn’t arrested or anything,” she adds hastily. “But it was a potential scandal that had my parents really upset. They were so disappointed in me. My dad had to…well, he got involved and saved my ass, and, well, I guess I feel like I owe them. Ever since then I’ve tried to make it up to them.”
I think about this. When I was sixteen, I got caught with having alcohol underage. The cops called my parents and told them. I didn’t get arrested or anything either, but I knew my parents were disappointed in me. “I think every teenager goes through that. Every teenager screws up somehow.”
“I suppose. But not every teenager is a Wynn.”
“That makes it worse?”
“Well, some teenagers get in trouble and nobody ever knows about it. With us…it’s hard to keep stuff like that out of the media.”
“That’s a lot of pressure on a kid.”
She lets out another short sigh. “Yeah. It can be. There are a lot of benefits that come from wealth and privilege, but there are some negatives too.”
I call her princess. And in a way she is. But she’s a lot more than that.
She volunteers at the shelter. Nobody knows who she is. She does that for no reward. Nobody knows about it. She helps clean up the beach.
She grew up with a shit ton of expectations and pressure and now I’m starting to see why she’s so perfect…she thinks she has to be.
But nobody’s perfect and it worries me that she puts that much of a burden on herself.
I roll her under me and kiss her, slow and sustained and sweet. “You don’t always have to be perfect,” I murmur against her cheek. “Around me. I just want you to know that.”
“Oh.” Her eyelashes flutter and her bottom lip quivers. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me, I think.”
Holy shit. What does that say?
Win Big Page 14
