While she missed her, she was old enough to appreciate that her mom was happy doing what she loved.
She opened her eyes. It was late, and though she was too keyed up to go right to sleep and wanted to think about everything that'd happened tonight with Wyatt, she needed to go inside.
Until the moment Wyatt had walked out of the bar ahead of her, leaving her to collect the winning pot, she could've sworn on her life that he would put the moves on her, and they'd end up back at his apartment since his kids were with their grandma.
She looked toward Wyatt's apartment in the next unit, her stomach fluttering. Mutual flirting after a one-night stand was new to her. As were one-night stands, but Wyatt never felt like a stranger because she'd had a crush on him for months. He was a tenant. She knew where he worked because of his application. She'd even met his kids—both of them fascinated her.
Not knowing the smaller details of his life was the biggest turn on she'd ever experienced. She loved the mystery of not knowing what he was thinking about her. When he'd shown up at the bar, she'd almost peed herself.
It was exciting, mysterious, and highly arousing.
She shook her head, knowing she had to calm down, and a large shape caught her attention in the parking lot in front of Wyatt's apartment. She squinted, looking through the dark until she made out a figure sitting on a motorcycle.
It could only be one person. Nobody else in the complex rode a Harley Davidson.
She walked toward him, never doubting her decision to go to him. It wasn't even an option to ignore him and walk into her apartment.
The spike of her high heel clicked along the sidewalk. Aware of the goosebumps on her bare legs and arms, it wasn't the warm night air prickling her skin.
Stepping off the sidewalk, she approached him in the parking space. Hard to catch her breath around him, she grabbed the handlebar of his motorcycle.
"You left the bar before I could give you half the pot," she said.
"I had something important to do." He held out his hand.
On instinct, she slipped her fingers against his palm. He pulled her between his spread thighs. It was then that she noticed he sat sideways on his bike as if he'd been watching for her.
He hooked his hand behind her thighs and kept her close. Getting used to him always touching her, she looped her arms around his neck. With him sitting, his face was right in front of her.
"What are you doing to me?" she whispered.
"I can tell you what I want to do to you." His hands traveled under the hem of her mini dress. "Come in with me. The kids won't be home until tomorrow morning."
She hooked her finger into the neck of his T-shirt. "I don't know..."
"Don't make me carry you over my shoulder."
He made her want to laugh. "Tell me what you're going to do to me if I walk into your apartment."
"I'm going to bend you over in front of me, grab that beautiful hair in my fist, and fuck you until you scream my name," he said.
There was no hesitation. The man knew what he wanted.
"Luckily, I like what you want." She stepped back, tugging his shirt, bringing him to his feet.
He put his arm around her lower back and walked her to the door. The interior much cleaner and organized than the first time she came into his place. What he lacked in knickknacks, plants, and end tables, he made up for with a large TV center, stereo, and two large speakers.
Wyatt walked over to the entertainment center. "What do you like?"
"Eagles, Creedence Clear Water, Styx. Foreigner." She sat down on the sofa, moving the pillow to the other side.
There was a sheet and a blanket folded and placed on the back of the couch. Running her hand over the cushion, she wondered if he slept here, or maybe one of the kids stayed in the living room.
Have You Ever Seen the Rain played through the speakers. She bounced her leg with the beat.
Wyatt approached her and held out his hand. She reached for him eagerly, and he led her into the kitchen.
"Beer or cooler?" He opened the fridge.
"Mm...Bartles and Jaymes."
He popped off the cap and handed her the bottle, then took a beer for himself. She swallowed the cold liquid, enjoying the bubbles. Standing in his kitchen, doing something as ordinary as having a drink, there was no rush to touch him, no push to have sex.
Yet, her body throbbed.
Highly attuned to him, she found herself comparing his body as if she was sizing up a game-winning shot. If she stuck her arm out straight, she'd touch his chest. If she stood against him, the buckle of his belt would hit her stomach. If she straddled his thigh, her pussy would rub against his jeans. Her breasts would press against his ribs. Her mouth would capture his collarbone.
Wyatt moved closer. As if reading her mind, he took his turn and blocked her shot. With one arm around her, he lifted her up and set her butt on the counter.
She spread her legs, making room for his body. His long hair begged for her fingers, and she slid her hand into the strands as the song on the stereo ended,
