Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

T he sun is cresting over the San Tan mountains to the east, the sky that soft shade of purplish pink that announces morning has arrived.

When my dad didn’t come home for several hours, I figured there was a reason Wyatt hadn’t called or texted yet either, so I drove here to wait for him. I spoke to his mom as she rolled in from the night shift about an hour ago and filled her in on most of the drama. Naturally, none of it surprised her. She’s been around the high school football scene long enough to get the politics and the stupid choices often made by players and coaches alike. I think what put her at ease was that her son was the one trying to fix things.

“Just like his dad,” she said before hugging me in the middle of her driveway.

She invited me inside, but I said I wanted to wait here. I need to see his truck head toward me; to get the first glimpse that whatever needed to happen last night is done.

I’ve been waiting for hours, and his mom has been sleeping inside, catching up before another night shift. I couldn’t help but recall the word her son used to describe her when we first met— resilient.

Wyatt’s headlights finally appear just as the pink in the sky is getting brighter. I step out of my Jeep and wait for him in his driveway, and when he parks and practically tumbles out of his truck, I wrap my arms around him and hold up his weight.

“Rough night?” I ask, a whisper of a laugh at his ear.

His chin tucks into my neck as he nods and chuckles softly.

“Yeah, but it was necessary,” he hums.

I rub my palms up his back, his shirt damp and cold from sweat.

“Let’s get you inside.”

We walk toward his house, my arm around his back, his over my shoulder, keeping me close. He punches in a code on the garage to open the door and we slip inside quietly, shutting it behind us.

“I saw your mom. We talked,” I tell him. He nods, his gaze flitting to mine as we quietly make our way down the hall toward his room.

“Was she angry?” he asks once inside his room.

I shake my head and lean against the door jamb as he pushes his shoes off with his toes.

“Not even close.” He lifts his head to meet my eyes, his brow drawn in a hint with perhaps concern or confusion.

I step toward him and help lift his shirt up over his head. My fingertips paint down the center of his chest and I press my palm over his heart.

“She was proud of you,” I say, moving my hand back up to his jawline. “She said your dad would be, too.”

His slow blink is followed by a soft sniffle before he runs the butt of his palm under his eyes.

“Thank you for talking to her,” he utters.

I nod, reaching up to smooth back his wild hair.

“You need a shower,” I say with a smirk.

He drops his chin and squints his eyes closed as he smiles.

“That bad?” He cracks one eye open.

“Worse,” I joke. Sort of.

Wyatt steps forward, and I take one back, maintaining the few inches between us as he shuffles us from his bedroom, through the hallway, and into his bathroom across the way.

“Your mom is home,” I whisper.

“And she’s asleep all the way over there,” he says, leaning his head to the side as our eyes meet.

I bite my bottom lip, and he pushes the door closed behind him.

“Plus, this thing locks,” he says, the soft click filling me with a little more courage.

My ass against the sink counter, Wyatt moves into me, his hands reaching for the bottom of the Bills sweatshirt I’ve come to love. He begins to pull it up my stomach, and I help him along the way, pulling it over my head and tossing it by the sink. His hands fall to the countertop on either side of me, caging me, as his mouth drops to my neck. His kiss is hot against my skin, and as his right hand glides up my arm and over my shoulder to my bra strap, I drop my hands to the button and zipper for his jeans.

He slips the strap over my shoulder as I push his jeans down his hips, and my hand sinks into his boxers. He reaches behind me to unclasp the white lace demi-cup bra so it can fall between us.

My hand finds him hard, and I grasp his length, stroking him slowly as he sinks his teeth into my shoulder to muffle his growl. His hands slide to my hips, hooking into the band of my sweats and panties, pushing them down my body. He moves back and steps out of his jeans and boxers before turning to the glass shower door. Once inside, he turns the water on and turns to face me as the water cascades down his hard chest and flattens his hair over his eyes. He pushes it back, his gaze no longer as tired as it is hungry, and he bends his finger, urging me under the water with him.

I step through the door and latch it behind me before holding out a palm to feel the water’s temperature. It’s still cool, but it’s warming quickly—as am I. Wyatt gently tugs my wrist, drawing me into him, and once I’m in his arms, he slides his palm up my spine and into my hair as his mouth covers mine.

The water rains down on us as our fingers roam each other’s curves. His hard-on is hot against my thigh, and a few times I move to let it slide between my legs. Each time his tip grazes along my swollen skin, I nearly come undone. Wyatt must sense it because eventually his hand trails down my stomach and between my legs where he sinks a finger inside.

My face rests against his chest, my mouth open as the water cascades over my face. I take his cock in my hand and stroke him long and slow, running my thumb gently over the tip when I feel him swell under my touch. We touch each other with heat and urgency, stealing kisses between breaths as our hands work one another until I’m grinding against his palm with shudders as he comes against my thigh.

His hand remains between my legs, even after I let go of him, and he turns me so my back is against his body while he continues to kiss my neck. He rubs me in small circles, bringing me to the brink again, and when my knees threaten to give out, he holds me tighter against his body, his other hand clutching my breast while I endure wave after wave.

Finally, my head slung forward, he removes his hand from my lower body and urges me to face him again. He pours a small dab of body wash into his palm to lather my body while I stare at his beautiful face. His dark lashes blink as they are flecked with small droplets of water, and his full lips rest in this barely there smile that looks both guilty and satisfied. Unable to resist, I step up on my toes and cup his face in my palms, forcing him to blink his eyes open on mine.

“Give me some of that,” I say, glancing to the body wash on the shelf. “You need it more than I do.”

His lip curls on one side as he tries to hold in his laughter, and he hands me the soap. I pour a generous amount into my palm and glide my hands over the ridges along his stomach and chest, then up his neck and into his hair. Touching him like this somehow feels more intimate.

The water cools, so Wyatt twists it off and opens the glass door to snag a towel from the nearby hook. He holds it out for me, wrapping it around my torso as I step onto the soft blue rug in the middle of the bathroom. He wraps a second towel around himself before gathering up our discarded clothes and unlocking the door. He scans the hallway before ushering me back into his room, dressing me back in my clothes and kissing my lips raw before forcing himself to get ready to head to Vista to watch film.