Page 104 of Ride the Sky

“I forgive you.” Heat builds, a geyser in my stomach ready for release. “I forgive you…”

His body strains above me, and then he’s roaring. “Fuck.Fuck!”

A moan erupts from my mouth, and I slam against the wall as I come. Hot liquid streams out of me. I let my legs spread wider, let Wyatt see what he does to me. As if on instinct, he’s already there, behind me, stroking his palms over my hips, kissing my shoulders.

Wyatt’s fingers go to my cunt, and he cups its warmth, its wetness. “Keep me in there, Trouble,” he rasps, pressing his seed back inside of me. “Keep me inside of you.”

I whimper. Branded. It’s how I feel.

By now, my hip’s had all it can stand. I buckle, off balance, but shouldn’t have worried. Wyatt has me, wrapping a strong arm around my waist, catching me before I can go down.

He carries me to the bed, gently sets me down, then disappears. When he returns, he has a towel and my walker. He sets the walker near the bed.

“You don’t—”

He hits me with a stern look. “You’re gonna listen and let me take care of you.”

I glare at him but settle back against the pillows. “Fine.” I’m too exhausted, too content, to argue with the man.

“This is what you need,” Wyatt says, wiping the inside of my thighs.

I look down and chuckle. “That is a generous pile of cum.”

“Year and a half of being backed up,” he grunts.

My heart stops beating. “You haven’t been with anyone else?”

“No.” He tosses the rag in the corner of the room and looks at me like I have the power to decimate him with one single word. “Were you?”

I shift on the bed, trying to shake off the wave of emotion. Trying not to let on what his answer means to me. “No.” I lick my lips. “I wasn’t.”

A half-grin fills his face. But he says nothing else, instead coming over to the empty side of the bed.

I narrow my eyes at him. “What’re you doing?”

A ragged sigh shakes out of him. “Christ, Fallon, don’t kick me out of your fucking bed.” He’s looking at me like I’ll kill him if I tell him to go.

I smirk. “Get in here, idiot.”

With that, he slips beneath the sheets and takes me in his arms. I hesitate, but then I rest my head on his chest. So much for not cuddling.

We lie there in the dark, reeking of sex, of sweat, of whiskey and chlorine. Wyatt strokes a lazy hand through my hair. Instantly, the guilt, the panic, is back. A wild howl. I don’t deserve this. We shouldn’t do this.

But it’s already done. We kissed.

Kissing means I care. Means I’m fucked.

Walls were decimated tonight. Too many admissions. Too much of my heart cut open and exposed. I want to pull it back, regret it, but I can’t.

And that scares me the most.

A rocky exhale comes from Wyatt. Lifting up on his elbow, he says, “I fucked up.”

My breath comes to a standstill inside my lungs. “Tonight—”

His gaze, raw, full of emotion, snaps to mine. “This ain’t about tonight,” he says, and relief fills me. “It’s about back then.” Muscles flex around his tight jaw. “I’ll never forgive myself for sayin’ those things, Fallon. For hurtin’ you.”

My heart physically aches. I never imagined it happening like this. Wyatt down on his knees, every apology I ever wanted on his lips. The past, the anger, suddenly feels so far away from me.

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