Page 79 of I'll Keep Her Safe

He works his way down my legs, and I watch him kneel before me, taking care to wash behind my knees, over my calves. He seems to know not to put soap between my legs, as much as I want his fingers there, and rises to gently turn me under the water, using his hands to rinse the soap from my skin.

Pressing his chest to my back, his hands return to stroke my breasts again, less to clean me and more to play with the weight of them, to hold them in his palms, to caress my stiff nipples and tug them gently between his thumb and forefinger. Molten heat pools between my thighs, and I let out a moan that makes his cock flex against my ass.

“I fucking love the feel of you against me,” he rasps, scraping his beard across the sensitive skin of my neck. “All wet and warm.”

I give a huff of arousal, twisting in his arms. “You have no idea,” I murmur, shifting restlessly. “My turn.”

His mouth curves into a slow smile as I soap my hands, then wash him; the globes of his shoulders, the hard slabs of his pecs, the firm ridges of his stomach, the nipple piercing I love. I use my soapy fingers to trace the outline of a blue jay, a monarch butterfly, a sunflower. His torso is a garden of wonders, alive and breathing, and I wish I could step inside it.

“You are so beautiful, Wyatt,” I breathe, spinning him around so I can soap the maple tree, follow its branches, trail my fingers down its trunk. And, fuck, his ass… I had no idea it was so glorious. Hard orbs of muscle that tighten under my touch. A tiny moan escapes him as I soap his ass cheeks, and my center throbs at the sound. Wyatt likes having his ass touched? Good to know.

I work my way down his legs, intentionally washing them from behind. If I stood in front of him to do this, I’d be too distracted by his dick. I ease his back under the water, washing the soap away, turning him around to face me. His black eyes watch me as I rinse him clean, as I kneel in front of him in the tub, finally taking hold of the hardness that’s been tempting me all this time.

“Poppy,” he begins, but as I stroke his cock, his eyes fall closed and his words die away. He braces himself against the shower wall, letting me touch him, letting me drag my fist up and down his length. I delight in the heat of it, the sheer fucking size of it, the way it pulses and turns to steel in my hand.

“God,” he grits out. “Baby.”

Slick heat rushes between my thighs as I take him into my mouth, sealing my lips around the hard length of him. He’s hot and perfect, and I slide my tongue across his slit, lapping up the salty precum leaking from the tip of him.

“Ohhh,” he groans. His hand goes to my head, stroking my cheek as I suck him. “You look so fucking perfect down there. So fucking good with my cock in your mouth.”

I smile around the length of him, using one hand to grip his base as my head bobs back and forth, the other to massage his balls. I love knowing I’m making him feel good, knowing he’s getting all the pleasure, that he’s letting himself enjoy this moment. Each moan is a reward, his hand tightening in my hair proof that he’s enjoying it, his hips thrusting forward, driving him deeper. I want to take more of him, and with a deep breath, I draw him to the back of my throat.

“Jesus, Poppy. God—”

His body tenses as I gag on his size, my eyes watering. He draws his hips away and his cock pops out of my mouth. I look up at him questioningly.

“I don’t want to come in your mouth, baby.”

I sigh, rising to my feet, hands still gripping his cock. I don’t want to let go, and he can tell. It makes him chuckle against my lips.

“Let’s go to bed. I want to spread you out. I want to taste you.”

“Okay,” I breathe, squeezing my legs together at his promise.

We step from the shower, toweling ourselves off as quickly as possible, neither of us wanting to waste time on practicalities. Wyatt tosses his towel aside, missing the towel rail completely, and slips his hand into mine. I follow him through the door to his bedroom, taking a moment to look around, to absorb his space.

It’s surprisingly sparse. The walls are the same eggshell white as mine, with the same dark, exposed floorboards. His bed is in the center under the window, topped with a plain white comforter. There’s a wooden dresser, drawers hanging out, overflowing with clothes, a dusty TV mounted on the far wall, and a single nightstand with a lone lamp, its shade askew. This is the room of a man who doesn’t allow himself luxuries. Who comes here only to crash. It makes my heart squeeze.

I glance at Wyatt, who seems to be looking at the room through my eyes, and grimaces. “I’ll make it better in here, I promise.”

A laugh slides from me as I step closer to him. “I don’t care. I only want you.”

He breathes out slowly, stroking my hair, then dropping his hands to my chest to nudge me backward. I fall onto the unmade bed, shuffling up to burrow into his sheets. They smell like laundry detergent and him—that earthy scent with a hint of sage. I roll over to smell his pillow, and Wyatt drapes himself across my back. His skin is so hot, still damp from the shower, his weight pinning me to his mattress. He rocks his hips, pressing his erection against my ass. I moan at the feeling, but he rolls off, flipping me over, spreading my legs as he moves down the bed. He doesn’t waste a second before swiping his tongue through the slick heat between my thighs.

“God, Poppy. You taste so good.” He samples me again with an agonizingly slow lick, dipping inside me, swirling up over my clit. “So fucking good, baby.” His voice is so raw with arousal that heat invades me, making my legs twitch restlessly, desperate for more.

He gives a dark chuckle as his hands spread me further, until I’m completely open and exposed for him. Then he drags his tongue through my wetness, lapping at me eagerly, hungrily, like a man at his last meal.

“Yes,” I whimper, hands plunging into his hair, holding him where I want him as I rub my wetness shamelessly on his face. I love how rough his beard is on my sensitive flesh, the way he nips at my clit with his teeth. He groans, letting me ride his mouth, hands massaging my ass cheeks.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasps against my wet center. “Do what feels good. Use me for your pleasure.”

His hands inch inward, thumbs meeting in the center to spread me open, before he slides two thick fingers into me, curling them upward. I writhe as pleasure surges through me, building with the pressure of his fingers curled inside me, the insistent tug of his tongue and teeth on my clit. He gives a rough suck that pushes me over, and my hips buck against his mouth as ecstasy explodes through me. His mouth doesn’t let up until I’ve stopped twitching with aftershocks, until he knows I’m finished.

When he rises to meet my gaze, his cheeks are flushed, his eyes dark and hooded, his beard ruffled and dripping with my arousal. He moves up the bed to my side, laughing as I reach out to wipe his beard and clean up his face.

“Sorry,” I murmur, but he shakes his head, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

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