Page 37 of Redemption
“And do you, Whitney Adler, take Wyatt Conway to be your husband?”
“I do.” I repeat after Wyatt. My heart gallops in my chest, and I’m positive the entire town can hear it. Time slows. A pause in the chaos. We look at each other. “Then by the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
And he does. Wyatt doesn’t hesitate either. He swoops in, covering my lips with his. It’s sweet and tender, and the tears that run down my face aren’t fake at all.
I’ve been standingin front of Wyatt’s door for the past ten minutes, debating on whether or not to knock. I can’t relax. After today, I’ve been restless with a million different emotions. He’s leaving tomorrow, and the need to speak to him, to see him, is overbearing. I’m still clad head-to-toe in my ensemble from earlier, and when I finally get the courage to tap on his bedroom door, and it swings open, I find that he is, too. The buttons on his shirt are lower, and his hair tousled like he’s spent the day pulling on it.
“Something wrong?” His gruff voice is tight and mixed with emotions I can’t decipher.
“Can I come in?” I ask, twisting my fingers and nervously glancing over his shoulder. He nods, not speaking, but side stepping to make room.
I realize I’ve never seen the inside of his room before.
It’s large, much larger than the guest room. The king sized bed is perfectly put together, and in the very center of the room. A deep grey comforter adorning it, slightly ruffled like he may have been sitting on it before I came in. A black blanket chest is nestled against the bottom. The window that overlooks nearly the entire ranch has no curtains, ensuring the light streams in and privacy is minimal. A wooden desk sits in the corner, covered in papers with an empty coffee cup concerningly close to the edge. There aren’t many pictures on the walls, but one or two of him, Wesley, and Ana sit on his desk.
He shuts the door with a soft click. I whirl around. I have to know. To know if it set in after today. He said he did it for himself, to get his mom off his back, but I know that’s not true. The stakes were too high, the rewards too low for him. “Do you regret it?” I ask, “Marrying me?”
“No, Winnie.” He shakes his head. “Not for a second.”
“Did you do it for us?” He knows what I mean. If it was for both Brinley and I, because he protects and cares for us with the same ferocity he does with his mom and Wesley. He nods. A short one, barely there and only meant for me. My head spins, the revelation a shot to the heart.
“Then, kiss me,” I breathe.
He takes a step towards me, like he didn’t quite hear me. “Say that again.”
“Kiss me,” I repeat, stronger this time.
His gaze narrows. “Whitney, if-”
Okay. Bad idea. This was a bad idea. I cut him off by brushing past him, fingertips latching onto the door handle. He doesn’t even?—
A large warm hand clamps against the back of my neck, and with a sharp tug, Wyatt turns me–capturing my lips in a searing kiss. The gasp that leaves my lips is quickly replaced with Wyatt’s growl. Any and all doubts I had mere seconds ago melt away.
Because this kiss isdifferent. It’s burning with desire that steals every thought from my head. It feels like a full-body promise, the way his tongue slides against mine. The way he pulls away to nip, and bite, and tease. This is the kind of kiss that speaks volumes. The kind of kiss that we won’t be able to come back from. He trails his lips across my jaw, down my neck. Wyatt’s hands are everywhere, roaming down the small of my back, squeezing my ass, and then making their way back up again. When it’s my turn, my hands trail down his hard chest and below his navel. I tug on the buckle of his belt. He rips his mouth away, panting. “Wait-”
“J-just let me.” I interrupt. Begging with my eyes, and the hand that runs over the bulge in his jeans. “Please.”
Understanding flashes in his eyes. I didn’t know how to thank him for what he’s done. Or how to explain whatever this is that’s grown between us. I need to touch him, to feel something real. I drop to my knees, thankful for the decorative rug cushioning the blow. I look up at him from lowered eyelashes, nerves overriding my senses. My lips part, but before I can speak, he’s growling, “Take it off.”
I blink. He isn’t talking about his clothes. He’s talking about my dress. My lips dry at the deep command, and my tongue slips out to wet them. But I listen, watching him as I slip a manicured hand over my breast, across my collarbone, and hook a fingeraround the white spaghetti strap. His jaw clenches, “Fucking tease.”
I smirk, reveling in the way he’s wound so tight. I put it there, but I’ll also be the one who watches it come undone. When the fabric slips down my shoulders and bunches against my knees, I shuffle out of the rest of it. A curse quickly follows from his lips when he realizes what I’m wearing underneath.
That little piece of white lingerie.
It fit me better than I could hope.
Unlike the satin make of my dress, the lingerie was a sheer white. The bustier-style corset cinched my waist and lifted my chest. The lace was the prettiest thing about it. Intricate and delicate. Wrapping around the corset in a floral pattern. Tiny clasps ran from my cleavage, down to my navel. The matching panties are just as sheer and left little to the imagination. Who knew lingerie could be such a confidence boost? And from the way he’s looking at me, I’m more than happy I let Blake convince me to leave the store with it.
“You’re perfect.” I blush, his words warming me inside and out. He inhales, letting his hands roam over my head. They pull my hair back, creating a low ponytail that he grips with one hand. “Now, take my cock out before I decide to fuck your pretty tits instead.”
I listen, fumbling with his belt buckle. I quickly rip them down, his black boxers following suit. I gulp at the sight of him, intimated and ready for a taste. He ismassive.The sheer sight of him sends a lick of heat straight to my center, and sudden insecurity courses through me at my lackluster skills. I haven’t touched anyone since my one night with him.
I run my teeth over my bottom lip. “I forgot how big you are.”
“You can handle it.” He grunts, tugging on my hair, and bucking his hips just enough to run himself along my lips. Mytongue flicks out, swiping over the pearl of precum at his tip. “Spit on it, baby. Get it nice and wet for me.”
I can’t help the moan that works its way up my throat, his dirty words music to my ears. I do as he says, letting a thin line of spit gather on my tongue. I angle my head, letting it drop right where I need it. The sound of it was lewd, and I want to do it again. But I don’t. Instead, I wrap my lips around his head, and swallow him in one go. I get halfway down before I have to pull back and adjust. The heat of him in my mouth helped, relaxing my throat and encouraging me to take him deeper, faster. But it’s still hard, and tears gather at the edge of my eyes.
