Her thighs slicked together. Her cheeks were flushed. Her heart was beating way too fast.
Her meeting with Wyatt had not been what she’d been expecting. Or planning. She’d wanted to tell him what a dick he was and then strut away, showing him what he’d lost.
Instead, she’d let him shove her up against a wall in a dark alley and fuck her so hard she’d almost forgotten her damn name. The orgasm had been so intense, so raw. It was as if their bodies were celebrating finding each other. Finally connecting again.
She reached her hotel room and burst in, slamming the door behind her. After putting on a bedside lamp and pulling the thin curtain, she headed for the bathroom, kicking her heels off as she went.
Within seconds, she was stripped and in the large shower cubicle. A couple of tiles were cracked, and she wasn’t a fan of the floral orange shower curtain. But the water was hot and high-pressured, and she sent gratitude for decent motel maintenance.
“Goddamn it,” she muttered, scooping water between her legs and sloshing away the evidence of sex.
The evidence might be a wailing bundle.
“No. No. Think positive.” She reached for a small bar of soap, unwrapped it, and lathered her breasts. Her nipples were still hard. She could almost feel Wyatt’s hands on her—cupping, squeezing, adoring.
She closed her eyes and released a sob. How had things gotten so complicated between them so quickly? It didn’t seem fair. She’d been protecting her heart for so long, and now the moment she undid just one bolt around it, there was this mess.
“Don’t cry.” A deep familiar voice.
Her heart skipped and a shot of adrenaline flooded her system. She opened her eyes and spun around.
Wyatt was holding back the shower curtain and studying her with a frown.
“What are you doing here? Get out.” She pressed her arm over her breasts, the other at the junction of her thighs.
He chuckled. “Bit late for modesty. I know you inside and out … remember.”
He reached behind himself and pulled at his t-shirt, dropping it to the floor. Next came his belt, which landed with a clatter.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he removed his leather pants, pulling them over his already bare feet. He kicked them to one side.
“Wyatt.”
Naked, he straightened and stared at her. He was utterly beautiful—broad inked chest with the perfect amount of dark body hair that trailed over his rigid abs to his cock. A cock that was at a semi. Strong, defined thighs.
He stepped in beside her, the water instantly flattening his messy hair to his head.
“Get out,” she said again, even though her stomach clenched with longing—longing to be close to him and feel flesh on flesh.
“Babe.” He cupped her elbows. “Why are you fighting this?”
“Fighting what?”
He frowned. “Us? Surely you can feel it too. This connection.” Water dripped from his eyelashes as he stared intently at her.
“Yes, but…” A tightening in her throat. Another damn sob was trying to erupt.
“Belle.” He ran his hands up to her shoulders, his palms a little rough. “You were right. I am a moron. I should have used a condom, and I should have—”
“What?”
“I was rough… I just wanted you so bad. Needed to show you it’s driven me crazy not being with you all week. When I was looking down the wrong end of a gun, it was you I thought of. You I’d miss not seeing again, not being with, if that damn bullet hit home.”
“I’m glad you’re okay.” She rested her hand on his chest, over his heart. “If you’d been…”
“Shh.” He set his lips on her forehead and held them there.