23. Fern

Chapter 23

Fern

I wake up to the smell of coffee. I open my eyes to find Wyatt kneeling by the bed, holding a steaming white mug. He's smiling, looking so content and relaxed.

A lazy smile tugs at my own lips as I work to sit up in bed. I realize I'm still naked and a little bit sore. But it's wonderful. He's shirtless, too, and climbs back in bed beside me, a mug of his own in his hand. "Morning, beautiful."

He clinks his mug against mine and cuddles against my side. And this might be the best way I've ever woken up in my entire life. I'm delightfully warm and comfortable. I sip at the coffee, which has the perfect amount of milk and nothing else.

He kisses my neck in between sips and feeling content; I do the same. Until we're tangled together, mugs forgotten, making out like morning breath doesn't matter. Despite the ache between my legs, I'm desperate for friction yet again, and I move to straddle Wyatt in the bed. Until he grips my wrist. "There's something I really want to do with you."

I furrow my brow and look at him, brushing my hair back from my eyes. "Something we didn't already do last night?"

Wyatt grins wickedly and scoops me into the air. Both of us naked, he sprints down the stairs as if I weigh nothing at all, and I yelp as he begins to lower me onto the wooden table by the massive windows overlooking the ski slopes.

I glance to my side, seeing the chair lift in operation on the mountain. "Wyatt!" I drop a hand to cover my breast even as he spreads my legs open, positioning me at the end of the table. "What are you doing?"

He sinks to the floor, his long legs kneeling on the wood, torso aligned with my thighs. "They can't see in, Fern. Tinted windows."

I feel his palms on my legs and bite my lip, studying the glass. "It doesn't look tinted—oh!"

He starts licking me, long, slow strokes of his warm tongue. He gently places one thigh and then the other over his shoulders so I'm surrounding his head as he burrows between my legs. There's nothing for me to do but run my fingers through his messy hair and relax into the sensation.

Wyatt licks me like I'm a dessert. Here, in this mansion on the mountain, he makes me feel like I'm the most precious, necessary thing he ever dreamed of. It goes on for what feels like ages until I'm moaning his name and arching my back, waves of pleasure crashing around me. Every time I open my eyes, I see Wyatt's face, his eyes dark with lust and his lips glistening with my own moisture. It's filthy and wonderful, and I come, shouting his name until it echoes off the pristine walls.

After, he carries me back up to bed, where our coffee is waiting. And it's almost like it never happened, except I'm fully sated, and he's hard as stone, one hand lazily stroking himself while he drinks his coffee and stares at me.

I set my mug back on the nightstand and turn to face him. "That was pretty special, you know."

He grins. "I've been dreaming of doing that." I stare down at his crotch, loving the way his hand looks fondling his length.

I run a hand along his chest. "What exactly do you do when you dream of that?"

He arches a brow, setting his empty mug on his nightstand. "I think you know what I do, Fern."

I climb over him, one leg on either side of his, but settle myself midway down his thighs, not touching him where he's glistening and leaking. I like the feel of his hairy legs against my smooth ones. "I want you to tell me. And show me." I bite my lip, placing my hands on his shoulders. He sucks in a breath and moves his hand more rapidly along his cock.

"I touch myself until I come," he whispers, eyes closed. And then his eyes fly wide, staring at my body, my face.

"I want to see," I tell him, and I really, really do want that. I want to see his head thrown back in ecstasy, hot ropes of release splattering his rock-hard abs. "Show me, Wyatt. Show me what you do when you think about eating me out on your dining table. Show me how it turns you on to make me come so hard."

"Fuck, Fern." His hand flies along his dick, his other flailing through my hair, finding purchase, tugging. It stings, electrifying. We lock eyes, and I watch his face contort as he gets closer to the edge. I can see why it turns him on so much to go down on me. Inspired, feeling brave, I scoot backward and out of his grasp. I stick out my tongue and taste the tip of him, a salty burst of moisture on my tongue. "Oh, gorgeous, you don't have to. I wanted to make today about you …"

Wyatt is panting like he's just finished a match. I place a hand on his thigh, the other on top of his own hand, grasping his erection. "This is about me," I whisper.

And it's true. As I slide my mouth onto him, I can feel the power I have in this moment. I can feel his surrender, the awe and appreciation he's experiencing alongside the evident pleasure. I'm delighted to learn I can draw groans and grunts from Wyatt's mouth as I lick and suck, tease and kiss. His hand drops away, cupping my chin. When I glance up at him, with several inches of him in my mouth, his eyes fly wide, and his head drops back. Wyatt emits a bellow and comes forcefully into my mouth. I pull off, licking at the drops of his pleasure but watching greedily as more white ropes spray up onto his abs. It's filthy and just what I wanted to see.

When I reach out to dab a finger in the mess and then taste that, too, Wyatt seems to actually pass out.

Hours later, or maybe it's days or months … we're finally dressed, cuddling in the kitchen while he heats up some sort of breakfast casserole he brought in the giant cooler of delights. I can't stop kissing him and giggling, touching him as we wait to eat. It's like any millimeter of space between us is far too much after what we just shared.

And then I hear a car door slam, the sound of women laughing. I stiffen. Wyatt hasn't heard yet. He's nibbling at my chin when the front door of the house opens to reveal a woman with a salt-and-pepper ponytail flanked by an older woman with a short bob and … my art history professor.

The three of them stop laughing and stare at us, the older two women tittering with laughter and the younger one dropping her hands to her hips. "Wyatt Henry De Luca! What the hell are you doing here?"