CHAPTER TWELVE

Even though they got home late, and by the time Vica had showered and crawled into bed, it was past one in the morning, but she couldn't sleep. She also refused to sleep in the bed, coming out victorious in her argument with Wyatt, and instead, she took the couch. He was going to be in so much pain, the least she could do was give him his own bed. And the couch wasn't uncomfortable. It wasn't his decadent mattress, but it wasn't a board of nails or the hard ground either.

A quick check of her phone on the coffee table said it was past three now, and she still hadn't been able to fall asleep.

Every time she closed her eyes—even before tonight's accident—she would see Track's dead body. She kept reliving that night, over and over again, in her mind. And all the "what-ifs" haunted her.

What if she didn't know about self-defense?

What if she hadn't been able to fight him off?

What if he'd been bigger and overpowered her?

What if Wyatt hadn't been there to help her?

What if Track woke up and caught her? Would she even be alive?

If was nearly four in the morning before she finally threw back the blanket and sat up. Well, she wasn't going to get any sleep, that was obvious. She might as well be useful.

Cooking had always been a source of comfort and calm for her. So careful not to create too much noise in the kitchen and wake the house, she went to work gathering all the ingredients she would need to make homemade ricotta and mushroom ravioli. It was one of her father's favorites and something she liked to cook when she was feeling sad. It always reminded her of her father and cheered her up. And now was the perfect time to find a little bit of extra cheer.

With her headphones in, she hummed along to her favorite alternative rock band as she rolled out the dough by hand with the rolling pin. She wasn't able to locate a pasta maker, but that didn't really bother her. She had made ravioli without a pasta maker many times.

Humming and swaying her hips as she sautéed the mushrooms in the saucepan with garlic, shallots, and herbs, she jumped only a little when a hand landed on her shoulder.

"Oh!" She pulled a headphone out of her ear and spun around to find Wyatt smiling at her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

She turned off the music and pulled out the other headphone. "Did I wake you?"

He shook his head. "I can't sleep."

"Me either."

Her eyes widened when she took in the bruise on his forehead. She knew it was there, but it was darker and bigger than when she said goodnight to him only a few hours ago. Reaching up, she brushed the hair off his forehead to take in the magnitude of the malady. "How is your head?"

"I took something for the headache. Luckily, they don't think I have a concussion. I just hit my head on the side of the truck pretty hard."

She frowned and pulled her hand away. "Oh no! I got flour on you. I'm sorry." Grabbing the tea towel, she wiped the flour off of his head, careful not to apply any pressure .

He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was still getting used to the short hair, and the way it constantly escaped her hair ties and fell down around her face.

"Are you sore?" he asked.

She shook her head and turned off the stove, moving over to the counter where the dough for the raviolis was ready and rolled out. She just needed the mushrooms to cool a bit before she put them on the dough with the ricotta. Thankfully, Wyatt had a very stocked fridge and pantry. "I just can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes—even before tonight—I see Track's face. Dead. And then I start thinking about all the things that could have happened. I was so very lucky. But so many women are not as lucky as me. So many women—including some of Track's victims—did not know how to protect themselves."

She removed the saucepan from the hot element. "I woke up last night after a dream. It started out the same as the real night, but it went in a very bad, very different direction. I couldn't fight him. And yet, I still ended up killing him." She met his gaze. "I didn't want to kill him. And now, someone is trying to kill me." Her throat tightened and tears stung the back of her eyes. "And someone nearly killed you. And the boys." She gasped. "Oh, Wyatt, if something happened to either of those children … I know I haven't known them long, but I already love them so much. I couldn't bear the thought of either of them getting hurt because of me."

Stepping forward, he cupped her cheek, his fingers threading into the hair behind her ear. "Vica, you are my wife, and you are safe here. I will never let anything happen to you. You have my entire family behind you. You are a McEvoy now, and McEvoys take care of their own."

Swallowing past the harsh and spikey lump in her throat, she stared up at him in the muted kitchen light. "Nobody has had my back in a long time. I forgot what it feels like."

His smile warmed her from the inside out. "Get used to it." Then he moved closer until their bodies touched. Angling his head down and gently pulling her toward him, his lips brushed hers as tears slid down her cheeks. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, they melted against each other until his arms were around her and hers were around him.

It wasn't quick and fevered. There was no tearing of clothes. No panting, breathless frantic movements, even though her pulse beat wildly where his pinky finger rested on her neck. Every movement between them was slow and deliberate. Unhurried and passionate. Almost timid at times, the way he kissed her. Exploring and asking permission. Pulling away and breaking the kiss, he met her gaze. Without saying a word, she lifted her hands in the air so he could pull her tank top over her head.

She was braless because it was the wee hours of the morning.

He reached behind him and tugged off his own shirt. Then she shimmied out of her pajama shorts and underwear. His gaze roamed her body.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, cupping her cheek again and bringing his mouth back down to hers. His kisses were so tender, and yet passion radiated from every stroke of his tongue, every movement of his lips. Even the way he cradled her face in his hand spoke of possession and need. A shudder swept through him when she cupped him over his black boxer shorts. She smiled into the kiss before she began to stroke him.

Backing her up until her butt hit the fridge, his kisses traveled along her cheek and jaw, down over her neck and chest, stopping at each nipple until it was an achy peak of need. His tongue swirled around her belly button, then drew a trail lower. Inhaling deep, with his nose pressed at the top of her pussy, he paused and tipped his gaze up to hers before he sunk to his knees and shouldered her thighs apart.

With so much patience and such a gentle touch, his hands ran up her leg, from her ankle to her thigh, chasing a fiery path of need that finished between her legs. He brought her right foot up to his shoulder and kissed a new path up from her ankle to her pussy.

Blowing cool air on her wet, hot center, he had her shivering and pressing her hips forward, desperate for something else. For anything else. For all of it.

Please.

Finally, he put her out of her delicious misery and flicked his tongue out, hitting her clit in just the right spot.

Her body nearly buckled to the ground. She grappled blind for the wall, or the counter, or something, but came up with nothing but the refrigerator handle to keep her stable.

With each stroke he grew bolder, more adventurous, until finally, his tongue was probing her center, fucking her like a cock. She was inches from losing her mind forever.

She'd always been very sex positive and had a drawer of vibrators at her apartment. She also had no problem providing a man with gentle instruction in order to help them both get her where they wanted her to go. But Wyatt seemed to need no coaching or suggestions. The way he laved at her clit, then plunged his tongue inside, had her head pressing hard into the fridge behind her and stars flickering behind her closed eyes.

She was close in no time. Orgasms had thankfully never been a struggle for Vica. Mostly because she refused to leave it up to the man. If he wasn't getting her there, she took matters into her own hand and made sure she wasn't left hanging. Mother Nature designed females with a pleasure button, no way should she ever be denied the pleasure she deserved.

Holding onto the refrigerator door handle with one hand, she trailed her hand down her body with the other until she found Wyatt's thick mop of hair and buried her fingers there as the orgasm brewed inside her lower belly.

Of their own volition, her hips bucked, riding his face as he continued to consume her, to pleasure her, and show her just how much he wanted her.

When his tongue plunged inside again, she detonated.

Bright lights flashed behind her closed lids, and wave after wave of bliss spread out from her center. He latched onto her clit and sucked, sending her further into the ether, floating above them and watching like a dirty voyeur as he buried his face between her legs in the kitchen.

Her toes curled on the cool kitchen tile, and she was probably close to pulling out all of his hair, but she couldn't stop herself even if she tried. The way he feasted on her, the way he drank down her release and flicked her already swollen clit with his tongue, just shoved her into another orgasm as fast as the first one receded.

She rode that second wave not nearly as steady as she did the first. Her legs were wobbly and her muscles started to cramp, but there was no denying how good it all felt. How distracting it was from all the chaos and turmoil that waited for her in the daylight.

By the time she came down from that second climax, every muscle in her body was exhausted. Her bones had dissolved to mush, and she could barely keep her eyes open.

Wyatt stood up and wiped his face with his hand before boxing her in against the fridge and taking her mouth. She tasted herself on his lips and tongue, but she didn't care. His kisses were the perfect medicine for her sudden fatigue. They gave her the second wind she needed and soon she was leaping up onto his hips. He moved them over to the counter, plunking her bare butt on the granite, and sent his boxers to his ankles.

This was the first time she'd seen him without a shirt. So she gave herself permission to objectify him and appreciate just how beautiful he was. His arms were big and muscular. Defined and hard. And his torso … she had to keep herself from salivating, otherwise she was going to drool all over him.

"This isn't going to work," he said, glancing down between their bodies. "We can't do this."

Her heart threatened to shatter into a million pieces. "Wha—"

"The counter is too tall."

Oh. Thank god.

He scooped her up by the butt, hugging her to his front, and she locked her ankles around his back as he slowly brought them to the floor, cradling her head in his hand.

One of those spongy kitchen fatigue mats kept her head from meeting the unforgiving tile as he lowered himself over her.

"You shouldn't be doing this," she said. "You were just in an accident."

"Why don't you let me worry about what I can and can't do." He kissed her sweetly and she spread her legs for him, but when he paused and the tip of his cock was just at her entrance, she met his gaze. "I don't have any condoms."

"I have an implant in my arm," she said. "It's birth control. I've had it for two years and it's good for five."

His brows furrowed. "That's a thing?"

She nodded. "Way less invasive than an IUD. But … it doesn't prevent STDs. I am clean though. I haven't been with anyone since I arrived in America."

"I am clean too. It's been … years for me."

Their gazes met for a moment, and something very raw and real passed between them.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she nodded and tilted her hips up, inviting him inside her. Slowly, almost painfully so, he lowered himself down to her, sinking into her body and filling her up. The stretch pulled out a moan from the depths of her throat as her body acclimatized to his size. Every inch of her was touched, and when he started to move … that soft, wet, warm friction had her brain and body buzzing like a beehive that just woke up from a long winter's nap.

With his forearms resting on the mat beside her head, their noses nearly touched. His movements remained leisurely, and yet there was nothing lazy about it. Wyatt was very aware of everything he was doing, and that was taking his time. Savoring her. Savoring this.

Neither of them went into this unaware of how it was going to drastically change things. And yet, she knew there was no way she couldn't. She wanted Wyatt with every cell of her body and had for some time. The fact that he wanted her too just made her heart soar in ways it never had before. Yes, this complicated things and made it messier. But sometimes you needed to make a mess to create a masterpiece. To create beauty. And this moment, here, now, with Wyatt in the muted light of the early morning, was nothing shy of pure beauty.

"Open your eyes," he demanded, his voice slightly strained and all kinds of sexy and husky.

She blinked open her eyes to find him staring right into her soul. With every flex and tilt of his hips, her body climbed to a new, unimaginable height of pleasure. Even in the shadows of her two previous orgasms she was ready for this one. For where their bodies were one. Connected. Consumed.

It was their wedding night for goodness sake, and her husband was cherishing her in a way she never thought possible.

But the longer she studied his gaze, the more she could see that he was pushing through some kind of pain or discomfort.

This position wasn't serving him the way it should. He'd just been in a car accident, and although his body was probably numbed from pain medication, something was off.

"Wyatt, stop," she said, pressing her hands into his chest.

"What's wrong?" Panic flitted across his face. "Am I hurting you?"

She shook her head. "Never. It all feels … amazing. But …" He'd argue if she brought up the fact that he was in pain. He was a proud man and didn't want her to think he was incapable of fulfilling such a basic and primal need. "I want to be on top."

Smiling, he nodded and pulled out of her, sitting back on his knees.

"Sit back against the cupboard," she ordered, scrambling up and straddling him when he did as he was told. Then she sunk down, taking him back inside her, unable to stop the moan that rumbled up from deep in her chest.

He cupped her breast and brought his mouth to her nipple, latching onto a tight, tender bud and scissoring his teeth over it until she gasped.

Slowly, she lifted onto her knees, then dropped back down, taking him all the way inside her and reveling in his groan of pleasure. In the way his body fit so perfectly inside hers. His free hand found her hip and he pressed down, encouraging her to take even more of him. She did her best, loving how he filled her up, and the way his pelvic bone ground against her clit. It was still a snug fit and when she lifted up again, she knew the climax was close.

Their gazes locked once more, her hands on his shoulders for balance as she lifted up again. "My wife," he said, his voice strained.

She swallowed and smiled. "My husband." She wasn't prepared for that sudden full-body quiver, or the way it traveled through her and into him. His eyes shuttered for a moment, and she could see the last threads of his restraint snapping.

Squeezing her muscles as hard as she could, she took her sweet time dropping down, taking absolutely every millimeter of him she could. His body went stiff beneath hers, then his moan filled the kitchen as his chest rose and fell rapidly while he found his release and poured himself inside her. Tipping her hips just a little to change up the angle, his lower abs grazed her clit just right and, combined with the pulsing of his cock inside her against her walls, she found what she coveted: sweet release.

Their foreheads met as they came together, the pleasure unleashing between them, passing back and forth through their joined bodies. His breath mixed with hers. His arms banded around her body, holding her to him, like he never wanted to let her go.

And she didn't want him to.

Every pulse of his cock pitched her own climax higher, and when his fingers dug gently but firmly into her ribcage, it was all she could do not to cry out in pure ecstasy. Her lips parted and just a strangled, squeak of a sound came out as her chest, pressed tightly to his, expanded with each ragged breath.

The euphoria seemed to go on forever. And she wished it would have.

But all good things need to end eventually, and when they opened their eyes, more early morning light poured in from all the windows.

He kissed her sweetly and they both smiled, their bodies coated in a thin layer of sweat. A gust of cool air from somewhere swept across her misty skin, causing gooseflesh to break out and make her shiver. His hands rubbed up and down her back to warm her. She rested her cheek to his shoulder for just a moment, not quite ready to leave their little cocoon of perfection.

Slowly, she lifted up and he slipped free. Then she zipped to the bathroom to pee and clean herself up. By the time she returned to the kitchen, Wyatt was partially dressed in his boxers again. He handed her her pajamas, and she quickly redressed.

That's when she noticed how much of a mess they made. Apparently, when he set her on the counter, he'd plunked her butt in a big pile of flour, which then transferred to the floor and all over his thighs. It was probably all over her butt too, but she hadn't noticed in the bathroom.

"We made a mess," she said, unable to keep the giddy grin from her lips.

"We did." His gaze met hers and his blue-hazel eyes twinkled with amusement.

Then her eyes went wide. "The raviolis! I still need to make them."

He pressed his finger over his mouth "Shhh," he whispered. "I'll sweep up the floor, you get to filling the pasta."

She nodded. "Sorry. Right." They'd been so careful being quiet as they gave into their urges earlier, and now she was about to ruin all their effort and wake up the kids because she forgot about the raviolis. A silly bubble of laughter tickled her throat. "A team effort," she said, the powdery feel of flour under her feet making her only cringe a little.

"You're a McEvoy now," he said, retrieving the broom from the pantry. "And we're all about teamwork here."

"Teamwork makes for no bad dreams, right?"

The smile on his face made her want to jump his bones all over again. "You mean teamwork makes the dreamwork?"

She shrugged. "Sure." She was too happy to worry about mixing up her idioms. The idea of belonging to a big, nosy family warmed her to her core .

Now that she and Wyatt had taken things to the next level, were things going to be as temporary as they originally planned? Or was she really part of this wonderful family permanently?

She knew better than to get her hopes up about such things, but the idea of belonging was just too good not to imagine.

And maybe it could happen … if the world didn't come crashing down around her first.