“I’m going to make love to you, and the world’s not going to end.”
“That’s a terrible idea,” I choke out.
“Challenge accepted.”
Twenty-Three
Wyatt
The list of reasons I shouldn’t be playing with the hem of Ellie’s skirt is longer than my arm. Tucker could catch us here. Ellie’s parents. The baby goat that got through the gate could try to help. Someone else could walk into the gardens.
I could get in serious trouble and lose my job for indecent exposure.
But when Ellie’s only objection to me snaking my hands up under her skirt is that we’re tempting fate, I run my hands over her knees and up her thighs.
She shudders and widens her legs as her lids get heavy. “We’re not supposed to do this,” she whispers.
“I like you,” I whisper back, “and I want to make you feel good.”
“I take no responsibility for your son becoming an orphan,” she informs me.
I have zero fear that her belief that we’re physically dangerous is accurate. It’s superstitious nonsense, and it’s not like Ellie to believe in it. “What are you really afraid of?”
I don’t expect her to answer me, so I dip my thumbs low on her inner thighs. She’s not flinching away from letting me touch her scars, and I wish I could kiss her where she hurts and make it go away.
Her eyes squeeze closed as her legs fall open wider. “I’m afraid I’m not lovable.”
My heart cracks in two.
I didn’t know I had it in me for my heart to crack for another person, but it did. Split. Right in half like someone attacked it with a rusty butter knife.
“Why?”
“I’m stubborn.”
“Determined,” I correct.
“Annoying.”
“Says who?”
“You.”
“Only to get your goat.”
The baby goat bleats again, and her lips wobble upward. But her eyes—Christ.
Her eyes are breaking my heart. “I’m too career-minded.”
“You have a calling.”
“I didn’t pick it.”
“Didn’t have to.”
Her skin is so soft, and I can smell her arousal through the layers of her dress.
“I don’t know what’s important,” she insists. “I can’t prioritize people over things. I don’t know how to let go and trust someone else. I can’t—”
“You’re Ellie Fucking Ryder. Yes, you can.”
“Why do you believe in me?”
“Mostly to piss you off.” I wink at her and stroke the edge of her panties, and she huffs out a smile and a groan.
“Wyatt.”
“Come see me in Georgia.”
“What?”
“Come see me. Me and Tucker. Spend the weekend with us. In two weeks. Three weeks. Whenever you have a free weekend. Come see us.”
She blinks quickly, but not fast enough to erase the sheen in her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to fucking miss you.” Honesty makes my voice raw. I never thought I’d get married. Never trusted that I could fall in love and know how to do it right.
But Ellie?
She won’t let me do it wrong.
Because she’s Ellie. She’ll push me. She’ll teach me. And if she’ll love me, she’ll love me.
“Wyatt,” she whispers, and then her hands clasp around my ears and she’s kissing me.
Softly.
So softly.
Like she’s learning me. Memorizing me.
Savoring me.
I stroke the center of her panties, and her groan vibrates against my lips. I stroke her again, and she arches into my touch while she nips my lower lip. “More,” she says into our kiss.
So I give her more, stroking and teasing and touching her while we kiss, slow and easy, then slow and deep, then hard and desperate while she jerks against my fingers. I slip two under her panties, find her entrance, and thrust into her slick heat.
But it’s not enough.
I don’t want to just feel her.
I want to taste her.
“Wyatt,” she gasps when I duck under her skirts. “We’re—someone could—ohmygod do it again.”
I push her panties aside, put my mouth to her pussy, and I devour her sweet center. Her hips buck into my mouth, and fuck, I could stay here all day.
I don’t care that I can’t see a fucking thing. I don’t care that it’s hot as hell.
I don’t even care that we could get caught at any minute.
I just know I’m finally right where I’m supposed to be.
Loving Ellie.
Pleasuring her.
Her gasps are muffled, but she’s holding my head steady through her skirt, urging me higher, left, right there oh my god more right there suck me harder Wyatt yes harder YES.
I slide two fingers deep inside her hot, wet channel, and when my lips find her sweet little nub, I nip gently, then suck it, and she’s suddenly clamping around my fingers, her thighs squeezing my head while she comes for me.
“Yes,” she gasps. “Wy-aa-aah-”
I tense, and sure enough—
“Ah-choo!”
Her walls clench tight around my fingers again, spasming harder and coating me, and fuck if her coming doesn’t make me about to blow my own load in my pants.
“Fuck,” she mutters, but it comes out on a half-groan while her pussy’s still coming for me.
She sneezes once more, and I pull my fingers out, gently replace her panties, and peek out from under her dress.
“Baaah!’ the baby goat bleats.
Ellie’s wiping her nose with her arm. Her cheeks are rosy, her body slumping on the bench.
“It was messy,” she grumbles, pointing to her nose. “And we’re probably going to get eaten by baby goats in our sleep. But thank you. That was the best orgasm I’ve had in years.”
I frown. “So I have work to do to be the best ever.”
She sniffles. “You really want to do this again?” she asks, gesturing to her snotty face with the healing black eye.
God, she’s gorgeous. And so very Ellie.
“Yes,” I tell her. “Preferably soon. And often.”
The hesitation in her bright blue eyes wavers, and then she’s laughing again, leaning in to kiss me. “You know something worse than goats will happen now, right?”
I grip her chin. “Nothing. Bad. Is. Going. To. Happen.”
One eye wrinkles.
“I like you, Ellie Ryder.” I love you, but I don’t want to scare you.
“I like you too, Wyatt Morgan.”
“Then don’t be afraid.” I lean in to kiss her again when we hear the gate rattle.
She jerks back, and I straighten too when I recognize that voice.
“But I want to show you the fountain!” Tucker says.
“Leg better?” I ask her.
She smiles softly. “Nature’s miracle cure worked.”
“See? That’s not bad.”
“Hmm.”
I can still taste her on my lips, and I’m more than a little sore and eager in other parts of my very unsatisfied anatomy, but I take a seat next to her, cross my ankle over my knee, and fling an arm around her shoulder while the gate creaks open.
She glances at my crotch, then back up to my face. “Not going to complain?”
“About getting to eat you? No. Are you going to complain about it?”
“No,” she replies with a smile.
“Good. But I’m sneaking into your bed tonight after your parents are asleep.”
“Are you?” she murmurs as Tucker races into the garden and spots us.
“Yep. And I can’t wait.”
She lays her head on my shoulder as her parents follow Tucker, who’s talking a mile a minute about the goats and the pirates and the wedding and acting out a sword fight.
“This isn’t fake anymore, is it?” she whispers.
“No, ma’am,” I whisper back into her wig.
And I’m not sure it ever was.
Twenty-Four
Ellie
Monica and Jason’s party at The Grog is more fun than I’ve had in months. Possibly years. There are pirate jokes and impromptu sword fights and a limerick contest with a bunch of implied words to protect the innocent ears in the room. Tucker makes friends with Monica’s cousin’s daughter, who’s a year younger than he is, and the two of them spend the evening playing pirate and talking about Pokémon cards and video games.
Nobody talks about work or where we’ll be next week, except Monica and Jason, who will be on a cruise in the Bahamas.
My parents want to know about when Wyatt and I hooked up though.
“A psychic set us up,” he says, which makes my mom spit her ale.
“I watched him lift a burning car off a baby and decided he was okay,” I say, which is lame after his answer, but Mom stops the third degree, and I find I can breathe again.
I don’t mean to rub my leg, but it’s aching after coming down off my post-orgasm high, and suddenly Monica’s next to us. “If you don’t take her home and get her a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine right now, I’m going to ask the Rocks to blacklist you from Crow’s Nest and Anchovies,” she informs Wyatt.
“It’s your wed—” I start, but she clamps her arm around my head and her hand across my mouth and gives Wyatt the I’m watching you hand gesture, then points to the door.
“We both have cars here,” I say, but it comes out as “ee owe aah rrr rr” with Monica’s hand still over my mouth.
If it weren’t her wedding day, I’d lick her hand, but honestly, I don’t know where it’s been, and I like Jason, but I don’t want to accidentally lick his penis sweat.
“We’ll drive your car back, sweetie,” Mom says.
“It’s like she doesn’t know you at all,” Wyatt whispers. “Sweetie?”
Monica snorts with laughter.