29
Oakley
“Let me look at this gorgeous calf.”
Wyatt held up my leg in his strong yet gentle hands, examining my wound now that they had given me the all clear to quit wearing the boot. The flesh was closed and mostly smooth, with just a hint of pink to show I was still healing.
His head dipped and his lips skated across my calf, caressing my skin like the kiss alone could heal a gunshot wound. My leg felt fine actually, but I’d take all the kisses anyway. It had been a whole week of Wyatt and me being back together. He’d had to go back to work while he waited for the transfer to another county and I recuperated, but every second outside of work, we’d spent together. Usually naked.
His lips trailed up to my knee and then the inside of my thigh. He kissed me through the cotton barrier of my panties, causing the breath I was holding to hiss out between my teeth.
“Got a lot of clothes on, Lieutenant,” I gritted out.
He was still in full uniform, having just gotten off of work. He’d come through the front door and promptly stripped me of my clothes, except for my panties, his blue eyes simmering in that look he got every time his gaze swung my way. I was addicted to it. To him. To what his body did to mine when we were alone.
“I got a call about a bad girl…?” he asked, eyes dancing as he stroked his fingertips across my abdomen.
I pointed at my chest, feeling light as a feather teasing each other. Life had gotten far less serious with Wyatt around. “Who, me? You must be wrong, officer. I’m a good girl.”
“Good girls are actually naughty girls who just haven’t been caught,” Wyatt practically growled at me. He pulled his handcuffs off his belt and snapped one on my wrist before I could ask about where they’d been prior to this interesting role-play scenario. Other than the academy, I’d never been the one in the cuffs.
“And since I know you’re still pretending to be a good girl, you’ll be happy to know that’s a brand-new pair of handcuffs,” he added wryly.
I rolled my lips in to keep from laughing. He knew me too well. Proper sanitation was important with a job like ours. So sue me. Wyatt backed away and started unbuttoning his shirt. It opened an inch at a time to reveal his rock-hard chest and abs. He unclasped his duty belt and set it aside. Then the shirt came all the way off. Next up, shoes and socks were tossed across the room. He stilled, and I realized I’d been biting my lip in anticipation.
“See something you like, Captain?” he asked, voice just above a guttural whisper.
I nodded, motioning with my hand for him to continue. The handcuffs clanked, and I looked forward to what he’d do with the other end once he was fully undressed. His hand stilled on the button of his pants, drawing out the anticipation. But this wasn’t Thunder Down Under, and I could actually touch the dancers. I sat up and smacked his ass, prompting him to grab me, flip me over onto my stomach, and drop me back on the bed face-first. He got my hands behind my back in a flash, clamping the other handcuff on my wrist, and expertly subduing me.
Any other scenario and that alpha move would have pissed me off, but here, in the bedroom? Hell. Yes. I was here for it.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he crooned. “Guess that bad girl showed up after all.”
I twisted my face in the comforter to see him strip off the pants, his cock bobbing free. Just the sight of it, knowing what it could do to me—had done to me—had me squirming on the bed. Wyatt fisted his length and gave it a good tug before sauntering back over. The man was too gorgeous for his own good. If David was the epitome of male perfection in the Renaissance, Wyatt was the twenty-first-century version of the male ideal.
He reached over me, his body just barely grazing my backside, to brush the hair out of my face. “I love your hair down.”
“I left it down just for you,” I whispered back.
“Mmm. I love when the good girl and the bad girl come out to play.” His finger traced a line down my spine, over my ass, and between my legs. I jumped and trembled, already wet for him. When he felt how ready I was, he smiled smugly and grabbed beneath my hips with both hands. He tugged, and I found myself on my feet, my upper body and face still jammed into the bedspread.
Wyatt nudged my feet apart, like he intended to frisk me. His dick must be doing the exploring though as I felt him stroke the head up and down my crack. He notched himself at my opening, halting there and not letting me move by a strong hand at my hip.
“I want you to ride me, Captain,” he ordered.
And took his hands off me entirely. I groaned, wanting him to push forward and fill me, but realizing even cuffed, he empowered me to do the fucking. So I did, pushing my hips back onto his length, impaling myself. I groaned as I stretched around him and so did he, though he sounded like he was in pain. Without the use of my hands, my movements were slow and jerky, pulling away and then pushing back, creating an agonizing glide I wanted to last all day.
Eventually, he reached down and grabbed my bound wrists, pulling forcefully with a grunt, skewering me on his dick. Wyatt took over setting the pace, his cock ramming inside me as the bed groaned. Flesh slapped together
