“Happy New Year,” I whisper against his skin, the first words I’ve spoken in hours, as my eyes drift closed and I slip into slumber.
His lips land on my temple.
“Happy New Year, baby.”
* * *
This time, when I wake up in Wyatt’s bed, I’m not alone.
A smile touches my lips before I’m fully conscious. My eyes crack open and I find he’s already awake, watching me with soft eyes. He lets out a lowoofsound as I roll suddenly on top of him, so I’m half-sprawled across his chest, and press a kiss against his lips.
“Good morning,” he says, chuckling.
I look at the long shadows creeping across his bedroom floor. “Afternoon, I’d guess.”
He shrugs. “I don’t care what time it is. I have nothing else on my agenda today besides a very long appointment with this bed and you.”
“Oh? Trying to keep me captive here, Mr. Hastings?”
“Trying? No. Just keeping.”
“That’s kidnapping.”
He shakes his head as an amused light fills his eyes. “It’s not kidnapping if you’re a willing captive.”
I kiss him again, soft and sweet. There’s no rush. No need to hurry. I savor this moment with him, recognizing how precious it is even as it’s unfolding around me. There’s something beautiful about being here with him, wholly exhausted from a full night of love making, but buzzing with excitement down to a molecular level. I feel supercharged from the inside out. Fatigue may’ve deadened my limbs, but it cannot damper the thrill of being in his arms.
I shift against him and my muscles cramp painfully. “God, I’m sore. Every bone in my body aches.”
He laughs. “And you callmean old man. You’re a sprightly twenty-two-year-old. Keep up, will you?”
I attempt to punch him on the arm, and am rewarded with a cramping bicep muscle.
“Ow,” I moan.
He rolls his eyes and sits up, bringing my body vertical with his. “Come on. I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Really?”
“Really. What do you want?”
“Everything.” My stomach rumbles.
His hand laces with mine as we climb out of bed. He pulls on a pair of sweatpants, then tosses a giant t-shirt in my direction. He even helps me pull it over my head when my aching arms protest, only making fun of me a little.
“You did this to me,” I remind him, tugging the hem of the shirt down to my thighs.
His eyebrow quirks. “Are you complaining?”
Every raw, hot, mind-numbing moment of last night flashes through my head. I feel my cheeks get warm.
“No.” I swallow, feeling desire sluice through me. “Not complaining.”
“Thought so.” His jaw clenches. “Stop looking at me like that, baby.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll throw you right back in that bed and this time, I won’t stop until you’re so sore you can’t stand.”