Page 58 of Wyatt

“Aw, Sunshine, you are cold.”

“I’m not?—”

But Wyatt is already grabbing my hand. He’s lifting me upand tossing me on my back onto the front bench of his truck—the passenger door is still open—like I only weigh as much as the hay bales he throws around all day long. The seat is deep, and the windows are high up, meaning people won’t be able to see us unless they’re right beside the truck.

I yelp with delight. This time, I don’t try to keep in the sound as he climbs into the truck—climbs on top of me—and closes the door behind him. Instead, I put my hands on his hips and watch, tilting my head back, as he straddles my torso with his knees and straightens to shove the key into the ignition.

The truck comes to life with a throaty growl that makes the bench vibrate pleasantly against my back. Wyatt cranks a dial, and heat blasts through the vents. He even goes so far as to aim the pair of vents nearby at me.

“That better?”

“Yeah. Yes. Thank you.” My heart skips several beats as a wash of warmth moves over me.

Wyatt’s body and his kiss are hot as hell. But I think his concern for me—for others in general—might be the sexiest thing about him. He’s not afraid to show he cares tonight, and that display of vulnerability is the biggest turn on ever.

I watch Wyatt toss his hat aside. Then he shoulders out of his blazer, folding it neatly over the back of the seat.

He looks enormous in the moonlight, his shoulders and biceps straining against the crisp fabric of his blue button-up. Then he pushes a cassette tape into the tape deck—cassettes must be a Rivers thing, because every single one of the boys refuses to put even a CD player in their trucks—and I let out a bark of laughter when Sam Hunt comes on.

“Where the hell did you findMontevalloon cassette tape?” I reach for his tie again.

He falls over me, catching himself on the hands he plants on either side of my head. His hair falls into his face, and my stomach clenches at how it suddenly makes him look like anactual cowboy. One who’s been out working cattle all day, unkempt and scruffy andhungry.

“I got my sources.” His lips twitch as he leans in to kiss my neck.

A tingly rush spreads through my skin, the insistent beat between my legs spiking faster, hotter. I want him there.

It’s forward of me to go from kissing this man to inviting him to lie between my legs. Ordinarily, with any other guy, I’d stop him.

This is, after all, only our first date. And good girls don’t put out on the first date.

But being a good girl kind of sucks. And Wyatt said to let my body do the talking. I’m determined to listen.

It’s liberating, not having to worry about what he’ll think of me, whether or not he’ll ask me on a second date.

There are no rules with Wyatt, and it’s kind of the best thing ever. I’m able to be myself because he’s unabashedlyhimselfright now. He’s not hiding how he feels or what he wants. And that makes me feel connected to him—safe with him—in a way I never do with other guys.

I let my leg fall through the slit in my dress. Wyatt, being the expert he is, reads me like a book. He lifts his knee, allowing my leg to fall outside of his. We do the same dance with my other leg, Wyatt kissing my neck all the while.

I am obsessed with neck kisses. Especially when he nicks me with his teeth. Scrapes me with his beard.

Then I’m spread-eagled, and Wyatt settles himself between my legs. Right where I want him.

He’s heavy, broad, and my hip flexors sing to accommodate him, making my dress ride up my thighs. Wyatt reaches down to clamp a hand around my bare leg, pushing my dress up even further.

I roll my hips in a mindless search for friction, letting out a moan of frustration. Notching my knee at his hip, Wyattspreads me even wider while his mouth works its way up to mine.

All that separates us now are his jeans and my thong. I wonder if he can feel how wet I am. Would my eagerness turn him off? Or would it drive him wild?

He presses his lips to mine. Opens me up with a luxuriously unhurried stroke of his tongue. My toes curl into the soles of my hideously uncomfortable sandals, and I rise on a wave of lust that feels like liquid sunshine in my veins.

This.

This.

Thisis what I want—to be with a man who knows how to kiss. To be with Wyatt Rivers, his hands all over me.

I cannot believe I am making out with my best friend.