"Wyatt," she cried, feeling the climax rise higher. He returned to her breast, sucking deep even as he ground against her, giving her the pressure where she most needed it. And the waves of pleasure lifted her that last little bit, making her quake. She gave herself over to it, barely even able to remember to breathe as she was racked by deep waves of delight.
As if seeing her reach that point had robbed him of his very last remnants of control, Wyatt reached for her underwear and tore them off her. But before he moved between her thighs, he reached into a bedside-table drawer and grabbed a condom. Watching him put it on, Lily arched up for him, wanting him inside her even before the last throbbing sensation ended. "Now, Wyatt, please."
"Yes, now," he murmured, then drove hard, plunging to the hilt, stretching and filling her completely. Shockingly, another orgasm rocked her instantly, and this time, she didn't just cry out-she gave a little scream.
"Good Lord, Lily," he whispered. He threw his head back, his face set in lines of intense concentration, as if the rhythmic spasms of her body were almost enough to pull him into an explosion of his own. But he seemed to gain control by pressing his mouth against her hair, the top of her damaged ear, then the side of her neck. He kissed her over and over, remaining deep inside her, filling her completely. But it seemed like forever before he trusted himself to move.
Then, finally, he brought his lips to hers and kissed her again. Their tongues mated, their breaths joined, and he began to stroke her, sliding out, easing back in, in a careful, easy rhythm. It had been so long since she'd been with anyone, and she'd certainly never been with him, yet she found herself immediately matching his every move. She took when he thrust; she released when he pulled away. Slow at first, then faster, deeper, wilder.
Wild, yes, but still so infinitely tender and loving, she found tears welling up in her eyes. Feeling so good had never felt so lovely as well.
"I've wanted this for a long time, Wyatt," she whispered.
"So have I."
It wasn't an admission of love, but as he slid home again, touching her somewhere deep inside, she felt pretty sure that was more than desire gleaming in his eyes.
Lily wrapped her legs around his lean hips, wanting to hold him closer, to imagine she could keep him right there, joined with her, forever. Their movements grew more frenzied, and before long, he took her to the very highest height for a third time. And this time when the physical bliss bubbled up and burst inside her, Wyatt let himself go, too.
Lily fell asleep almost immediately. It had been a long day, of course, but he had the feeling she'd just been wrung out by the responses of her own body.
Judging by how lethargic and sated he was himself, he completely understood.
He made no move to disentangle their bodies, liking that she slept while he was still inside her. He did, however, roll a little to the side, tugging her with him so he bore her weight instead of the other way around. Studying her beautiful face in the moonlight spilling in from the front window, he found himself wondering why this time, with this woman, seemed so different from any other time he'd had sex before.
Was it the emotional connection he felt to her? Was it true, what the poets said, that adding that single ingredient had taken an act he had always enjoyed but never lost his mind over, and made it the earthshaking interlude they'd just shared? Is it because you 're in love with her?
Maybe, because he undoubtedly was. Wyatt hadn't planned to be-he didn't particularly want to be-but it had happened.
"I know what you're thinking," she whispered, though he had thought she was still asleep.
"You do?"
"You're thinking you're hungry."
He laughed softly. "No, I suspect that's what you're thinking."
"Oh, yeah, right. That’s me." She yawned, her eyes still closed, and nuzzled closer to him, her head tucked into the curve of his neck. "So what is on your mind?"
"Just wondering what I'm going to do with you now that I've got you."
Her rumble of laughter said she didn't take his slightly bewildered comment the wrong way. She knew him too well; Lily had to realize this wasn't what he'd planned for, what he'd wanted. "That's easy. You have to keep me."
Keep her? Be with her? Have a normal life with her?
Wyatt's amusement faded a little. Because those things implied a future, commitment, all the things he knew he wasn't cut out to have.
She seemed to sense him pulling back. Lily kissed his shoulder and added, "I'm joking, Wyatt. You know I have no expectations."
"You should," he told her, meaning it entirely. "You should expect more. You deserve the whole works, someone younger and more open. Someone who wants the same thing you do."
"What might that be?"
"A nice, steady, normal life. One that's peaceful and includes a house with a white picket fence."
"I prefer a security gate and motion detectors," she said, pulling back to emphasize that with a stare. "And frankly, I consider a nice, normal life to be sitting with you outside in the middle of the night, wishing I wasn't craving a cigarette while you tell me about the psycho killer you're going after next."
He barked a helpless laugh. 'That's pretty demented."
"Maybe. It's also as honest as I can be. If you think I'm holding out for a marriage proposal, babies, and a house in the suburbs, you can think again. I'm not sure I'll ever want any of those things."
"Which is a good thing, since I already know I don't."
She stared, and he almost regretted laying that out so baldly. But the last thing he would do was lead her on.
"Why not?" she asked, no longer half teasing. On the surface, her question might seem a simple one, but with those two words, she was asking so much more.
He understood. She wanted to know the truth, not about his future and how it might include her. No, Lily was asking about his past, what had shaped him, made him who he was, and led him to make those kinds of decisions about what the rest of his life would be. She'd respected his privacy, kept out of it, not intruding on what was none of her business. But now he was her lover, she'd moved into his innermost circle, and she deserved to know.
Wyatt never spoke about it. Not ever. Nor did he plan to now. At the very least, though, Lily was entitled to a brief explanation, if only in gratitude for the way she hadn't researched him or pushed for answers before now.
The subject wasn't one for warm, cozy, after-sex talk. He slid out from under her, sitting up on the bed. Lily reached for him, sliding her hand down his back, caressing his bare hip. Glancing over his shoulder at her, he said, "I'll discuss this only once."
She nodded. "Understood."
"And this conversation will not evolve into a discussion about feelings or emotions or psychobabble about poor-little-me. I don't need sympathy over how screwed up my childhood must have been or speculation that it drove me to become the man I am today. I know all that already. Do you understand?"
"Of course I do," she said simply. "I've always known that, even without knowing what exactly happened."
He didn't hedge, didn't soften it. Instead, he simply explained as briefly and succinctly as possible, as if describing a case, something that had occurred to another family, another son.